The experience of my final chick injection varied wildly to that of my friend Tariq, who has gleefully recounted his story several times now in slightly more embellishing ways.

I will not be surprised if he decides to give up his day job and become a motivational speaker and this well rounded story becoming his opening monologue.

Tariq had his injection at his local doctor’s surgery. It was pretty much a routine appointment like these things had become. He was called in and the nurse prepared the medication as he lifted his shirt and lay down on the bench. She light-heartedly apologized for her tunic as she had spilt some of her lunch on it. He didn’t even notice but quipped it must have been quite tasty. She had on one of those blue surgical face masks. He didn’t take it personally – patients are pretty much a filthy bunch after all. He would want to wear a mask too. It was over in less than a minute and nurse Doyin said she would check and let him know when his next injection was due.

“No, this is the last one, I have now finished the course.” He replied.

She looked at the notes for a few seconds. Looking further into the notes, she mentioned that she had done the injection before and didn’t even notice.

“Oh, my word, you are right. How are you celebrating?” She excitedly exclaimed.

He looked sheepish. It had not even crossed his mind to celebrate. 

“You should get some champagne and celebrate. If I had known I might even have got you some.” She laughed.

“Maybe I will sort something out later” He said. He straightened himself out, shook her hand and went on his way.

He got on the bus and then it hit him. Tariq vaguely remembered the nurse from the last injection but was in a different headspace then and had said very little. However this time he couldn’t stop thinking about her, it was more than her genuine enthusiasm, there was something about her.

The mask however made it a 50/50 situation.  

That meant, under the mask could be a moose with a hairy mole extending the other half of her face or a beauty. He just couldn’t remember. This wasn’t something that he normally did, it was against his grain. He decided he was going to turn back and invite her out. If she was a moose then he had a moose as a friend. What is the worst thing that could happen? Call security and throw him out? Mace him? Inject him with a tranquilizer?

It was a ten-minute walk back to the surgery. More than enough time for the competing voices in his head to try to outdo one another. At the reception desk he had to make up some excuse about needing to discuss side effects so he could go back in to see her. It was the longest minute ever. The receptionist was taking too long and asking too many questions. His nervousness felt like the staff behind reception all knew something.

“Yes, you can go back in there, she is in Room 710.” She finally answered.

He knocked on the door and she said come in.

She was sitting on her chair, one foot down and the other flat on the seat, yoga style. 

He said he heard music in his head. I’ve never asked him what type of music. That would just have opened the door to more of his babble. 

She was beautiful. Absolutely stop traffic beautiful. The in person version he gave me included a flurry of hand gestures to make sure not only was I listening but I got the gravity of his opinion.

This is usually where his tone of voice changes, softens even. He is in another place.

Yuk! Fool, get a grip. This is the point I make gagging noises or put a finger in my throat.

“I was on my way home and then I decided to turn back.” He stuttered.

“I just wanted to ask you, if I wasn’t stepping on anyone’s toes, could I take you out to dinner.”

The first time he relayed this story to me I joked that it was not the smartest question, but I was impressed he opened with the dinner card rather than a cheaper drink option. He can be a cheap git and would have loved her to be a fish and salad type of restaurant woman and where they went halves. She could have been an Ivy or Harrods exotic lobster type of restaurant woman and could have starved herself all week for the free meal.

Anyway, I digress. His story.

“Oh my gosh, I wasn’t expecting that.” She gushed.

“I’m sorry but I have a long-term boyfriend already and it’s quite serious.”

“You are so handsome. You have the most beautiful eyes.” She added.

“You are making me blush.” She started fanning herself with her hand.

“You have made my week.” She added.

“Did you look around to see that her previous appointment wasn’t standing in the doorway behind you. Or did she slip herself the remainder of the hormone injection?” Every time, he tells me that part of the story I ask that same question and delight in the abuse I get in return.

He asked for her number to keep in touch but caught himself just as she told him why she couldn’t. Instead, he scribbled his email address on some paper and handed it to her. She smiled and took it.

He left the surgery 10 foot tall, grinning from ear to ear. It lasted well into the next day apparently and hence the motivational talk.

“Best rejection ever.” He constantly adds. This story will eventually embellish into where she calls him back, demanding that he takes her number or she chases after him in the pouring rain, blah blah.

Back to me.

I had my final injection by a nurse who didn’t read all of the ‘Best Way to Treat Your Patient’ book. It was quick, clinical and not particularly friendly. To be fair it didn’t really bother me.

I also didn’t think about celebrating, for no other reason than it never occurred to me. It was only later on that I thought why not. This is not a small milestone, this is massive, but typical of me playing things down as I do. I have had two years of these injections and it’s the final part of the cure.

When the consultant first asked me if I had any side effects from the hormone injection, he told me that I got off lightly compared to some of his other patients. Constant broken sleep and hot flushes, that was my lot. More of an inconvenience than life changing. Some men I have spoken to have a life sentence with hormone treatment and I have heard some horror stories concerning their symptoms. 

I realized that I didn’t want to say it loud.

I am cancer free.

My evening had been looking forward to the steak and kidney pie I had in the fridge. I decided to get some ice cream, bucks fizz and took myself off to the cinema. In the days since this I have also abused the credit card on some new garb.

With my birthday just over a month away and it’s also the anniversary of my initial prostate cancer diagnosis.

I was going to be able to say it out loud, eight years later. I could so easily have not been here today.

I am cancer free.

As they say in Latin, I’m going to celebrate and seize not just the day but everyone of them.