So there I am, Christmas 2009 and all my family have sore throats. This appears to be fairly normal as my eldest daughter started school last year and it would appear to be a petri dish for diseases where they meet new children who in turn pass them to their siblings and parents.
Well, I appeared to be a perfectly healthy guy but after everyone else had shaken their visiting bugs I was left with a nagging if very mild sore throat that just didn't seem to want to go away.
I can't recall the last time I went to see a doctor but this was becoming annoying. A course of antibiotics would save the day.
And so to GP number one who dutifully gave me the required pills for my tonsillitis.
Two weeks later the sore throat was doggedly holding on so back to the doctors.
Are you familiar with "the look"? You know the one, when someone's face says that something is wrong. Welcome GP number two (to whom I may owe my life in due course) who said that she wasn't happy with what she could see and that she wanted me to go to hospital to be checked out. What was I doing tomorrow morning?
Now, I don't know a great deal about the workings of the NHS but tomorrow morning? I am a little anxious. Here cometh the bombshell.
My GP tells me that I must be prepared that this may be cancer. Oh.
I leave the surgery with a few small questions unanswered. Does this mean that I'm about to die then? Who will look after my (very) young children? How do I tell my wife who lost her father to cancer when she was a teenager?
All in all, not such a good day.
