It was only 7.15am and I had already endured a short car ride, walk to the station, an over-ground train, an under-ground train and another walk to UCLH. I can't speak for my Mum, but I was definitely ready for bed and my day had only just begun.
I sat in an unfamiliar reception area, slightly dazed, waiting for my name to be called. "Alexandra Spain, would you like to come through". I was showed to a bed in a children's ward, as being 17 at the time was an awkward age as I was just above the children's age criteria but just below the adults. I changed into some more comfortable pyjama's and attempted to get some more sleep or at least peacefully shut my eyes. I then discovered that this wasn't going to be possible. Children, and I'm talking small babies here, were crying around me. Although I couldn't see them with my eyes, their painful cries made me feel uncomfortable and saddened me to think that such young children were most likely suffering an awful disease when their lives had barely begun.
"Are you here to have it removed?" The nurse asked me.. I wished. I knew I had a long road ahead of me towards recovery and I would have done anything to fast forward time and be at the point where my portacath could be removed. Unfortunately, I didn't own a time machine. So there I was, patiently waiting to be taken down to theatre for an operation I wasn't even slightly prepared for. Queue the portacath.
