This post could also have been called Eat, Pray, Love as that’s what it’s all about. I’ve had without doubt the worst week of my life. We’ve been trying to come to terms with the news that my husband has been diagnosed with bowel cancer, and the very strong possibility that it has spread to his lungs. After months of waiting in hospital for the doctors to work out the cause of his pain, we’ve had yet more waiting – this time for a further scan to find out just how bad the situation is.
In the 10 days since we were told the news we’ve sat together, feeling numb, in shock and just feeling really, really sad. We’ve cried a lot, laughed a bit, falling between the worst and best possible outcomes several times a day. We’ve got a few more days to wait until we find out if there’s any treatment they think they can give – they’re going to be really long days ahead.
Every day I’ve been at the hospital spending time with Rog before picking the kids up, trying to pretend everything’s normal, hoping the routine will be a comfort to us all. I’ve taken them both in for visits, learning the hard way that taking them both in together is no comfort to anyone!
Once they’d scoured the room for food, pressed every button and pulled every wire, climbed over the bed and the chairs (Flo) and hijacked the iPad (Sam), it really wasn’t the relaxing family time I’d hoped for. That said, it was normal, and normality in this hideous week is a very good thing.
Despite all the sadness, I’ve been touched by all the messages we’ve had from friends, the support we’ve had is just amazing and really does help to keep us looking for the positive. My house is full of flowers, even with the new vases I bought to cope with demand last time I’m struggling to display them all! Prayers are being said in all corners of the world, thanks to a kind and caring colleague who contacted his friends to tell them our story. And support comes in all guises – remember those floor tiles I was worrying about? Well my dad fixed them.
As well as the flowers, messages and shows of support, there has been cake, and the astonishing kindness of strangers. On Saturday, as I sat with Rog in hospital, the nurse came in with a huge box with a carrot cake inside. It had been delivered to hospital by a lovely lady called Lisa who I’ve never met, but who lives near me and writes a blog called Into the Glade.
She, along with so many others, has been sending me messages of support since reading my post last week about our horrendous news. I commented on her beautiful baking skills on an Instagram photo, and she set about making us a cake just to put a smile on our faces. How lovely is that? We were so touched. As well as the carrot cake I’ve had scones from a friend and date and walnut loaf from my mum. So maybe, just maybe, where there’s cake, there’s hope. Or is it the other way round? Where there’s hope, there’s cake. Both sound good to me.