Shakespeare Challenge: love & hate

Cancer and Haematology Centre, Oxford (Entrance Hall)

If I’m going to post a blip every day, then I cannot ignore this place. It looms so large in our life. The need to come here, twice a year, dictates our social calendar. So many plans put on hold until this day is over with. And today be the day.

We have a love/hate relationship with the place - we hate coming here and love leaving (usually). The tension and anxiety gradually build in the days and weeks beforehand - only to dissipate in minutes if the news is good. Or - at the very least - not bad. Anyone who is a member of the Global Cancer Family will understand this. And - perhaps rather bizarrely - I realise I’m more nervous about taking photos in here than I am about what the oncologist is going to say. I guess that’s what Blip does to you.

Cancer cells don’t play fair. I wouldn’t trust them in a game of poker. In a Western, they'd be the player in the frock coat and frilly shirt. And the black hat. I’d be the naive, scruffy cowpoke, just in off a cattle drive with 3 months pay in my back pocket (but not for long). You get the picture.

The bad guys first turned up 8 years ago. It was a bit messy - more Sam Peckinpah than John Ford (who, incidentally is my favourite Western movie director. In 2012, I achieved a boyhood dream and stood in John Ford’s shoes in Monument Valley. Some photos here).

The sheriff ran them out of town and they disappeared for a while. Then 4 years ago (almost to the day) they rode back in, bold as brass. Did more damage and then disappeared again. But we’re not sure if they’ve really high-tailed it out of here, or if they’re hiding in the old barn at the edge of town. We’ve looked everywhere. But they’re pesky varmints. They can make themselves really, really small. So small that the good sheriff can’t even see them with his new £500,000 looking-glass. So we keep coming.

The waiting room is almost always full of couples - or rather - pairs. As many older children with elderly relatives as there are spouses. Or pairs of friends. We while away the time making bad jokes or trying to spot which one has ‘it’. The ‘couples/pairs’ thing is significant - Anniemay and I share this disease; we both have cancer - I have the symptoms and she has the consequences. It binds us together as surely as our marriage vows.

The building is quite attractive - even though there are rooms full of death-ray machines that zap and burn and other rooms where they drip-feed poison into veins - the decor is rather tasteful. A lot of pastels and a lot of artwork. They’ve spent money on the place. This is no third-rate, hick town barn, that’s for sure.

There’s a glass water-fall at the entrance to the bit that matters (see above. In keeping with the artsy decor, I used an artsy effect). Even in a place like this there is room for beauty - they try to repair the soul as well as the body. A grand piano stands in the foyer for the use of patients and staff. You can just sit there and tinkle the ivories if you feel so moved - before they tinkle with yours. Perhaps that’s why we keep coming.

I was asked to take part in a clinical trial. I said yes, but I did wonder about it afterwards.

Clinical Trial (or trust me I’m a doctor)

"Would you like to volunteer?
A chance for fame and glory
Just take this pill
Say if you’re ill
Or if you’re hunky dory"

“What about the risks?” I said
“Say it turns out bad?”
I guess my fears
Fell on deaf ears
“I’m a doctor – are you mad?”

I can’t tell if he told the truth
I can’t tell if he lied
Though he did opine
“ the rats were fine”
(except the ones that died)

And today? No sign of cancer. We’ll check again in October. We leave with a hop and a skip and rush home because the Blip-clock is ticking.