– coming up to our twenty-third anniversary, twenty-three years at Number twenty-three. I was wrong, so wrong, so lulled into thinking my husband was fit, strong and invincible. Melanoma.1 Malignant melanoma. Now it’s a new specialist, and back into hospital.2 The big C got me by default through Rex, so much worse in many ways.
Already I find it hard to be positive. Already I am making plans for my death. If anything happens to Rex, I will surely follow. I am mentally changing my will. This means I have given up hope Rex will be all right. He thinks it is just an annoyance.
‘People don’t die from melanomas,’ he said.
How wrong he is. But I didn’t want to disabuse him, frighten him, like I am frightened.
It seems so wicked to think he has cancer, that he could die. I didn’t sense something was wrong. How out of touch is that? I should have known intuitively that my man was under threat, but I didn’t.
How quickly the world can turn. The horrid thoughts fly freely and randomly. Life insurance – when did we find out? I already have him dying, and am checking the life insurance policy will hold up. Will we be able to go on our odyssey? We don’t know and won’t know for a while. Tears, tears, I drink and drink to hold them at bay and eat and eat.
As soon as I gave Rex the surgeon’s number he rang poste haste. I knew something was off when the doctor rang. Now it’s back to square one, and hope it hasn’t spread. A simple knock to a mole he’s had for a lifetime and the landscape changes in one fell swoop. Autumn is coming… the autumn of my life.
When I finally lift my eyes to look outside I see how dark, grey and gloomy it is, still as death. Even the birds are quiet today.
Saturday 24/2/01
Joy said, ‘The first day is the worst, the rest gets better.3’ Certainly yesterday was. Today I’m more rational, more hopeful and no longer believe the end is nigh. The time ahead will be difficult, a challenge, perhaps a prelude to what the future will hold.
My man is hopeful too, anxious, but not unduly, certainly not believing the worst. I feel so close to him, so aware of the goodness in him, the strength below the surface. I feel safe and secure with him.
Back again. I’m having a break from gardening. I knew the garden was the best place to be. It’s sunny and warm. Lewis is lying nearby, enjoying time alone with me. He is such a loving dog.
It is wonderful sitting out here writing, enjoying the trees and our garden. We have created such an oasis. I’m not so scared. Whatever is ahead we’ll manage. Life is what you make it. Cancer is a part of life, albeit a dark part.
My energy is returning, two nookies in a week. Rex is reaching out, feeling his life force.
‘It’s as good as it was 25 years ago.’
That’s a very special thing to say. Rex has such security and certainty about his place in the world. In turn, he has given me the same.
Sunday 25/2/01
Rex is anxious, unknowing of what’s in store. This is always the hardest. Lewis and Peedee are waiting by the side of the bed yet again, waiting expectantly for a sign we are off for a walk.
It’s grey and overcast outside, good weather to be in the garden. The garden restoreth my soul. Out there life goes on. Plants grow. What doesn’t do well or dies can be supplanted by something stronger. The garden is ever changing, just like me.
I don’t have any presentiments of death or destruction now. I feel everything is going to be all right. Is this wishful thinking or am I in tune with Rex’s body, mind and health? I hope so.
Monday 26/2/01
I’m feeling toey. My tummy is volatile. There is a sense of anticipation. We’re waiting, wanting to get there to see the specialist, to find out. The uncertainty is getting to us. We’re both very restless. Spending yesterday in the garden helped while away our cares.
Tuesday 27/2/01
Up early. I needed to write. I didn’t like the new specialist. He might be a hotshot surgeon but he is a nowhere man personally. A large area of skin and tissue around where the mole was has to be cut away and a skin graft put over.4 Three other moles5, with the potential to become problems, will also be removed. The ten days enforced bed rest in hospital to allow the skin graft to heal will be difficult.
It was a rough night. Rex was up too. He woke me at 12.30am for a chat. It took nearly three hours to go back to sleep. I’m waiting, wondering what is going to happen. What does the future hold? There is a sick feeling in my stomach. I feel for him. It’s bad enough for me, but it’s worse for him.
I’m going to see David Lester this afternoon. I want to know more. I want to gain some ownership of the process. I need to bring our guardian angels to bear, to watch over us and protect us. We need to surround ourselves with goodness, positiveness, carers and people to do the journey with us.
I’m going ahead with planning the trip, and with our super fund and investment company. All previous thinking and planning holds good. To put on hold is to acknowledge we won’t make it. We can and we will. It’s okay to feel mortal and negative occasionally, you wouldn’t be human otherwise. I feel so close to my man right now. He needs me in a way he’s never needed me before. He wants me to be strong, to look after him. I will. He’s frightened of leaving the dogs and me alone.
My legs are leaden, hardly able to move. Life has a touch of
unreality at the moment. I’m not letting him go. Touch is so important - holding his hand, touching his arm or leg, stroking him, feeling the beauty of him, feeling his love and sending out all the love I have in return.
Marriage vows – for better, for worse, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. For now it is time to muse, to think of my man and what he means to me. He’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Twenty-three years on Monday.
Wednesday 28/2/01
Operation Day. After an extremely nervous start, a strange sense of calm has descended. I’ve been doing ordinary tasks, getting ready to go back and see him. I feel everything is going to be all right. What a crackpot notion that seems to be. But it’s not. Whatever happens we will cope. We will be together.
Rex loves me. I can see it in everything he does. I am keeping his motivation for life uppermost in his mind. I am here. I need him. Therefore he will go through hell to be there for me.
I’m writing to Gregory in my mind. I liken leaving him, to recovery from an addiction. I have gone cold turkey, no props needed. I can cope with my life, with living. I will also cope with whatever life throws at Rex and me. I just wasn’t expecting it.
Thursday 1/3/01
‘Tis March, autumn no less. I’ve been hanging out for autumn and it snuck up on me. I have been preoccupied with Rex. I woke early and stayed awake. The euphoria of last night has gone. I was so happy to see Rex yesterday.
Joy is up. It was good to have her here last night. I open up to her. She listens with love. Col and Rex are brothers in arms. Col’s journey overcoming prostate cancer is giving Rex hope. I don’t know for how long, but I feel his time is not nigh. We have been given a wake up call and we are heeding it.
‘What
