I accompanied Catherine to an appointment with a physiotherapist at the Queen Elizabeth Hospital on Friday.
As we walked from the waiting room down to her office, the physio turned, introduced herself to me, and asked me my name.
I told her.
And then I and thanked her for asking.
I’ve been to a lot of medical appointments with Catherine over the two and a half years since her metastatic breast cancer diagnosis, and this was, if memory serves, the first time that a doctor, nurse or other professional treated me as anything other than “that guy sitting over in the corner.”
I’m only a bit player in this cancer drama, and I realize that health professionals’ most precious and delicate commodity is human connection; they must, of necessity, ration it out.
But it was awfully nice to feel included, and welcome in the room. I wish it happened more often.