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   Seven o'clock on Monday morning saw me walking into the hospital reception with my shoulder bag ready for an overnight stay. Within thirty minutes I had swapped my clothes for a hospital gown and was trolley bound for the theatre suite. The anesthetist asked various questions, to all of which I replied no, and then stuck a line into the back of my right hand. A cold sensation spread up my arm and the lights went out.
    I woke up in the recovery room with a nurse calling my name and, shortly afterwards, was wheeled back to the general surgical ward. The rest of the day and night was spent asleep apart from the regular blood pressure and temperature checks. After breakfast on the following day a doctor came to see me and made an appointment for ten days time to review the biopsy results. I asked a couple of questions concerning the tumour and was told it was in fact presenting itself as an ulcer, but the exact type would only be known from the pathology results. It was suggested that I bring my wife with me to hear the biopsy results. Once again the lack of optimism in the replies was not reassuring for me.

    The next ten days and nights were obviously stressful. I kept myself as busy as possible to occupy my thoughts and avoid feeling too anxious about the future. Friends and relatives kept my spirits up with generous helpings of positive thoughts and warm assurances all of which helped me prepare mentally for possible bad news. A couple of days before the results were due, I was called back to the hospital for an MRI scan of my head and neck areas. This was to be the first of several scans made during the next few months. A dye was injected into my arm at one point during the scan to contrast the blood vessels on the image.
      Magnetic Resonance Imaging (MRI) scanners are incredibly noisy during operation , generating a selection of pulsating sounds which magnify the inherent claustrophobia when buried inside. Fortunately, the whole process is entirely physically painless.