You don't die from a broken heart...

...you only wish you did.

I know this to be true as I am still alive to write this for you and yes, I have wished I could be with Steve, whatever it takes. 

The past few days have been tough.  I mentioned a few days ago the anniversary of Steve being admitted to hospital.  One year ago today he was discharged from hospital.  He was discharged following an appointment with a Consultant Neurosurgeon.

The meeting was at a different hospital, the one near our home so, we collected Steve's belongings and drove over to the hospital.  Steve's Mum had decided she wanted to go too, even though Steve didn't want that, (he just didn't want the fuss), he was beyond putting up an arguement and just accepted it.

We waited outside the ward for our appointment.  A very secure ward with restricted doors etc so only authorised personnel were allowed in.  We were shown to an office and asked to wait.  Steve was sat alongside me gripping my hand tightly, he was SO scared but put on a brave face.

The Consultant entered the room, a friendly looking older gent closely followed by a nurse, in uniform but holding a leaflet.  One glance at the leaflet and I saw the word "Macmillan" across it.  My heart sunk and I guessed what might be coming.  She placed the leaflet face down on the table next to her.  It was too late, I had seen it and Steve had too.

The meeting seemed a bit of a blur to Steve, he engaged with the consultant but although he heard the words he didn't remember.  I had to go over it again for him when we got home.

The consultant told us that at present the only diagnosis he could give was that it was a cystic tumour.  This meant that it is a tumour which is of indeterminable substance.  He couldn't say if it was cancer or not and would not be drawn to make a comment as to his opinion of it.

The tumour appeared, from the scans, to measure around 3cm by 5cm, around the size of a large egg.  He showed us the scan and we could see how large it looked, it seemed to take up almost a quarter of the space his brain was occupying.  It explained the headaches.

He told Steve that he would be admitted to hospital the following week for major brain surgery and that he would be performing it.  He explained the procedure, called debulking and explained the risks, death from anaesthetic, death from complications death from etc etc.  We asked about the alternative, it wasn't very attractive, it was death. 

It was odd that he knew this tumour could kill Steve but didn't know what it was.  With hindsight I think he probably had a pretty good idea what it was but wouldn't commit until absolutely sure. 

Steve asked about out holiday, remember we were due to go on holiday early in November for 3 weeks.  All he would say is that he can't advise one way or another until the biopsy has been done.  He said if it is benign then a holiday may be just the thing he needs to relax and recuperate, if it is malignant then further treatment would continue as soon as possible to provide him with the best possible chance.

As a young, fit and healthy man he said Steve had a very good chance of making a full recovery.  He did say though that he could expect to feel tired for around six months as brain surgery can affect energy levels for quite some time.

The rest of the day we were numb.  We were grateful to be reunited at home but we were numb.

Twelve months on from that and I feel numb again.  I am brutally aware of what happened next and of my current situation but I'm managing to stay relatively composed (almost).  I cant think of very much else at the moment but I am trying to be strong.  Steve was and remained so thoroughout his journey.  I can't call it an illness as he refused to let it make him ill. 

Stephen showed more courage than I ever thought imaginable.  He called me his rock.  He was mine too.  His courage and determination was a constant inspiration to me and still is. For that I am grateful and always will be.

Robbed!

I have just had an exchange of texts with a friend and it has made me realise something quite strange and I will share it with you.

Even though it was Stephen who was diagnosed with Cancer last September and his fight with it ended in June of this year my fight with Cancer is continuing. 

Don’t get me wrong, I have not been diagnosed with Cancer and as far as I am aware I am well, apart from being overweight and not exercising enough I reckon I am OK but, my life is still being ruled by Cancer.

Simple things which I used to take for granted now take some consideration.  The thought of doing them makes me feel sick.  It’s difficult to explain but, what has triggered me off on this train of thought tonight is work, (again).

I received an email from them, basically letting me know what’s going on in work and asking me to go in at some point.  All that seems fair enough but the line “...it needs to start one way or the other”, has really got to me.  Yeah, I do need to go back to work, I know that, as I said before bills still need paying and you don’t get a cash windfall when your partner dies but I feel like I am being goaded in to work, like I have to succumb to their might.  In reality I have to, I have no choice and it tears me apart inside. 

What hurts more is what feels like a complete apathy toward my loss.  Yeah the words are right, but they are empty, they are regurgitated text book stuff because that’s what the HR handbook says they should say.  Maybe one day they will understand but, how many people will be made to feel like this before they do.

Cancer though is still making my life horrible.  Cancer has made me like this because Cancer is what caused Steve’s death. 

I shared something with my friend tonight which I had not considered before but, something she said crystallised the whole thing for me. 

Cancer has, in part, robbed me of my confidence.  I feel stupid at the thought but I feel it is true.  I used to be outgoing and cheerful etc but now I am not.  I plan to avoid busy places.  I go to the shop when it is quietest, I avoid people and situations and I also avoid the phone, not friends but I avoid paperwork type stuff, car insurance was done online to avoid speaking to people and telephone banking sends a shiver down my spine.

Before Steve died nothing bothered me, being alone they do, it sounds feeble, lame even but, that’s it, Cancer has changed me, changed me a lot. 

I will go in to the office tomorrow, the thought is making me feel sick and I feel strangely nervous, perhaps a little like the first day of school but I need to do it.  As I said I have no choice.  Cancer does that you know, it takes choices away. 

Cancer took Steve’s choices away and he hated that.  It took our choice to have a holiday away and it took our choice to socialise and lead a normal life away.

We lead as normal a life as possible but, we were stopped from doing things, seeing people and being carefree by limitations caused by medication, treatment, fatigue, infection risk and good old common sense.

I guess I ought to stop there, there is so much more to say but it won’t be beneficial to take the lid off those boxes and unleash the contents here so, until tomorrow.......

Goodnight,
Mark