The world keeps turning
On Coping #1
I was at the back of the house sweeping leaves from the paving when she called me.
The kids were at school.
It’s not good news baby
she said
her voice wobbling.
.
I steadied myself with the brush.
.
Months before
there had been blood.
I’d been fearing the worst whilst hoping for the best.
Now we had an appointment with the Colorectal Surgeon.
-
Somehow the worst you can imagine is just a general sense of dread.
What you’re unprepared for is the devastating power of specific detail.
The primary tumor
the Surgeon told us a week later as we sat gripping each other’s hands in his office
was in her bowel.
.
Primary tumor?
.
It was not unlike the moment 9 years earlier when we sat in a different department of the same hospital for the 12 week scan and the nurse pointed out Baby Number 1.
If there’s number 1, that must mean…
Yes, there's a number 2. A second baby. Twins.
.
And yes, a second tumour.
And a third.
And a fourth.
In her liver.
And possibly in her lungs.
.
Then there are words the mundanity of which you never imagined could cause your heart such acute pain.
Stage 4.
Spread.
Survival rate.
.
The next hour is incessant crying: the painful price you must pay for loving this other human being.
.
Eventually, you leave the hospital. Because you have to.
.
The train is still leaving at five past two.
The kids still need picking up from school.
The dog still needs walking.
Dinner still needs making.
.
Time has stopped.
.
But the world keeps turning.
Next > Read On Coping #2: The truth hurts