So that's the morning (neurosurgery) appointment out of the way. The routine questions, the routine pokes, prods, pushes, lifts, followed by the expected "Hmmm. Those scans are three years old; I think it's time that you have another, don't you? Of course there's a waiting list, but when it's done I'll see you again."
That's assuming that you haven't retired by then, sir.
And so now lunch. Then the really scary appointment at 2.30, my CBT assessment. I wish they didn't call it an assessment, because I'm now convinced that I'll fail it.