the Day World Fell Out of My Bottom

The blows came in hard and sure, and each one found its mark. I was immediately left reeling, dazed, confused and nauseated. This was September 1989 and I was sitting in Northampton General Hospital in a Doctor's office. I had just been told that I had Non-Hodgkin Lymphoma, a type of cancer, and that it was in its final stage: stage four, that there was not a lot they could do for me and that I might only live for another five years. I was twenty five years old. The Doctor's delivery of the news was brutal and without compassion. I was summarily dismissed and told to expect a letter in the post. To the Doctor I was just another statistic on a medical chart. Twenty-three years later I'm still a statistic on a medical chart and a great big anomaly.