There it was in black and white - well, black and sludge brown to be precise.

The letter bore the words "From the Department of Medicine for the Elderly" and was tucked away at the bottom of my post.

When I first saw it my reaction was "Hello, the postman is at it again, sending me someone else's mail" and I dealt with all the rest first.

Then I turned to the superscription on the brown envelope looking to see for who it had been intended. "The Department of Medicine for the Elderly" could not be for me, after all, I was only 35 - or was it 65? The last time I looked I was about (mumble, mumble, mumble) and rapidly approaching the next milestone admittedly but surely not one of the folk for whom this department was designed.

But the name and address on the envelope told me a different story. Do they mean me? Yes, they do. It was definitely addressed to me and required me to present myself at the general hospital to have the rule run over me following my recent stay in hospital.

There were very clear instructions as to how to find this department and a map which kindly pointed out there was limited blue badge parking available.

What they did not tell you was the department was at the very top of one of the steepest hills in Brighton! What genius decided the Department of Medicine for the Elderly should be somewhere on a level with Mount Everest I have no idea but just let me say I was surprised not to see the floor littered with near-breathless corpses as I staggered up the steep incline inside the ward after my friend had parked the car in a disabled space.

The parking spaces were facing the wall of the building and posed no problem as we drove neatly into one. The problem came when we wanted to leave and found an ambulance neatly parked across our rear as it unloaded patients who had been transferred from elsewhere. My friend inched backwards and forwards and eventually managed to get through a space which would have posed difficulty for an anorexic mouse.

I must admit I did wonder why that particular department was in that particular position when I do know from experience there are consulting rooms in the relatively flat main building (because I have driven friends there in the past). There must be a good reason for it but I must admit at the moment I can't think of one.

Having said all of that I have to say I could not have had better treatment. It was so nice to talk with a doctor about things of concern without being made to feel you were taking up valuable time which could be used to treat younger people. I also had some papers which needed some input from the consultant and they were dealt with and posted to me within 24 hours.

Needless to say they wanted blood from me - don't they always! The combined hospitals of Brighton and Hove must have enough of my blood to start my own personal bank! One of the penalties for having the problems I had is you have to attend an outpatient clinic once a week to have your blood taken and your treatment tweaked according to how well you are reacting to your dosage. It bears close resemblance to an ant heap which has just been disturbed by a very large foot in a very large boot.

You get a time to attend the following week when you get your weekly report but it is more in hope than in expectation you turn up for a particular time.

There have been moments recently when I have very seriously wondered if there is anyone in the city who is not an outpatient at the Royal Sussex County Hospital. Would anyone like my place?