It’s a Friday but I ring the number on the letter anyway and surprisingly get a human being from the appointments team. I explain that I can’t get away and won’t be able to get down on 2 May. Our next chance of going anywhere is the planned short break we have in July. I explain about about the challenge of getting away from the business and the ferry problems and that things take time to organise to allow me to get away. The staff are sympathetic, and a new appointment is made for July. I then get calls from a Glasgow number which I deliberately miss as I think it’s spam.
Eventually, on the Monday I answer my mobile – someone is clearly trying to get a hold of me. It’s one of the breast care nurses. I have to go to Glasgow and they want me in quickly – they have seen something. I explain about how difficult it is to get off of the island and away from work – cancelling guests is not on (reputational damage on one side, everywhere else full on the other) and I need time to plan things. Two hours later, the phone rings again – the same nurse. “You must come down – I’ve shown your slides to our senior radiographer and there is something suspicious”. We will definitely be doing a biopsy so you must come down. Oh hell.
Timing ferry, bus and hotel
I go through our diary and phone a friend who can help my husband with breakfast the morning I am away. He will do the room changeovers and meet the guests as they arrive. I can go down on the Sunday after breakfast service and get the biopsy on the Monday. That’s an overnight stay in Glasgow. Is that possible? We agree I’ll be in at 8.45am as I need to get the 12.22 train back to Oban. I book foot passenger-only tickets and a train ticket, making seat reservations. I book a city centre Premier Inn, and still in probably fairly serious denial, plan a little Sunday afternoon shopping and an evening meal with an old friend and colleague.
Four days before I set off, one of the other Cal Mac ferries fails to leave dry dock on time. Our Big Ferry is called away to that island to help out, leaving us with our regular Small Ferry and another Small Ferry drafted in to help out. Capacity is down by about 50% on a daily basis. My ticket for leaving the island as a foot passenger is amended from the 11am sailing to the 10am sailing. I can’t do that – I have to get the bus as I won’t be able to drive after my biopsy. I telephone immediately and am re-instated on the 11am sailing meaning I can get the bus. On the Friday, my return ticket on the Monday is amended from the 4pm which connects with our last island bus at 5pm, to the 6.30pm. Again, I phone. This time there is no room. I invoke the “urgent medical protocol” and fortunately the Cal Mac staff member has heard of it and ticks the right box. I’m allocated a space. I suspect I have just bumped someone off the four o’clock.
In Glasgow after nine hours
On the Sunday the bus connects to the ferry and I’m glad I brought my flask of coffee. The Small Ferry is sitting on the pier when I arrive. It has no services beyond a vending machine which is often broken. The boat is packed, and I get my book out. Next problem is getting to the train. None of the long-distance stuff lines up and there is a very small window to get off the ferry and round to the train. I am prepared! For safety, foot passengers are held back until the cars are all away. I approach a crew member, “Is it okay if I run off before the cars move, as I have to get the train?”. He grins, picks up my bag and takes me to the very front ahead of the cars. As soon as the ramp is down, I’ll be off and away. An American gentleman appears with a huge suitcase next to me. Can I help him get to the train? Sure, follow me. I end up following him as he puts his foot down and steams on under my directions.
The train is packed and, in a fluke, the American has the reserved seat next to me. We chat a bit – it’s brilliantly warm and sunny and although it’s a long train ride down to Glasgow in a hot carriage, it’s also a beautiful one. At Crianlarich, our train couples up with the Fort William train. Something happens and 45 minutes later we are still there. The next two hours we stop and start moving a couple of miles each time. My American has missed his flight from Glasgow to Dublin, so I kill the boredom by trying to get him a new flight. He emails me from Dublin the next day so I succeeded. The train driver is clearly frustrated and can’t explain the problem. Finally, five hours into a 3.5-hour journey we stop at Dumbarton where the train is finally cancelled. A Scot Rail team are on hand and divert passengers for Edinburgh in one direction and those to Glasgow in another one. I arrive at Glasgow Central at 6.15pm, six hours after leaving Oban and nine hours after leaving home. I am hot and tired. I run up the hill to the hotel, grab a quick shower and head out to meet my friend for dinner. I order a cocktail.
