The past couple of weeks and the next six months can feel like everything centres around me, me. me. After all, it’s my cancer, me who’s having to go through all the tests and treatment, me who might feel rubbish some days and hopefully high as a kite on others.
But spare a thought for everyone else affected by my illness. Not least, of course, my husband, my elderly parents, my younger sister and her partner and indeed all my relatives and friends.
Let’s start with my husband Martin. We’ve been together for more than 28 years and married for 15 of those. I was 24 when we met and he was 33. Like any couple together for that length of time we’ve had our ups and downs. Something very strong has kept us together through all that but it’s easy to take each other for granted. Until one of you is diagnosed with cancer, that is.
Martin came with me to the first consultation with the breast surgeon but was unable to park his taxi around Harley Street. So he sat outside. The doc was delayed for about 45 minutes and I was in with him for 15 to 20 mins. In that time he left me in little doubt that he thought it was cancer. He was not sitting in his usual consulting rooms so he sent me across the road to see his secretary and get all of the tests lined up for early the following week (it was late Friday afternoon by now). So I had to leave the consultation rooms and stick my head through the taxi window and tell Martin: “It doesn’t look good, he’s seems pretty certain it’s the big C,” and then disappear over the road to sit waiting for the secretary while she dealt with a previous patient and numerous phone calls. I was probably there for at least 40 minutes in total, leaving Martin alone in his cab to take in the devastating news I’d just given him. By the time I joined him again he’d gone into overdrive. Did I still want to go away at the weekend (we’d planned to go down to Ramsgate?, our usual weekend retreat, where we had a party to go to on Saturday evening and the grandchildren and friends to see). “You bet I do,” I said. I couldn’t bear the idea of sitting around moping about my situation. A party would be the very best thing to do. Was I ok to pop into the supermarket on the way home? (Martin does all the cooking and his daily routine is to pop into Waitrose and choose something lovely for dinner. Maybe because I have been through this before to an extent (Hodgkins’ Disease when I was 17), I instinctively knew that the only way to cope with this was to carry on as normally as possible until something actually prevented you from doing that.
So we went to the supermarket. And as luck would have it, there was a pop up frock shop right next door! Ok, when I said carry on as normal I didn’t mean that you can’t milk the situation just a tad!! “I’ll just have a browse in this shop while you go to the supermarket dear,” I said angelically. But he knew. Twenty minutes later, I’m in the fitting room with a fab frock on and I hear the door open. “Is my wife here?” a slightly concerned voice says. “Ah, just in time,” I shout, and emerge in said dress. Well he’s hardly going to refuse me, is he?
Since that day he’s been absolutely wonderful. Loving, caring, strong. He took me away for a lovely weekend to Brighton this weekend before the treatment starts. He’s staying positive with me. But underneath all that is a man who is hurting beyond belief. He knows how tough it’s going to be for us both to accept the changes to my body that will come about after the surgery. Neither of us will entertain the idea that I won’t get through all of this. But that doesn’t mean that at the back of his mind the whole time is the nagging fear that maybe his mate, his friend, his “secretary” (well we’re all good at some things and poor at others), might not always be with him.
Luckily, this is the modern world. No longer is the male partner ignored in all of this. Everyone has asked after Martin too. Our male friends, far from running a mile at the thought of having to talk about this, have all hugged me and been there for Martin. People are at least aware that men have feelings, very strong ones at that. But for all that, much of what is to come is going to be all about ME. And that won’t be easy on those I love.
Jo, keep this up! And teach Mr Ross (Marilyn) how to use the phone!