20. Welcome to Addenbrookes

As I sat in Clinic 10 ENT, I looked round and found myself comparing the waiting room to Norwich ENT oncology department. It looked old and dated and vaguely reminded me of the Kent hospitals of my youth. I soon realised that the waiting area served more than cancer patients and watching the man sitting quietly at the end of the row of chairs with the recent scarring running down one side of his neck, the tube taped to his cheek disappearing into his nose was the only reminder of all the sad wounded looking people I had seen that day in Norwich hospital.

I was once again though back amongst the head and neck cancer warriors.

Quietly, passively accepting their fate and just getting on with most hellish of treatments and hoping to get through it as whole as humanly possible and un noticed. I looked at the clock and realised all to clearly this wasn't even the 'bad coffee' lounge and my appointment was already running 45 mins too late. There was no private nurse Kirsty here for me to chat to to pass the time, and I didnt even know if I would lay eyes on Mr Amen today let alone be collected in person by him from the waiting room. But I didn't really care, I was here, and this, be it not modern, not that welcoming, and definitely not that on time, this was going to mark the final chapter in the journey I'd self navigated, this was exactly where I needed to be. I'd done it!

Eventually the nurse came, she did tell me her name but I don't recall it as I never saw her again, and said she was taking me to see Mr Amen.

I smiled inside. I walked into a tiny room, and there he was, smiling as usual.

'Hello Amanda, how are you? Are we still friends?'

I was beginning to understand this was his catchphrase. Laughing I replied as I settled into the chair getting comfortable

' Of course we are always friends I'm always pleased to see you'

I looked round the room at a junior Dr sitting behind him and 2 nurses, they were all smiling slightly awkwardly as if intruding on our little joke.

' I love your glasses' he stated.

I laughed and thanked him telling him they were new, accepting the small talk as part of the process of introducing me to this same but very different environment he would now be continuing my treatment under.

He continued by telling me he had spoken to the team, it had been agreed that I would be having a course of radiotherapy and he was going to get 'DuDu' (he gestured to the smiling young black nurse standing to my left) to take me to see my oncology radiotherapy Dr and his team to discuss the process. He asked if that was ok? ( ever the gentleman, ever polite), I thanked him, and I left Mr Amen behind smiling, as Dudu and I walked off to find 'the team'.

In the room with a tall suited man I had seen whilst sitting in the waiting room, a woman called Jo who I gathered to be in charge of my radiotherapy treatments and helping me get through the sessions, and of course smiling Dudu, we all had a chat about proton radiotherapy, amounts of grays, location of cancer and feeding tubes.

The ensuing conversation was a dance of words in which polite negotiation took place between what was suggested and what was accepted, and finally we were all in a place where give and take had prevailed on both sides and the treatment plan for my ex tumour and my very present lump would be blasted and hopefully destroyed with as little collateral damage to my tongue, taste and healthy cells as was humanly possible.

Dudu and Jo then individually went through the logistics of treatment, the mask, travel, finances, emotional support, their roles during my treatment and finally, when they thought it would be starting.

Dudu gave me a huge pack full of information and leaflets and contact numbers in a very 'un cancer patient' calico bag covered in pictures of 4 leaf clovers to take home.

I left feeling totally at ease with what was being arranged, I had trust in the people who were there to help me, and in a strange way as I walked out past the people sitting in the reception area of outpatients under a huge sign saying 'patient transport' I couldn't wait for it to be my turn. I just wanted to start, to be counting down the 30 treatments for which I'd just signed my name against. To finally know that when I woke up in the middle of the night, when the heat took over my body and the pounding in my chest was banging in my ears, I could listen into the silence and know that voice would no longer whisper

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