Yesterday I had my second PET scan which should have detected whether I still have live cancer cells in my body or if the two sessions of R-ICE chemotherapy I’ve had so far were enough to do the trick.

PET is a new scan and not available at Barts yet (the hospital I normally go to) so it involved a trip to St Thomas’ hospital across the river from the Houses of Parliament and a few minutes walk from the London Eye. In other words Tourist Central.

Before I could limp through the gauntlet of people posing for photos on Westminster Bridge, I first had to fast for 5 hours because you are only allowed water before the procedure.

When you get to hospital you are injected with a radioactive tracer and left in a semi-dark room to stew for an hour and a half until the tracer is in the right place. You can’t move during that time, and that includes reading or talking, as it can spoil the scan results.

The scan itself takes half an hour and is like a more intensive CT scan. You’ll have seen that kind of scanner on TV, where the patient lies on a bed which moves through the hole in a giant doughnut shaped machine that revolves inside. I think it’s doughnut shaped to remind you just how hungry you are but I could be wrong.

For some strange reason the time flew by. Like when your alarm goes off and you give yourself an extra hour in bed but it seems more like 5 minutes!

I now have to wait for my oncologist Dr Montoto to send me an appointment before I get the results… a couple of weeks at least… but I don’t mind that. I imagine that most guys would be quite eager to see Dr Montoto. She is the kind of tall, long haired, incredibly pretty doctor that inhabits the fantasies of straight boy Loaded readers. Completely wasted on gay boys like myself so I can happily wait for my appointment – especially if it means I can delay any additional chemotherapy I might have to be subjected to.

What I do mind is the incredible way in which the PET scan appointment was double booked with my ‘regular’ CT scan at Barts and I was forced to choose between the two. If I didn’t know better I’d think it was deliberate.

Also the way that no-one answers the phone for a day and half so you can’t let them know you’ll be missing one of your double booked appointments (NHS = ‘No-one Here Son’). Then you look like an inconsiderate asshole when you don’t turn up.

Sometimes you just can’t win.