Sunday, 24 November 2019

An Impactful Week

Our dramatic week began with a car accident and ended with a visit to my oncologist to get the results of my latest cancer surveillance scan. T was driving home from work and stationary on the M2, queuing to get onto the Westlink in Belfast. An elderly driver whacked into the left rear of her car. She was jolted backwards and sideways, but thankfully suffered no serious injury. The elderly man got out of his badly damaged car and wandered over to her. She wound down the window but he just collapsed in floods of tears. Fearful for his safety on the motorway, she called the police.

The police arrived quickly and sorted things out very effectively. The elderly man admitted responsibility for the accident. His car was a write-off. T’s was badly damaged but just about driveable. After they made sure she was okay, she was escorted along the Westlink by two police cars with blue lights flashing. When she got home she was exhausted but unhurt. The next morning she had a sore shoulder and bruised ribs. I wanted her to go to hospital for a check-up, but she wasn’t keen.

Her car was a mess. The rear bumper was bent and hanging off. The rear side panel was badly caved in and one rear wheel looked wonky. We took photos and sent them to a mechanic friend. He said that it looked like the car had suffered structural damage and warned us that it could be written off. We were shocked because the car was only six years old. Indeed, we had just spent almost £2000 on new timing belt, water pump, radiator, tyres and shock absorbers. The work on the car had been completed the day before the accident.

The insurance company agreed to provide a courtesy car. T’s car would be taken away for assessment of the damage and the cost of repairs. We read up about write-offs and learnt that if a car is repairable but written-off because the repair costs are too high (as a proportion, possibly 50%, of the book value of the car) you can buy it back from the insurance company. But you shouldn’t go down this road without an independent professional opinion on the extent of the damage and the cost of repairs. We called the proprietor of a local body-shop and he agreed to come and check the car over the next morning. We were keen to hear his verdict, but he didn't turn up. The day after a wee man from Belfast came in a low loader. He delivered a shiny new courtesy car and T’s poor damaged car was dragged away.  

Several hours later we were sitting in the Bridgewater Suite of the Cancer Centre awaiting a different call. A nurse escorted us to the doctor’s office. It was the Registrar instead of the Consultant. This was a good sign. He began, as usual, by asking me how I felt. As I replied, I looked at the printed page he had taken from the file in front of him. The scan report was about three-quarters of a page of writing. This was a bad sign.

He smiled. Your scan report is fine, he said. We gasped with relief. He gave me a copy. The report was long and detailed, comparing my recent scan to the one done in May. It concluded with the key words - ‘stable appearances’. I had now been clear of cancer for 3 years and one month. Despite the car problem, we could go home and sleep a little more easily.

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