A clear Tuesday morning and I meet a bustling and kindly nurse as she ushers me in to take blood. She's friendly but distracted. I don't blame her, judging by the waiting room she has a long session ahead of her.
'Oh yes,' she remarks slightly insensitively 'you're here for the cancer blood tests.'
A bubble of angst rises from my tummy to my chest. Comments like that sharply alter perceptions from illusory to vivid reality. It dampens down with her gentle chatter about sailing and as the 10 viles gradually froth with my crimson blood. My anguish softly melts away. I shall be ignorant of the situation until I have these test results, and up until then I shall gain nothing from worry.
As we draw to a close she suddenly stops her activity and looks me in the eye.
'Here' she says, 'if you can go I think it might help'
She hands me a leaflet for the local Teenage Cancer Trust group. It's like a slap with a cold fish. Three weeks ago I was raising money for this charity. This was never meant to be in my plan.
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