Rose and I go back to the Marsden.
It's been a bad weekend - Simon and I both fall back like professionals into the illusion of normal and the days have run on like any other weekend. There has been violin, cricket nets, homework and the X Factor. But there have also been two sleepless nights, a tidal wave of tears and anger and we are both exhausted. It's almost a relief to be with just Rose and doing something - even if it is another bloody scan. I can't even remember what we told her it was for but she's very cool - she knows the drill. We pack snacks and drinks, her DS and her ipod, her reading book and Snuffles and off we go.
This time we see more people that we know - word has spread among the nurses, we bump into the dietitian on the stairs, the physio, and more of the play specialists. Gratifyingly they are all very upset. But Rose and I are fine - in a surreal world of make believe I buy into the routine benignness that I have sold to Rose. She copes fantastically with another canula, an endless wait for the isotope to be injected and then off we go to radiate round Tescos and McDonalds for three hours before the scan. We buy Harvey's Christmas stocking, lots of chocolate and a Bratz annual. We have a really nice time. How sick is that.
I have already decided with Simon that I will try to 'read' the scan as it happens - in Stanmore the first time this was easy. The giant ink splat of black tumour in her right femur was hard to miss and there were no other sites - this time the machine is different, the images are different and the radiographer is acutely aware despite my best efforts at nonchalance that I am watching the screen intently. Rose gets to watch a dvd and lie in a room with Jungle Book characters on the wall - she stays calm until the scanner is almost touching her nose and then starts to cry. A giant sob lodges in my throat and it's suddenly almost too much for us both but then it's over and we're out.
