Paralysis

November 2013

It's the first day I've been back at the hospital since my diagnosis, and I'm standing in front of a waiting room door.

I've been standing in front of the open door for several minutes now, but I'm no closer to walking through it. I'm frustrated with my procrastination, but every time I look at the sign on the door, I feel like there's an invisible barrier preventing me entering. After genuinely considering waiting for my appointment in the corridor, I finally make a monumental psychological effort and step over the threshold, encountering what I imagine are some rather sympathetic and understanding looks from the other patients.

The sign simply says: 

ONCOLOGY PATIENTS' WAITING ONLY

I had a similar reaction the first time I went into Maggie's Centre, a cancer support facility in the hospital grounds, last week. Then, at least, I had M with me and he'd understood implicitly how difficult it would be for me to walk through the door. While the logical part of my mind knows that I have cancer, and that walking into a support centre (or an oncology waiting room) doesn't alter that fact one iota, there's something hugely psychologically jarring about making that shift from “Gill Before” to “Gill With Cancer” and I find myself incredibly resistant to it.

It's much easier after the first time, in both cases. Good thing, really, as I'm going to be spending a lot of time here in future.