It is too simplistic to think that as a carer I will have good days and down days - what I had not expected was the guilt that accompanies the feeling of being depressed.  I am not the patient, I am not the one going through the gruelling chemo sessions, nor the one with cancer inside me.

I feel guilty if I lose my patience with my husband, which under normal circumstances would happen anyway, you know the sort of thing, everyday occurrences or niggles that annoy us and we kind of bicker but then it is forgotten.... those feelings now make me guilty.  I do try to keep things as normal as possible for both of us and our families, as if by admitting the weakness of cancer we may go under and he will succumb - it sounds like a superstition.  We talk about what we are going to be doing next year WHEN this is beaten, not IF!! we are still forward planning with our lives, as though the cancer is just like a flea bite, which needs swatting and will go away.

I am tired, overwhelmingly tired at times, there are days when I do not want to do anything least of all prepare food or go to the shops, but I feel I have to drive myself forward as though by doing so I am bringing everyone forward with me.

I look at my husband and at times he looks so ill and haggard and I take a breath because the shock of seeing him like that and remembering what is going on comes rushing back to me.  My son said that I do not talk about how I feel very much, but I have the feeling that if I start I shall never be able to stop and any control I have will disappear and I will be a useless wreck - I do open up occasionally but I also know that part of me is in denial, that if I refuse to give cancer the space in my consciousness, it seems less real and I can cope.

I have a 91 year old mother in a Nursing Home with dementia, and I go to see her as much as I can, but there are days when, even though I can go over there, I just do not want to, as if I have not got the mental energy to give to her - more guilt!!  My brother and I are estranged so I have full responsibility for my mother and although my children say they are going to help out with visiting, they rarely do, and I honestly resent that at times, but they are busy working adults and I realise it is difficult for them.

And so I go on, from appointment to appointment, watching, worrying and waiting for the end of April when the next scan is planned and when we will know if there is the slightest chance that the new load of secondaries have been contained, which is very doubtful.

When you hear of cancer, you do not realise the time scale of things, not that I want anyone to die quickly or even slowly come to that, but it is the length of time between appointments and treatments, the dread of more bad news, the imagination of fear as we wait to find out the latest prognosis...  I realise that we have been so fortunate because when having a financial clear-out a few years back I cancelled my BUPA, but as my husband is self-employed kept his going even though at the time it was an expense we could just about afford, and if ever there were to be anything to be thankful about this cancer, it is that we have private insurance still in place.  Which has given me another thing to feel guilty about when I see the NHS waiting room queues and hear of people having to wait weeks and weeks for appointments.

So whilst I am struggling to get myself out of this pit of despair which has suddenly come over me, I find comfort in talking in the Macmillan Chat Room and writing this blog, and will pin back my public face very soon, but for now feel the need to wallow, just for a little while, whilst I grieve for the days before cancer came along and changed everything.