Helping me make sense of my husband's throat cancer diagnoses.
No particular direction but my own random ramblings in my own peculiar way,
just telling our story.
I hate the word "roller coaster". It implies that after a short up and down ride I'm going to get off and return to my normal life.
I would say what I'm going through is more akin to being buried alive. Just occasionally there is a glimpse of light and air but overall it is suffocating and the end result will be too awful for words.
Our eldest son has for over a year saved and planned his trip to the football World Cup. Every minute detail attended to and he was looking forward to 23 days of football mania and the culture of Brazil. Of course we didn't bank on the cancer reoccurring. And like everything else cancer touches it ruins plans, and dreams, and hopes, and fun, and happiness and our life. Our son has been staying with us for three weeks and what an amazing support he has been. He is such a delight to have around and although he hasn't lived with us for over ten years he has slotted back into things here and has been simply wonderful.
He was cancelling his trip and that was that. He wanted to spend time with dad and there were other World Cups he would attend. After long family chats and angst we have compromised. Hubby was desperate for him to go - "go and be my eyes and ears son" "go with our blessing". It's been pure unadulterated agony for us all. So the state of play now is that he is off to Rio in the morning for eight days - a compromise. Agony for him to say goodbye to his dad - I just couldn't watch. They hugged and told each other they loved each other. I only hope its enough. Just how much heartbreak can a person endure for heavens sake.
Eight long days. Don't get me wrong I'm absolutely behind him. It has made his dad so proud to think he will be there watching it all. However, I hadn't realised how scared I was until he left. It's not the practical things that worry me but it sure is a scary place to be. Hubby's symptoms have accelerated too today but we kept them relatively well hidden for fear our son would cancel.
He's very wobbly on his feet now, sleeping heavily most of the time though he is getting up each day and sleeping in the armchair. He seemed a little confused too tonight. He also said "I think it's time". I'm so numb I can barely breathe let alone cry. Last night he said he would do anything to change things but there is nothing left to do. It's all so flippin scary. I feel so agitated myself today too. Worry and anxiety live within me every single minute of the day. I keep having such terrible chest pains too. It's just worry I know. My neck feels as stiff as a board with the tension of it all.
It's difficult to put down words that make any sense. Nothing seems to make any sense . The things that the human spirit has to endure is indescribable. I even cautiously popped over to the bereaved spouses section tonight but I felt like an intruder into people's private grief so I didn't stay long there either. I can see that life continues on without our loved ones but just how is beyond me.
Hubby said I was a strong woman - in fact the strongest he knew. Does that mean that I mustn't cry? Does it make me look cold? I have no idea what this strength is that people refer to. What does a strong person actually do?
As I watch him struggle with daily life I realise I've got to let him go. I've got to give him permission to leave me behind. I've got to make his move onwards an easy and uncomplicated thing. It's easy to think I can when I have his warm arm to stroke, his grey hair to touch, his lips to kiss. When I can wash him, dress him, feed him, medicate him, hug him, love him, talk to him, snuggle with him, flirt with him, massage him, listen to his snoring, be kind to him, dunk his biscuits for him, wipe away his tears for him, clean his teeth for him, read to him, fetch and carry for him, hold his hand, take a selfie with him, look into his eyes and feel his love for me and all the tiny precious things that are us. How am I to let that go? I'm not ready yet but I do realise I am grieving already. Not for the life we have had together but for the man, my man. The only man I will ever love. My man.
How am I ever to say it's ok, you can go ?
Safe payments by:
We're here to provide physical, financial and emotional support. So whatever cancer throws your way, we're right there with you.
© Macmillan Cancer Support
© Macmillan Cancer Support, registered charity in England and Wales (261017), Scotland (SC039907) and the Isle of Man
(604). Also operating in Northern Ireland. A company limited by guarantee, registered in England and Wales company
number 2400969. Isle of Man company number 4694F. Registered office: 89 Albert Embankment, London SE1 7UQ. VAT no: