I had a strong reluctance- fear almost- of sitting down to write this. The fear of remembering how we'd felt now that things ate calmer.. But I think its important to record and share that even if facts themselves can't change, that the mind seems to have a way to protect us from continual exposure to the hardest thoughts and feelings.
We edged our way towards Thursday afternoon appointment with destiny at another hospital outpatients. By Wednesday J had dropped any air of denial and was freaking out good and proper. At some point he asked me if I thought there was any chance the tumours were benign. Our relationship is based on an occasionally brutal honesty and I had no hesitation about saying a straight 'no'. Later reflection made me feel bad but at the time it had the effect of shattering the barrier between us and allowing a real, sensible conversation about what we might be told.
Thursday lunchtime arrived and we headed out. The hospital is about 30 minutes drive. We allowed 35 mins plus an hour to get the park and ride bus and then find the clinic. The journey took us 50 minutes as we were stuck behind a septic tanker stuck in a tiny village street. By the time we had spent 20 minutes vainly searching for the park and ride we gave up and parked easily at the hospital with 20 minutes to spare. We were met with the news that Miss B was running an hour late. 2 hours later we were admitted to the presence. By that time I was so stressed I was close to fainting. j was not doing much better.
The colorectal nurse introduced herself and asked if we had any notes- we looked at her incredulously. It emerged that none of the paperwork we had painstakingly collected for the previous appointment had been shared.
The doctor herself opened with a 'good afternoon.Im sorry you've got to see me' She then went on to skewer any lingering hope by saying that J had secondary liver tumours that were life-limiting. How life limiting? 'You do'nt want to know but 25%.The rest of the interview was about potential treatments and further appointments. We reeled out of the room and went to get a coffee and blood test.
I left J getting his bloods and went to the coffee shop- a lady who had been waiting with us caught my eye and we smiled. We commented on the waiting time and something in her manner made me add 'especially when it's bad news' 'Was it bad news' she asked and she looked so kind that I told her and she said her husband had the same thing and we looked at each other with such compassion and empathy , agreed it was hard then squeezed each other's arms and parted.
That evening I had to call my son in the US and update him. Towards the end of our chat he asked what he should tell his teenage kids. I really had no idea at that moment.
Friday was bad - both very low with waves of sadness leaving us floored. But I had to update a number of people. One of these was the guy who had bought our house and who we had become friendly with. His wife had lung cancer and was still having treatment. His replied left me in tears:
Dear
Thanks for sharing 
Not later than yesterday evening we were praying for you here in your former house, a bit worried not to have received an update (knowing that sometimes no news is not good news).
Of course we keep praying for you as promised.
We stand by your side
Anything we can do > just let us know.
Warmest regards,
That people we hardly know can be so kind gives me so much hope for this rotten world. Them and the lady at the coffee shop and everyone here who cares and is kind are making a difference every day.
J and I are recovering gradually from the shock. The nurse called the next day to check he was ok and he was touched and grateful. We are doing better together. No more denial but lots of kindness and love as we head into the unknown
