As I write this, it’s 9pm on Monday 14th March 2016. In 17 hours’ time – at 2pm tomorrow – I will get the results of my CT scan. I’ll find out how far the cancer has spread through my body, and what my treatment will be.
Friends have emailed to ask how I’m feeling.
The best reply would be – numb.
I’ve felt that way since the consultant told me that I had cancer. It was as though all the colour was suddenly washed out of the world.
I realised that I could hear someone crying, and was very surprised to discover that it wasn’t me. It was Kirsty.
I was suddenly overwhelmed with the dreadful feeling that I had let her and the boys down.
“Will it happen soon?” I asked the lady with the clipboard.
“Will what happen soon?”
“He’s asking if he’s going to die soon,” Kirsty explained.
“We don’t know,” admitted the lady.
I wish I could remember her name, she was very kind.
Back in the waiting room I sent text messages to my brother and sister to tell them the result of the biopsy, and asked them not to call yet as I would have to gather myself together enough so that I could drive home (Kirsty doesn’t drive. She might have to learn).
As I walked across the car park with Kirsty, hand in hand, I discovered another feeling. I felt relived that my Mum and Dad weren’t here to hear the bad news. It would upset them so much.