Friday 13th August

We've done three treatments - it's all more life experience for all of us that we'd rather not have but there it is. It's ok - the team are lovely with Rose, the treatment is fast and should be painless but she has to be positioned each day in the exact same spot and her arm is so sore that even with all the morphine in the world at our disposal she cries as she is moved about and measured. And it's a first for me - I can't be with her. There's not been a scanner so far that I haven't been in wearing a variety of fetching lead aprons but this is apparently a definite no-no. I just get a one-way microphone to her and she feels miles away and looks like the most vulnerable little scrap lying on her table clutching Snuffles. She is.

There isn't a single other child there and a single other patient under the age of about 50. Despite endless cheerfulness with Rose and the staff I feel I am about to drown in my own bile and rage.