Author: Wend

What’s that great saying? ‘Home is where the heart is’ that’s the one. I am lucky to have two homes, my actual home and my BHS home in Kingston. 9 weeks post surgery and 15 weeks since I was first signed off sick with possible appendicitis I was finally going back into work, back to Kingston 🙂
Anyone who has had time off work e.g. maternity leave will understand when I say that whether you like it or not you lose your confidence. Your working world has to carry on without you as what’s that other saying? oh yes ‘we are all just a number’. Emma and the team had continued to run Kingston without me. I hadn’t had to make a decision in months apart from basic functions oh and my all time favourite now of ‘where’s the nearest loo’!
They didn’t need me anymore, I was just in name only, a person that once drove them to distraction with one mad project after another. We had achieved so much together, such precious memories and now I was returning still trying to just cope with walking and carrying a handbag at the same time.
No one knew how much going back there meant to me apart from Emma and of course Steve, they understood my need to be there.
Your job and what you do in your work life is important but I understand that I need people around me, I in fact need to be needed. I had done regional roles in previous jobs but it didn’t make me happy because I wasn’t needed, or part of a team and their everyday lives.
Since I’d been off sick I have of course been in regular contact with Emma and Alison. Linda doesn’t do modern technology and when I received texts from her it would always makes me smile as I know a few short words would have taken a lot of swearing and about an hour or if she sent a longer text I know that John (her hubby) would have had to of done it for her.
Whilst being off I was so touched by the messages from my team from people I had not expected to get messages from. Being a boss is a job I do take seriously, I’m there to earn my wage not to win a popularity contest and some people just don’t like me and that’s okay. Steve says that I’m like Marmite, you either love me or hate me. I actually don’t like Marmite but I hope you get the point. So if your not a team player, you don’t like to do a decent job or you think that ‘that will do’ is enough then your not going to like me.
I thought I would just break down and cry just walking through the doors that day but I held it together. Everyone made a fuss, I had lots of hugs, my office was decorated, I had flowers, banners, a balloon and my very own welcome home cake 🙂

It was just so lovely to be there, when anyone asked how I was I replied my normal “I’m fine” which was true in terms of recovery and some said one of my all time favourite statements which is ‘gosh you look well’ This one cracks me up, is anyone with cancer expected to look like shit or close to death and how on earth does the person with cancer respond? I just say “thanks” and leave it at that however I have been tempted to say occasionally “would you like me to look a little more gaunt, maybe thinner, or just a little more death like?
On my journey home I think I cried most of the way home, I’d loved being there with them all, normal again but I knew I couldn’t go everyday like I used to, I knew with chemo coming I had just a few short weeks of being part of their lives again and to help Emma and then months of chemo would prevent me being there and I wouldn’t be needed again.
I got home and Steve asked how it went and I told him all about my day, full of joy and laughter but I didn’t mention the tears or the lack of confidence cos to discuss it would make my fears real, so best to pretend that ‘I’m fine’.

We arrived at our hotel in the evening. The room was as Steve had shown me on the internet, it had a kitchen area, a lounge and a separate bedroom oh and the all important balcony where we could sit outside for a smoke.
Now normally when we go anywhere and arrive at our hotel room and the following things happen and it must be due to basic instincts between men and women. I get into the room and unpack first, all the items have to be put away in their relevant rooms, clothes hung up, toiletries ready for use and anything technical that we have brought with us in a man draw ready for when I’m asked by my hubby “where’s my ****” Then I can direct him as I know where all the stuff is.
Steve arrives in a hotel room, removes as many items of clothing he possibly can, gets a cup of tea and smokes until he feels he is ready for the next man task.
This time Steve took me by surprise and started unpacking, he was helping, now this bless him was a long list of changes for him in that week. He had obviously thought long and hard about how he was going to cope with his partially disabled wife as he was the only carer for me for one week.
That evening we went and found a restaurant to eat in and whilst studying the menu Steve ordered two large beers. The problem with large beers are that the glasses are man shaped and heavy, I couldn’t even lift the glass I had to steal a wine glass off another table and decant the beer into it, that’s how weak my stomach muscles were then.
We had a lovely meal and continued to drink beer throughout the evening. Just enjoying the warmth of the night air and each others company. We had popped into a local shop to buy some beers to take back to the room with us so that we could sit on our balcony as we were both so genuinely happy that we had made it on holiday. We were there in the moment, full of food and beer and the past 3 months whilst always with us, at least we could look forward to our week and whatever adventures it held for us.
That night after we had spent another hour or so on the balcony just talking together we went to bed. Now we had been told that post surgery that love making was forbidden for at least 6 weeks. It had been 6 weeks and 4 days since the operation and even a few weeks before that since we made love so it had been a while. I am not sure why you can’t have sex for 6 weeks, where did that figure come from and you are not actually using the same area of the body are you? unless you are into that sort of thing.
Just being with my hubby naked again, just being us, just feeling safe, just touching him was wonderful. It had been too long since we had experienced love making and so with enough beer in me to numb any pain we started to make love (yes there was foreplay, he didn’t just jump on the nest but in case my kids ever read this page I will leave out the details). As we made love the emotion of being together again was all too much for me, all that we had been through, all the fears we both had, all the love and devotion I’d seen in him and the sadness for all the heartache cancer had caused us just washed over me. Instead of being the explosion of passion you would have thought there would have been after so long, I cried. Steve held me and I cried, Steve comforted me and I cried, Steve told me how much he loved me and I cried. Steve didn’t cry.

