Dear Jeremy Hunt,

I didn’t sleep well last night. I was nervous, anxious about what was going to happen the next day. I’m not great with needles, never mind scalpels. But I also knew that I was in the hands of professionals, who would do absolutely everything they could to make me better.

I was diagnosed with skin cancer in early October. It’s been a stressful few months, because a cancer diagnosis, even with an excellent prognosis like mine, is terrifying. It was hard to be at the mercy of the NHS waiting lists for different appointments in different hospitals with different specialists.

But at last, today was the day. I would have surgery, and after that I would be able to focus on recovering and putting all of this behind me. I would be able to get back to my PhD again – I’m due to submit that very soon. I’m getting married later this year, and I look forward to planning the wedding and trying on wedding dresses. Life feels a little like it’s on hold until this cancer is dealt with.

It’s quite a big operation, and it’ll take a few weeks to recover. Last week, four months since my GP first referred me and three months after being diagnosed, I heard that I would be having surgery soon. I was worried, but mostly really relieved that it would all be over soon. I only heard a few days in advance, so it was quite a dash to get everything sorted. My colleagues have been amazing in organising cover for me at such short notice. My fiance had to take time off work, too. So his colleagues have had to be equally wonderful.

This morning I got up very early and made my way to the hospital. I saw nurses, and the surgeon, and the anaesthetist. There were boxes to tick and forms to sign. They drew the markings for surgery on me, and I was put in a gown and given wristbands with my name and allergies on them. The most suitable vein for the IV was found. They went through all the possible risks in detail, which is of course a good thing, but it didn’t help me relax.

Hospitals can be intimidating places and it’s stressful to be at the mercy of others, even when they are the amazing people in the NHS. I can’t emphasise enough how much respect they deserve for working in the circumstances they’re put in, and they remain not only impressively professional, but understanding, calm and kind.

But at last, all the waiting was over, I was all prepared, the only thing left to do was to actually have the surgery. And after all that, Mr Hunt, after all that: I was sent home, because there wasn’t a bed available.

The winter pressures on the health system – including flu, which can exacerbate underlying conditions to the point where urgent care is needed – had brought the hospital to a near standstill. Only life-threatening conditions were being treated in the theatres. Even cancer operations, like mine, had to be shelved.

I’ve been pencilled in for February, but have been warned the same thing could happen again. And I’ve seen the headlines – people with more urgent problems than me are being sent home, sometimes repeatedly. I read yesterday about a young child who had faced five cancellations.

Mr Hunt, I know you didn’t cancel my operation yourself. And I know that hospitals sometimes have to prioritise. But my local hospital didn’t get into this state simply because of the season.

You keep telling us how funding for the NHS has increased. What you don’t mention is that, since 2010, the rate of increase has been far below the long-term average increase in health spending, at a time of massively rising demand. Our health system is like an old building: it’s creaking and shaking in the bad weather because the owners haven’t bothered to keep it in good repair. That is something you are responsible for.

Long term I’ll be OK, because I’m sure that eventually there will be a bed available. I’ll have a few more sleepless nights, though.

Congratulations on keeping your job, Mr Hunt. I’m sure you’ll continue to do it ruthlessly. I hope you sleep well.

Yours,

Carly

• Carly O’Neill is working on a PhD