Cancer: I'm living proof why we need to pay NHS staff a decent wage – Susan Morrison

After meeting wonderful, dedicated and intelligent NHS staff on a picket line in London, Susan Morrison returns to discover her scan for cancer is clear
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The day after my recent birthday, I fell off the Caledonian Sleeper into that there London. Industrial action was brewing across from Euston. Junior doctors were out waving placards and demanding to get paid a decent whack for saving our lives. Well, I thought, I’ve got time to spare, I’ll pop across and show solidarity.

Picket lines have changed since my youth. The days of big burly blokes in donkey jackets standing around warming themselves at oil drum braziers have clearly passed. Well, it was roasting hot for one thing, so neither jacket nor naked flame were required, and secondly, I’m not even sure where you get second-hand oil drums anymore.

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These young people were wonderful, dedicated and intelligent. Let's pay them like we need them. Which we do. If we need some dosh to cover the bill, let's get some tax off those nom-dom people who move money offshore. You know, like that nice lady who’s married to the Prime Minister did for a while.

Mere minutes later, I was nearly in need of the services of a junior doctor. I admit, I was slightly lost and doing that ultimate tourist thing of just stopping dead in the street to check my phone for directions. It is possible that I was pavement-adjacent, rather than actually being on the pavement, when the taxi swept regally around a corner and nearly hit me. Even I was impressed by my cat-like leap to safety. Honestly, that black cab just about grazed me.

You‘ll never guess who that taxi driver had in the back seat. Well, it looked like Andrew Lloyd Webber. I know! I should have let him hit me. I mean, he wasn’t going very fast. I reckon the injury lawyers at HowInjuredDoYouWantToBe.com could have squeezed a couple of grand out for a run-over foot and a bruise or two.

My London adventures ended on the train home. First Class. Well, it was still my birthday, in a way. And on the following day, I knew I had another appointment with another doctor, my wonderful oncologist. She would have the results of my scan. She did. It was clear.