More than just a bag lady

Last Thursday I had an appointment in London with a private colorectal surgeon. But that’s not really the start of the story; for that we have to go back 4 weeks earlier when I ended up in the clinic of Mr E, the surgeon in Nottingham.  I had received a NHS text reminding me of an appointment at the Treatment Centre in Nottingham. Thing was I didn’t have an appointment in my diary, nor did I have a letter. But I assumed that I had either misplaced the letter or forgotten to write the appointment in my diary (or both) so turned up on the said date. Usually I see my gynaecology team at the Treatment Centre every 3 months for an injection that puts me into chemical menopause to manage my endometriosis. I couldn’t remember when I had last had my injection but the 3 month mark had to be approaching so I assumed that the appointment must be for that. But when I went to the clinic they had no details of an appointment for me that day. It was only when I got my phone out to show them the text