By Isle of Wight Observer
“Woke up, fell out of bed, dragged a comb across my head. Found my way downstairs and drank a cup, and, looking up, I noticed I was late.” The Beatles’ A Day in the Life is what they now call ‘relatable.’ My work days begin much as Paul McCartney’s did in 1967, although (like everyone else) I no longer grab a hat.
As a kid, I puffed away upstairs on many London Routemaster buses. Cool kids never sat downstairs; small boys do that. Pre-teen Holmsey liked those sideways seats near the open platform at the back, but usually sat immediately behind the driver, to observe him operating the controls. Routemasters don’t have keys, they have a start switch — on the left, just above the driver’s head. They have pre-select gearboxes, long handbrakes and a large red indicator on the right side, next to the driver’s sliding door. As small boys do, I’d subtly mimic the driver’s movements while imagining myself driving one day. Buses always stop really close behind each other, presumably to prevent pedestrians walking between them.
That first cup of tea is an essential part of my morning ritual and, once drunk, I head to my boat in Yarmouth. I’ve a car on the other side and if all goes well, usually arrive at work in Fleet, just over an hour later.
OK — before doing anything, I need the loo. Some mornings, for the last part of the two-hour journey, I really need the loo. On bad days, I’ll spring from the car and make a dash for it. On a few occasions recently, I’ve had to stop en route to relieve myself. Worst of all, twice, when the need to go was immediate, I’ve stopped on the hard shoulder of the M3.
Dear Reader, I apologise if this is all too much information, but last week, I mentioned seeing the GP and a referral to St Mary’s. The appointment suddenly appeared on my NHS App, where I also found a letter containing the C word. ‘Urgent referral, for possible urological cancer’ — was exactly what was written. Why does no one warn you that downloading an app could one day give you access to a referral letter containing the word ‘cancer’?
While waiting for last Friday’s 8.30am appointment, I clung to the word ‘possible.’ At my time of life, inevitably I have friends and family who are or have been through various cancer treatments. Around half of us will have some kind of cancer, so why not me? I’ve had several PSA tests in recent years, and suffered the mild indignity of potentially lifesaving rectal examinations — to check my enlarged prostate.
These days I do a passable impersonation of Private Godfrey. You’ll remember him on parade in the Walmington-on-Sea church hall — Godfrey’s catchphrase was: “Please Captain Mainwaring, can I be excused?”
I arrived at the front of St Mary’s, to discover urology was right at the back. Why do they constantly move every department up there? Nothing stays in the same location for long. In Outpatients A the receptionist searched for my name. I stood there for a few moments, hoping there might be a chance this was all a mistake, a glitch in their stupid app. Regrettably he found me; I was definitely in the system. The waiting room was pleasantly empty, and they called me straight away.
The consultant examined me thoroughly and seemed to rule out prostate cancer. He decided I needed a scan, so that’s where I am — in limbo. I’m cautiously optimistic that I don’t have bladder cancer, but based on other factors, it’s a possibility. I’ll keep you posted, but even the vague prospect does feel a little life changing!