The holiday was amazing, we both loved it in every way. I think I really do know the meaning of the phrase ‘savour every moment’ as we both did just that for one week, we made the most of everything everyday.
The only other funny story from the holiday was on one windy day on the beach where we decided to go into the sand dunes for shelter from the wind. After lying in the sun for a few hours and just reading together Steve stood up so that the wind would cool him down. He was soon back down onto the safety of his beach towel as when he had looked around the dunes there was a woman with 3 men and they weren’t asking her for directions! Well they could have been but the woman had her mouth full and the others were looking on playing with their sat navs if you get my drift LOL.
Thank you Steve for a wonderful week, for looking after me and for loving me.

It was agreed that we were going on holiday on 9th May. Steve had managed to claim back almost all of the money from the holiday we had to cancel and nothing was going to stop us now from taking one week, one precious week just the two of us alone together before chemo had to start.
Nothing but the best was organised by Steve for me, priority boarding, fast track check in, the top hotel in the resort and a luxury rental car. No cheap flights with stupid flying times either we were too old for that and no stress was the only thing on the menu for one week.
The only problem with all of that was that I still recovering from surgery still struggled with carrying, lifting, walking and coping with the toilet but like Steve just needed a break from it all, to be in the sunshine, to be us.
At the airport poor Steve had to drag the two suitcases and wait endlessly for me to catch up with him as he walks at a normal speed and I limped slowly behind him. Suitcases checked in we head for the lounge excited and free. Our gate was called and it had to be the last gate in the bloody airport, a 15 minute walk and that’s at normal speed so we head off. The walking and carrying a handbag soon began to pull on my side and the pain of movement was wearing me down. Steve continued to walk ahead and then stop, apologise, wait for me and then set off again. I started to feel like a cripple again, I couldn’t keep up with him and all the other passengers who rushed and pushed around me to get ahead me, ahead of this slow limping woman who was just in their way. I just wanted to sit and cry, I felt a burden and an embarrassment to Steve and jealous of all the able bodied people rushing to get to the gate as soon as they could just in case the plane was going to leave without them.
We were nearing the priority boarding line when I spotted the last toilet sign so I decided that just in case I should go before I got on the plane. I came out of the loo to find Steve shouting towards me to ‘come on’ cos the priority boarding was closing, he just wanted everything to be perfect for me and had planned everything so that it was easy but I hadn’t really walked anywhere for months and I couldn’t go any faster. What the hell was I doing I thought, I can’t go on holiday, I can’t walk for a start, I’m in pain and everyone makes me feel like I’m disabled. I walked as fast as I could for him and finally got onto the plane. The flight was only two hours so that wasn’t too bad, I could at least rest and just sit.
Upon landing we were another 15 minute walk away from the terminal so the same nightmare happened again however to add to the pleasure the moving walkways were not all working and it was a very long walk. The pain just got worse and out came the painkillers.
So this post is aimed at people who rush and push slow people out of their way, the ones that tut at people and the ones that don’t seem to have a moment to live, stop it! I have been one of those such people and I’m sorry for not seeing people in pain or disabled people, I’m sorry for tutting and being fed up with anyone who didn’t walk as fast as me or who couldn’t keep up. Sad but true that you never know when that slow person maybe you, so think on!

