I was trying to make a point about how startling London can seem to a provincial woman like me: although I used to work in London that was a long time ago and things have changed a lot. People are pushy and rude, and the manners that oil the wheels of society seem to be disappearing fast. This makes life more confusing than it needs to be, genuine mistakes turn into arguments and conflict runs amok.
I think I must have come home feeling vulnerable and insecure, hence the bitterness that comes through.
Yet all the things I wrote about, actually happened; each one from the careless driver to the non-apologetic doctor was a real event and the accumulations of all of these events made me feel like I was the outsider. As we grow older, how do we learn to live in a world that is changing so rapidly? I remember when I was young, thinking my grandparents were so out of touch, so clearly of a different generation, I was embarrased for them, for their attitudes. Now I'm becoming the uncool old bat.
I had another check up yesterday, and I'm fine. I really am fine, now. Back to normal. Which is, quite frankly, wonderful. The x-ray was clear, and there's no sign of any re-growth around the clips marking the surgical site. Of course, if the thymoma was re-growing it would be too small to see at this stage anyway, but still.
The check ups do two things: they allow the oncology staff to keep an eye on me, and allow me to keep an eye of the wacky and wonderful world which is London.
This time, we saw:
- an orange-robed Hare Krishna monk on an old Moulton bicycle narrowly avoiding being run down by a car reversing into a rare parking space; the car was clearly in the wrong and yet the monk didn't seem at all angry (although the cyclist behind was gesticulating with intent). Somehow I doubt we'll be seeing the monk's near miss on You Tube any time soon - not all cyclists feel victimised by drivers;
- a couple of women standing at the side of the road in full niqab and burka, just the eyes visible. One was dressed completely in black but the other: well, I guess she wasn't happy with her outfit when she looked in the mirror that morning because although the gown and the veil were black, the headcovering was a fetching shade of purple. They looked both lost and, to be honest, a bit ridiculous. Personally I'm not a fan of wearing any religious dress unless you've taken vows - anything else is just showing off. And I reserve the right to point and laugh (although I didn't, I'm too polite);
- in the public gents at UCH, where Godfrey had gone to wash his hands, there was an African man standing in front of the hand basins with his trousers and pants round his ankles, blocking the way. He was washing his meat and two veg very thoroughly in the hand basin. This is a hospital: maybe he has groin problems, who knows. Had he been a British bloke he would at least have had the grace to look a bit shamefaced and apologetic and probably mumble some kind of explanation. Let's face it, a British bloke wouldn't have been doing it in public in the first place. He'd have gone into the stall for privacy, with a bunch of wet hand towels. But he wasn't, and he didn't;
- a young Asian man in his early twenties talking to the volunteer in reception at the Macmillan Centre: the lad had apparently missed his hospital-organised transport home. He had no cash, and was thirsty. The volunteer reached for a pot of pound coins and handed one over. The young man went to the canteen and bought himself a drink, then walked out of the hospital with it and wandered off down the street. I thought, who comes to a hospital appointment without any cash at all? There's no A&E here, it's all out patients. Why didn't he get a cup of water from the free water dispenser if he was thirsty? How come he had hospital transport organised when he appeared to walk as well as you or I? Who, if they have transport organised, misses it? Most people hang around for ages waiting for it to arrive. Is he even a patient? And, I also thought, this must happen on a regular basis for there to be a pot of coins at reception.
We had to wait 45 minutes for the appointment, which was odd because I was the first patient in the clinic: but the doctor did explain and apologise, so we didn't mind a bit.
Got you! Of course he didn't explain or apologise. He's The Doctor. I'm just the patient. It's my duty to sit and wait and wonder and worry, and not mind a bit.
Next appointment: 13th January 2014.
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