Birthday from Hell

As I've said elsewhere, I was told May 2007 that I had just 3-4 months to live. If I was very strong, I might survive six months. We told my partner's sister, but, at her request, did not tell their mother. Shortly afterwards, just as we were about to go away for the weekend with his sister, she got very shirty with me and finally said we couldn't go, and it came out that their mother had some health problems - in fact had had for a number of years, but Sister had decided not to tell us (although various friends knew). She didn't want me to tell my partner, but I said that, as it was his mother too, I would tell him gently. This I did and he was calm about it. Meanwhile, as his sister had not told their mother I only had 3-4 months, she has not been able to be told that I have survived much longer (I'm writing this at the end of April 2008) than expected. I imagine the tension has just been building up and up for her, poor lady. OK, fast forward to last week. I had a joint celebration with my closest friend whose birthday is a week before mine. We invited various friends to a smart bar, ordered food and drink, and had a lovely time, laughed a lot, hugged each other and took lots of photos. My partner arrived later. I did not realise that he had had no lunch. He is 50, so should be able to look after himself. However, five years ago, he got beaten up badly outside our house through being drunk. He should not really drink alcohol at all because of anti-epilepsy drugs he is on. He started drinking and, when a friend invited us back to her (lovely posh) house, we took a bottle and got a taxi. Her boyfriend arrived. We ordered a takeaway. Suddenly, my partner fell face first into the curry. (Beetroot, if you want the Technicolour version). My friend suggested that we stay the night there: as we both need tablets, her partner drove me to fetch night stuff/tablets. When we got back, they tried to help my partner up the stairs. He collapsed, and my friend dialled 999 (he does suffer from epilepsy and we were worried that if he could not take his tablets, he would have a seizure). My friend took me upstairs as I was feeling very stressed (and sick of him having done this yet again at my friends' houses). However, as the paramedic decided to take him to hospital, and my friend has to go to work, I said I would accompany him. In the ambulance, my partner vomitted up curry/beer all over his clothes and the ambulance. I apologised and offered to clean it up, whereupon the ambulance man shouted at me to sit down. By then, I was in tears, and the entire A&E waiting room watched in fascination, me with make-up all blurred and my party clothes on. I had sat at the front because I had rung his sister (who has a car and does not have to work), and I needed someone to help look after and bring him home. I was soon taken in to see him. The nurse was very sympathetic towards me, as I explained that this was the first time I had been back to that hospital since they had misdiagnosed me by two stages, that I was now deemed terminal, and that my partner had got drunk because he had been angry with me earlier reading extracts from this website about how wives/husbands had looked after their terminally ill husbands/wives - he had just changed the subject. Anyway, he started to come round, but still a bit vacant (not surprising after half a gallon of beer). They took blood, and thought he was ok. Helped me give him tablets for epilepsy. Suddenly his sister marched in, and started shouting at me, "What have you done to him? That's not just drink doing that! It's the stress caused by you". I had reached my limit of patience and picked up my coat and bag, and walked out, thinking I can't believe this is happening. She caught me up in Reception and started yelling at me, how could I still be here, stressing out all her family? Why couldn't I go away and give her brother some "respite" (sorry? there are 20 beds for the whole of this big city, I am still on my feet, and the house is MINE not even ours - I worked for and paid for it whilst he was faffing around pretending to be a sculptor - why his wife threw him out 14 years ago). The receptionist at this point asked us to leave, as we were disturbing other patients (I was by now shouting back, eg couldn't she imagine how I felt with the stress of the incorrect diagnosis, my physical pain and my own death over my head, and why did he have to get drunk and spoil my last ever birthday). Well, who needs soap operas on the waitingroom tv with us around? I went out and she followed, still ranting, finishing up with another round of me being stress to her family, and "IF I GET ILL, WHO'S GOING TO LOOK AFTER ME?" At this point I walked off into the mad bad streets of the city. Had no juice left on my phone, no buses as way past midnight, and all my friends had been drinking earlier and would be over the limit/tucked up asleep. Walking 2 miles along streets where several people have been shot recently, I thought how much better it would be for everyone if I was just shot in back of head. However, as is the way when you're hoping for something, all the teenage gunmen were in beddybies, and I got home at 1am without even being mugged: I think I must have looked so furious, no-one dared! At 2,30am I was woken by them both coming into the bedroom, she telling me that the doctor had said he was alright (glare at me, as if no thanks to me) but he shouldn't go to work next day. Well, I fell back to sleep again (exhausted, as one is with cancer). He did go to work and came home very penitent. Admitted he had lost his mobile. I got him a new one as we need to keep in touch. He has now promised he WILL look after me (not sure I beleive this). Later we found that his sister had picked up his old phone, but not let us know. He has spoken to her, but she is acting as if I don't exist. Of course, their mother must not be told any of this. Well, I realise how much stress I am and have been to everyone. This guilt is with me night and day. My own family consists of my 78 year old Mum, a brother who can be anywhere from Scotland to Southampton with his job, and cousins in Germany, so, as it was HER brother who was in A&E I can see no reason why my family should have dealt with it. If she is finding the stress overwhelming, waiting for me to die, why didn't she just say, "Sorry, I need to have a few weeks to myself." I have rung the Cancer MacMillan nurses and asked one of them to come and talk to me. I'm sure they've seen this sort of thing (although hopefuly very rarely). I have told my Mum (who agrees absolutely dreadful), and my German cousin (who was horrified). I emailed all my friends (and one of his friends too!) and everyone was very shocked - not surprised at my partner, as they already know about his occasional drinking bouts, but livid about his sister. I have already told a couple of people on this site I feel very close to - one in particular (you lovely feisty lady) asked for Sister's telephone number and wanted to give her a piece of her mind! The support I have had, and my innate sense of humour, has carried me through this. Will see what Nurse suggests tomorrow. I feel bad taking up their time with something so illmannered and ridiculous. Will let you all know the outcome. This is why I haven't been on the Chatroom for a couple of nights now - just can't summon up the necessary light touch, although I think it's thawing out again. Even by Friday I was laughing at memory of him with his face in the beetroot curry! So, this is a warning for everyone what the stress of cancer, and particularly of misdiagnosis of cancer, and wrong-guessing the amount of time left to someone can do to slighty iffy relationships. I am not perfect, who is, but I have always tried to be polite, helpful and goodhumoured. Somehow, despite numerous instances to the contrary, I always go on expecting others to be the same. By the way, this story is definitely copyright to me: don't want to turn on tv and see it all in a play! However, folks, wait for my diaries to be published. (I've left them to my friend Sophie in my will). This is nothing! With love to all of you, and the sincere hope that none of you will ever suffer The Birthday from Hell....