End of hope

1 minute read time.

FormerMember

10 Mar 2016

When Pete went into hospital 5 days ago, it was meant to be a blip, something they would fix and then he would come home and we'd get on with chemotherapy. Today we found out that he has gone downhill so fast because his liver is riddled with the disease. It was clear on a scan only 5 weeks ago, but the cancer is running amok and has more or less taken his liver over. More tumours in his lungs too. There may be others in his head, who knows?

The oncologist said he'd never seen such fast progression. He'd been expecting to see a blocked bile duct.

We were meant to have months yet, now suddenly we're looking at days. I vary between calmness and hysteria. I suppose I've been grieving ever since December when the brain metastases were found, I knew then that things were very bad, but there was always a glimmer of hope, the faint chance that he would beat the prognosis. The truth is that the bastard cancer won't even let him have the average time.

The whole ghastly process clanked into operation once we'd been told. Worst was the female doctor that we'd never seen before, who came and stood at the end of the bed, towering over him, no empathy or compassion, asking about whether Pete wanted to be resuscitated if his heart stopped. After he said no, everyone referring to him as an 'End of Life' case in his hearing, even though I had begged them to leave him some hope.

Pete wants to come home. I want him home and yet I'm terrified of letting him down in some way. At least he will hear dogs and sheep and birds, rather than bleeping equipment, moans and screams.

My lovely, darling man.