The results were in. Now all I had to do was decide whether to go and get them. They wouldn't tell me over the phone, despite my rather pathetic begging. It wasn't done, it wasn't their procedure. It had to be done face to face.

I doubted that good news would have to be done face to face. If it was good news surely they would have said, "It's good news, you don't have to worry any more, you don't have it."

Because that was easy. I would be delighted, of course, and the person on the other end of the phone would be happy to have made my day. But telling me I did have it was much harder. It required someone who was used to this sort of thing, who knew just what to say and how to say it. Nothing against the receptionist or whoever it was on the phone, but it wasn't her job to tell people they were dying. So they told people to come in instead.

The thing is, I wasn't sure I wanted to know. After my initial anger and disappointment, I was pleased that I didn't know for sure. I might be all right. So why should I go in and find out? Wouldn't it be better - healthier - for me to just stay here and never know? The mind is a powerful thing; if I could convince myself I was well, maybe I would be.

But it wasn't just me. My husband, daughter, parents. Everyone I knew. They all needed to know, for some reason. So my choice is this: go in and find out or stay here and never know. I know what I'm doing. It's just better this way.