Where it all came together.

After being called in for a blood test, I was sent back to the waiting area once again. But it wasn’t long before my name was called once more – and this time, I wouldn’t be returning.

I was taken into a curtained cubicle and plonked onto a bed. Truth be told, I can’t really remember what happened after that, or what was said. But I’m fairly certain another round – or two – of bloods were taken. Seriously, after four weeks without anyone even offering, now I was giving blood left, right and centre.

But here’s where my story start to shift. Not just because of the diagnosis I was about to receive, but because from this point, it all turns into a bit of a blur. So you’ll need to bear with me...

After more questions, more blood, and some gentle attempts not to completely freak me out, one of the nurses asked if I’d like someone in with me. And of course, there was only one answer: my mum.

At this stage, I was still mentally preparing for a transfusion and planning how we might travel home the next day.

We’d decided the boat might be the best option. God knows why.

But – perhaps out of caution, or perhaps just trying to spare my dad another wasted credit card payment – Mum held off on booking anything until we knew for certain what was happening.

So we waited, while I sat floating somewhere inside a fog.

The timeline, the details – none of it was clear. Even now, I’m just clinging to fragments.

How long had we spent in that little bay? No idea.

Was I staying the night? It was starting to seem like it.

Was getting a blood transfusion sore? I still had no clue.

Eventually, we were told that a reg doctor from haematology was coming to speak to us.

Okay. Cool. 

To me, this meant absolutely nothing.

To my mum? Alarm bells.

But then again, from the moment I’d entered the acute receiving unit, everything that followed became one big, high-as-a-kite, no-drugs-required, could’ve-told-me-anything blur.

Still, what I do remember from that moment is Dr Gillian.

This woman… well, what can I say?

If you ever need someone to tell you your life is about to change for the absolute worst – she’s your gal.

She was quirky, charismatic, warm, silly. Honestly? She was a pro.

And – no offence to the rest of Team Haem – but I was so glad she was my day one.

However, as with much of that evening, what happened after she arrived was… strange.

One minute, we were just chatting; the next, Ben was being ushered into the cubicle to join us. At that point the air shifted.

Something told me this was it. The moment of truth.

The moment when everything would finally make sense.

I could hear words coming from Dr Gillian’s mouth.

I could see my mum nodding in response.

I could feel Ben tense beside me, his eyes flicking toward me now and then, full of quiet panic.

And despite her never actually saying the words – despite not mentioning any specific diagnosis – I knew what was happening.

I recognised this moment.

I’d seen it in movies. In TV shows.

And now it was like I was the unfortunate star.

I wasn’t present anymore.

I was watching it happen from somewhere else; from someone else’s body.

This wasn’t me. This wasn’t real.

Was she really telling me that all of this… was cancer?