Waiting

I’m sitting on yet another hard, plastic, hospital chair. Thus time waiting whilst P has an operation to remove c70cm of intestine, including a 2.5cm tumour. It’s been suggested to me (with emphasis) that I might like to go home. Or go shopping. Or go to a coffee shop (this is Whitechapel but I guess Starbucks has even got here (not that I’ve seen one)). The consultant had said I could sit outside theatre whilst he had his op - but the place the nurse (reluctantly) indicated is some way away. So I won’t know when he comes out. They will call me, but not necessarily as soon as they finish. I cannot imagine whiling the time away, shopping- even if there was anywhere nearby to shop. I am keeping a firm grip on my nerves, my hopes and my expectations.

Then - assuming it all goes well (and I AM assuming that) - he’ll be in hospital for up to a week. It could be another fortnight before we find out whether he’ll need “further treatment” (chemo). The waiting is interminable - every time I think we’re getting to a point where we’ll have enough information to make (or break) plans, they whip the goalposts away, re-siting them on the far horizon.

Some days it feels unreal. Some days it feels like it was ‘just’ a bad dream. And some days it feels like we’re stuck inside the bad dream.

The C word

Thank you all for your words of support.

We’ve been very carefully prepared for a diagnosis of cancer – they’ve mentioned it’s “sinister”, that’s it’s a “growth of cells”, that an oncologist will be present.  And we have that diagnosis tomorrow, alongside the treatment plan.  At least we’ll know what we have to deal with.  His GP has said, today, that it “may include an operation” – and my research has said it’s likely to be an operation and radiotherapy. 

That’s for the cancer – he has more tests to come on his heart but nothing until the end of this month and then halfway through April.  So it can’t be that bad then (crosses fingers).  

I just hope that the cancer isn’t an aggressive form and they found it early and they can treat it.

The important thing is that he’s home.  I know the op will mean a hospital stay and I guess I’ll deal with that when we get there – I’ll be so desperate to get rid of the cancer that I’ll focus on that.  Suddenly life feels very fragile.  He’s tough and optimistic and I am (almost) sure he’ll get through this – but I had thought being separated (by death) would be a long, long way into the future and now I’m having to think about how that would be.  I am not sure I’d survive it.  I’m not sure I’d want to.

The eating is going a bit haywire.  I’ve gone from not eating anything to wanting to eat chocolate all the time.  I’ve had a 4 day break from the diet and have put on 3lbs so I need to focus: it’s not going to make me feel any better if my weight suddenly soars.  It’s difficult to reconcile the discipline of dieting with a ‘carpe diem’ feeling.  On Saturday we had fizz and wine and vin santo.  Normally I’d have two glasses of wine or one glass and a G&T.  I wouldn’t ordinarily have pudding – but I made biscotti (which I’m totally doing again – very satisfying).  I ate a LOAD of crisps.  But I can’t eat my way out of this – it’s just that the feelings of panic are very intertwined with urges to eat