Random acts of bureaucracy
It is the next day that I am sitting in George Square. Fortunately, the journey back is much easier. But there is still a niggle. My train ticket has been loaded onto my Scot Rail app. The ticket didn’t download itself and at Queen Street, I realise that I have a problem. How can I get through the barrier? I go to the ticket desk and ask the man what to do. He laughs and says, “Oh those don’t work. Just talk to the man at the gate and he’ll let you through.” That was fine. But can I access ‘delay and repay’ for the previous day’s journey. Not a hope. Without the unique reference number from the ticket that didn’t download, Scotrail won’t process a ‘delay, repay’. Note to self – get a proper old-fashioned ticket…
I start learning a new medical language and am now in the hands of the NHS and its systems. After a biopsy, it takes about a week for the test results to be reported to the medics. These are discussed at a multi-disciplinary meeting and normally given back with the diagnosis in a face-to-face meeting with the consultant a couple of days later. Our island falls into a Paisley postcode, so in a random act of bureaucracy and whimsy, our Breast Care Centre is at the Royal Alexandra Hospital in Paisley. It’s not close to us at all and involves changing buses and trains in Glasgow or driving down and across the Erskine Bridge.
Dealing with diagnosis
It’s Friday 24 May, I have convinced everyone that I am not going to Paisley for my results and have nagged for them to be telephoned to me. The (lovely) consultant calls me in the morning. Yes, I have breast cancer but it’s an early catch and should be a straightforward lumpectomy, followed up by radiotherapy. We agree to pencil in my surgery for the first week in July so that I can get some help for the B&B and my poor husband who won’t be able to do much to help other than keep the business going. Before that’s all confirmed, the consultant wants to have a better look and has booked an MRI for me at 11am on Monday morning in Paisley. I fall about laughing. In the summer months, we can’t get on and off the island at short notice due to the volume of tourist traffic. On top of that, the Big Ferry has been taken away again to cover a festival on Islay, leaving us with those two Small Ferries again.
In the end, we aim for 10 June, which is confirmed the following week. Unfortunately, they can’t get my MRI booked in Paisley. My MRI is at the Inverclyde hospital just outside Gourock. After the MRI and my pre-op assessment, I’ll jump back in the car and head over to the RAH and meet the consultant face-to-face. Needless to say, that’s another night in a Premier Inn. And a ferry ticket – but the first three sailings on the Sunday morning are already fully booked on 9 June, even though I’m booking on 24 May. I opt for the 1.30pm sailing as that means I get the Big Ferry. If it’s still there… Other ferries continue to break down. And after that train trip, I’m definitely going in the car, especially as I’m hospital hopping.
In terms of the process, surgery is generally a day one, and as an Islander, I can stay in overnight either side of that, if I ask for it. Of course, they may keep me in anyway depending on how things go. Otherwise, the advice is to stay close by. As I’ll probably be in first thing in the morning, that means two more nights in a Premier Inn, one before surgery and one after. I’ve started googling pyjamas and dressing gowns as I feel that I can treat myself.
Uncertainties of treatment
I will not be able to work after the surgery and will be away for the radiotherapy as that’s done in Glasgow at a specialist centre. Husband and I have been chatting about how to manage all this as business owners. Our busiest months are May and June. The reason for suggesting an early July surgery is that we have already booked a few days off in our reservation system so that we could get a rest. We can extend that rest period by cancelling four bookings, so we contact another local B&B who agrees to take them. They all respond positively, and we’ve just moved on £1500 of income. We decide to keep booking the rest of the season as there are so many unknowns and these timelines could still change.
But we will need help. If we can’t we’ll have no choice but to take a hit on our income and go to three rooms for the back end of the season. In the meantime, I try and find someone who will come in and help. I think I’ll be okay to continue doing the paperwork, the bookings and answering the phones. But I will be physically incapable of changing a bed after surgery and a scant six or eight weeks later, I will be in Glasgow for however many weeks of radiotherapy they decide I need. But for the time being, these are the known unknowns. The results of the MRI will determine what and when comes next.
Part one of this article linked below:
