A cancer diagnosis is devastating for the individual and also their family. I wrote this piece after being told I was in remission following treatment for blood cancer. I hope I’ve managed to convey what an emotional rollercoaster the cancer journey can be. See what you think.

‘Cup of tea, love?’

He looked up and saw the white-haired volunteer smiling by the metal trolley laden with snacks, cups and a large tea pot.

            ‘You look soaked through. Go on, it’ll warm you up,’ she said.

‘Erm, no. No, thank you.’

‘A sandwich then? We’ve got ham, tuna or cheese, on white or brown.’

‘Very kind, but no thanks – I couldn’t.’

‘A biscuit then? Go on – live a little.’

He smiled back. Live a little longer would be good, he thought.

‘I’ll give it a miss today. But thanks anyway.’

He watched as she moved the trolley slowly around the waiting room, dispensing comfort in the form of a hot drink, a cold sandwich, and warm words. 

For a moment he stared through the window, watching as wind and rain whipped the rose bushes in the courtyard, creating pretty pink and yellow litter from the dislodged petals. 

Heavy grey storm clouds darkened the sky and water cascaded down the glass, he thought for a moment, like tears for patients that had gone before. 

More than 20 people were seated, all facing the same enemy as him. The same enemy, but for each a different fate.

Some watched television, the images and sounds providing a distraction from their worries. Others sat chatting in hushed voices, sharing tales of diagnosis and treatment, even prognosis – good or bad. Some sat quietly, deep in their own troubled thoughts.

The numbers dwindled as doctors came out and called a name, greeting each patient with a cheery welcome before escorting them to a consulting room. As each one left the waiting room, he tried to read their face to see if they had been given good news or bad.

He had brought a novel to read, knowing that appointments were often delayed by an hour or more. Reading helped him escape into another world. Briefly. But then he would lift his head, remember where he was, why he was there and what he had been through. 

Twenty-four rounds of chemo had been a walk in the park compared to the stem cell transplant that followed. Now, here he was, four months later, about to find out if the punishing treatment for the incurable cancer had won him a reprieve.

Where was Brenda? He hadn’t seen her for a few weeks. She had been having a tough time. She was in constant pain, her body slowly being destroyed by the disease in her bone marrow. But she remained hopeful and tried to be cheerful. He would never say it to her, but he knew the outlook was bleak.

Just a handful of people remained. He checked the time. It must be his turn soon, he thought. As the minutes ticked by, he tried not to think too much about what he was about to be told. 

Throughout it all he had tried to have a positive attitude. There were moments, of course, when dark thoughts had consumed him. But he had too much to live for. He wasn’t ready to go just yet. The disease, however, may have other ideas.

‘Peter?’

He looked up and saw a doctor he didn’t recognise. The accent was strong. Greek, possibly.

‘Would you like to join me?’

‘Yes, doctor. Thank you.’

The short walk to the consulting room felt like that of a condemned man. Why wasn’t he seeing the doctor that had helped him through the ups and downs of his emotional and physical rollercoaster? Was this a bad sign? 

‘Take a seat’. 

His legs felt weak. He wasn’t sure if it was nerves or fatigue.

‘How have you been?’ 

‘Yes, pretty good. I’m getting some energy back and I can walk half a mile or so now.’

‘Oh, that’s good. Very good. Your body has been through a lot. It will take time. Now, let me check your notes.’

He tried to read the doctor’s face as he flicked through the thick file of papers and found the report.

‘We’ve had your blood results back.’

The doctor looked straight into his eyes. Was there the hint of a smile?

‘It’s good news.’

He paused for a moment, absorbing the words.

‘How good?’ 

‘There’s no sign of cancer. You are in stringent complete remission.’

A brief sense of elation was replaced by doubt. Had he heard correctly? The accent was strong and he wanted to double check what he thought the doctor had said.

‘Could you repeat that, please, doctor?’

‘Of course. You are in stringent complete remission. There is no sign of the cancer. It has gone completely.’ 

It took a second or two for the news to sink in. His vision went blurry as his eyes moistened. Months of tension seeped from his body. His lips trembled as he slumped into the chair. 

He pictured going home and telling his wife and children. It had been tough for them, too. They were hugging him and gently weeping with relief. 

Then small patches of dark blue, like mini ponds full of life, showed and grew his jeans as he allowed the tears to flow. A tissue appeared on the desk next to him and he grasped it gratefully.

‘Congratulations, Peter. You should celebrate. Go home and drink Champagne.’

‘Thank you, doctor. I will. Thank you.’ 

And as he spoke, he noticed shafts of bright sunlight shining through the half-closed blinds.

ENDS