exploration of the wonders of magnetism.
Before I knew it, it was two o’clock and time to drive to Edinburgh. The traffic heading into the city was not too heavy at that time of day, so I didn’t take the by-pass all the way in. It was such a horrible road. I much preferred to approach the city through Musselburgh and Portobello, keeping the sea in view. The sun was out and it was a warm afternoon. The sea sparkled. I threaded through Leith with its new flats, warehouse conversions and trendy bars and restaurants. And soon I was heading west along Ferry Road to the Crewe Toll roundabout and the Western General Hospital. It took me almost as long to find somewhere to park as it had done to drive into the city.
I knew the Western quite well. Tom worked there when he was a junior doctor and it was where my mother had her cancer treatment. I’d accompanied her to some of her appointments. It was still a sprawling, incoherent set of buildings, supplemented nowadays by various portacabins. The breast clinic had moved from where it had been during my mother’s time. It had taken me a bit of time to find it on my previous visit, when I came to have the tests done. This time though, I knew where I was going.
The clinic’s waiting area was cramped and dilapidated. Two rows of mismatched chairs faced each other; many already occupied when I walked in. The reception desk sat across the top of the small space. In the middle was a low table, its grubby surface littered with ancient magazines and empty plastic cups. I informed one of the receptionists of my arrival and was told to take a seat. I managed to find one that had no one sitting on either side.
Across the corridor from the waiting area were several consulting rooms. The doors to these rooms opened from time to time and a patient would emerge, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied.
It helped pass the time to wonder about the relationship between patient and escort, and what their story was. Sometimes a patient and partner would come out beaming and embracing. Other times a woman would emerge in obvious distress and supported by a nurse. Then there were those who were impossible to read. Had they had good or bad news? And away they would all go, to face their fate.
Then a nurse would call out the name of the next soul awaiting their verdict and sentencing. Each time this happened my heart lurched. Part of me wanted the consultation to be over, but another part wanted to prolong this time of ignorance. What you don’t know can’t hurt you - my mother again.
Up until Robbie came into my house and said who he was, everything was normal. Then in the space of a sentence everything changed. My world shattered, certainty fragmented and fell away.
And now, at the hospital, another potentially devastating sentence could be about to be uttered. But at least I was bracing myself in preparation this time. My mind drifted on and on.
“McAllister, Rosemary McAllister?” The nurse’s voice sounded impatient as it broke into my thoughts. She was frowning. I wondered how many times she’d said my name. I raised my hand.
“This way, please,” she said, without smiling. I followed her across the corridor to the door with Mr Campbell’s name on it. She showed me in and disappeared.
“Good afternoon, Mrs McAllister.” Mr Campbell came round from behind the desk and shook hands. As at our first meeting, there was the nice smile and the calm manner. “Do sit down, please.” He indicated two chairs side by side at right angles to the desk. The room was very small and stiflingly hot.
“Thank you,” I said as I took a seat. My mouth was dry. My voice sounded weak. I cleared my throat. There was a quiet knock on the door. A nurse entered. She looked friendlier than the one who’d shown me in. She smiled and sat down beside me.
Mr Campbell brought his chair out from behind the desk and sat facing me. He looked down at the file in his hand. “I have the results of the scan
Before I knew it, it was two o’clock and time to drive to Edinburgh. The traffic heading into the city was not too heavy at that time of day, so I didn’t take the by-pass all the way in. It was such a horrible road. I much preferred to approach the city through Musselburgh and Portobello, keeping the sea in view. The sun was out and it was a warm afternoon. The sea sparkled. I threaded through Leith with its new flats, warehouse conversions and trendy bars and restaurants. And soon I was heading west along Ferry Road to the Crewe Toll roundabout and the Western General Hospital. It took me almost as long to find somewhere to park as it had done to drive into the city.
I knew the Western quite well. Tom worked there when he was a junior doctor and it was where my mother had her cancer treatment. I’d accompanied her to some of her appointments. It was still a sprawling, incoherent set of buildings, supplemented nowadays by various portacabins. The breast clinic had moved from where it had been during my mother’s time. It had taken me a bit of time to find it on my previous visit, when I came to have the tests done. This time though, I knew where I was going.
The clinic’s waiting area was cramped and dilapidated. Two rows of mismatched chairs faced each other; many already occupied when I walked in. The reception desk sat across the top of the small space. In the middle was a low table, its grubby surface littered with ancient magazines and empty plastic cups. I informed one of the receptionists of my arrival and was told to take a seat. I managed to find one that had no one sitting on either side.
Across the corridor from the waiting area were several consulting rooms. The doors to these rooms opened from time to time and a patient would emerge, sometimes alone, sometimes accompanied.
It helped pass the time to wonder about the relationship between patient and escort, and what their story was. Sometimes a patient and partner would come out beaming and embracing. Other times a woman would emerge in obvious distress and supported by a nurse. Then there were those who were impossible to read. Had they had good or bad news? And away they would all go, to face their fate.
Then a nurse would call out the name of the next soul awaiting their verdict and sentencing. Each time this happened my heart lurched. Part of me wanted the consultation to be over, but another part wanted to prolong this time of ignorance. What you don’t know can’t hurt you - my mother again.
Up until Robbie came into my house and said who he was, everything was normal. Then in the space of a sentence everything changed. My world shattered, certainty fragmented and fell away.
And now, at the hospital, another potentially devastating sentence could be about to be uttered. But at least I was bracing myself in preparation this time. My mind drifted on and on.
“McAllister, Rosemary McAllister?” The nurse’s voice sounded impatient as it broke into my thoughts. She was frowning. I wondered how many times she’d said my name. I raised my hand.
“This way, please,” she said, without smiling. I followed her across the corridor to the door with Mr Campbell’s name on it. She showed me in and disappeared.
“Good afternoon, Mrs McAllister.” Mr Campbell came round from behind the desk and shook hands. As at our first meeting, there was the nice smile and the calm manner. “Do sit down, please.” He indicated two chairs side by side at right angles to the desk. The room was very small and stiflingly hot.
“Thank you,” I said as I took a seat. My mouth was dry. My voice sounded weak. I cleared my throat. There was a quiet knock on the door. A nurse entered. She looked friendlier than the one who’d shown me in. She smiled and sat down beside me.
Mr Campbell brought his chair out from behind the desk and sat facing me. He looked down at the file in his hand. “I have the results of the scan
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