I started the day with a leisurely tidy-up of my wardrobe, only managing to throw away one dress even though it seems entirely possible that I won't ever need my work clothes again. (I have a surprising number of surprisingly smart clothes for work; alas, all my workplaces for the past 20 years or so have been 'smart casual', accent on the 'casual'. Indeed, when Elsevier told me it had a dress-down Friday, I was seriously at a loss to think how they would manage it.) Then I uploaded the last few of my old Quantum Leap fics to AAOOO. That leaves only some unfinished stuff and some drabbles - quite a lot of drabbles - not posted there. Since my website is one of the things that has fallen victim to the current need for economy, AAOOO is my last, best hope for posterity, and I may post the drabbles; some of my drabbles are better than any of my longer fiction. Although I suppose that's not saying much.
Still nothing from the hospital today, and in the end I phoned the contact number they gave me last week. It didn't get off to an auspicious start - the first two times the number was engaged, and the third time I got through to someone who clearly had no idea what I was talking about. (I was in tears by this time. I have tried not to be too weepy and wussy, but there comes a point ...) Anyway: she put me on to the nurse I spoke to briefly last week. She didn't know what was going on either, but at least she went away to check and then called me back.
As far as I can tell, I have Schrodinger's Cancer. (I may already have made that joke, I can't be bothered to check.) The lung team don't think I belong to them; they passed me on to the breast team, who don't want me either. The next candidate is the gynaecological team. They don't have their meeting until Monday afternoon, so I won't hear anything until Tuesday. I hope they do decide to keep me, I really don't want them looking any lower.
I also asked about having the pleural effusion drained, which the doctor last week mentioned. They didn't know anything about that, either. *sigh* It does feel as though it needs doing again, so I hope someone, somewhere can get their act together.
I know that the NHS is overworked and understaffed, and I know that I'm just one of many patients, and only a priority in my own tiny mind. But still, it does seem a bit bad to me to tell someone that they're (at least potentially) seriously ill and then leave them hanging for a week with no word.
And then something strange - wonderful, but very strange - happened. Judy came into my study to say that our friend Anne had asked if I'd checked my PayPal account. Well, no, I hadn't, why should I? Was there some sort of hoax or scam going round? When I did check, it turned out that Anne had sent me £300 - ! "A little something to help tide you over."
I am speechless in the face of such generosity. I wish I wasn't; I'm sure I didn't thank her adequately. But, my god, if anyone asks me to nominate a candidate for sainthood, I know who my first choice will be.
