Well we are getting better at this stuff. Armed with a million questions, we trotted off for only the 3rd consultation with the oncologist since my husband's diagnosis. You'd think I'd be quite good at this sort of thing by now, having spent the last 3 years accompanying my husband to consultant appointments after his accident and after the same sort of thing with my Ma, who died in the summer.
Rubbish. Each occasion is different. Each condition has its own jargon. Ask me if I'm wiser - NO. Ask me if I know how to handle the emotions any better - no again.
It is so difficult pretending to be strong and trying to be positive for my husband's sake. A lot of you know this. Inside, I am a pathetic shivering jelly wanting this all to go away. Outside, I try to put on my intelligent face. I want people to stop fobbing us off. I want the truth. But that's not how it works because we must put a hopeful twist on everything we say for the sake of the patient. After all, the patient is the important one. And if we take away hope, what is left. I am told that miracles happen and so I shall hope for one of those.
Keep smiling or KBO.