Mr Mullerat had said that I needed to start chemo withing 2-3 weeks on 20th April or as soon as possible. Kim the cancer nurse who had been in the appointment room with him had said that we would be contacted by Dr Weaver to start chemo and that she would call me, she didn’t call. One week later I called her and she said that she didn’t want to undermine Mr Mullerat but the waiting list was at least 2-3 weeks and to just be patient. The appointment finally came through for 22nd May, now that’s 4 weeks since seeing Mr Mullerat and that’s not the date that the chemo would start, we were told that it should start within 2-3 weeks of that appointment, so now that’s 6 – 7 weeks not the 2-3 that Mr Mullerat wanted.
I wasn’t happy! the fact that Harry was living on inside me in whatever form was a daily thought that I found so hard to cope with. Harry’s cells were in the lymph nodes which were attached to other vital organs, multiplying and looking for a new home in which to create new havoc! Steve as ever thought this was okay as we could go on our holiday which had been placed on hold until we knew when chemo was starting.
I remember the day Steve texted me to say he had great news that we could go on holiday because the chemo appointment was 22nd May. I was over the park walking Molly and he was really shocked at my response which was to him ‘off the scale’ but he didn’t get it, he didn’t have this thing growing inside him knowing that everyday without treatment was a risk and the words “25% chance of living 5 years” echoed. I was so angry and so was my mom, for once mom and I were together on this as we didn’t understand the wait and surely it was a risk. Mom did her usual “I’ll sell the house and pay for you to go private” now Steve had looked at the cost of chemo and one course of 6 months was a staggering £35,000 so that just wasn’t an option however I know my mom would have gladly paid it, bless her.
It wasn’t just the delay in the treatment for me but the not understanding of chemo, what drugs?, how long for? what were the side effects? and when would it start? I wanted to try and get my head around what was coming to mentally prepare myself but without the ‘meat on the bones’ as they say I only had guess work and info from the internet oh and of course other peoples experiences which ranged from “it was okay, just sickness and tired” to “awful”.
Steve tried to help by phoning Dr Weaver’s private secretary to see if we could see him privately to get some answers before we went on holiday. She did say that even if Dr Weaver could see us that it would make no difference in the start date of my treatment. I thought that between £50-£100 an hour would be an acceptable amount to pay for his time but was completely gobsmacked when I heard he wanted £240 for 40 minutes of his time, £240! I’m in the wrong job and so is everyone else. I couldn’t believe it. Steve and I debated whether we wanted to pay that amount and my conclusion was that on holiday I could buy a lot of ice cream for £240 and so we decided not to see Dr Weaver and line his pockets with gold.
I did phone Mr MUllerat’s secretary to tell her about my delay in treatment and did Mr Mullerat know? and was it okay for me to wait that long for treatment? She reported back that Mr Mullerat had no say in Dr Weaver’s schedule and that due to an Oncologist retiring in Wycombe there was unfortunately a waiting list longer than ideal (great) I could always write to the Head of the Department of Health and complain but what good would that do us hey!
So the waiting game continued for us and with the holiday finally booked we set off and then the pain started in my neck and then my lymph nodes started to swell 🙁

On 7th and 10th May, two weeks after the operation I had two days of visitors. On 7th Emma, Linda and Alison came to see me. Now this is massive for Linda as she never takes a day off so to come and visit me, to be out of the store for a few hours was a real show of affection from her. Anyone else and she would have said “put my name on the card or here’s some money towards a gift” and the words “I can’t go as I’ve got too much to do” would have definitely been included as it’s one of Linda’s phrases. Mom had been out before they arrived so that we could provide sandwiches and cakes 🙂 we all spent a few hours together at first in the garden, so Linda could have a fag (I was being good at the time and on a Ecig) but the weather wasn’t warm enough so inside we went.
It’s so funny having people in your home that you have worked with for years. Emma had helped me with my colour scheme in the front room. I had created a mood board thing and hours had been spent together trying to match the right shade of chocolate and creams in curtains.
I think they were impressed that I was doing so well. I was watching for their car to arrive for about 20 minutes before they actually did so I was in the street when they pulled up. It was just so lovely to see them, my BHS Kingston family, in my house, wow! After catching up with all the gossip they were gone too soon and I was soon asleep as everything tired me out but I was happier for seeing them and slept soundly.
On 10th I had a home visit from HR. Now to protect the innocent I have to give her a false name, so Ann came round and brought me a beautiful daisy plant for my garden. The weather was better that day and we sat outside. This meeting was important as I needed Ann to understand my need to be at Kingston. We agreed a return to work plan to involve my local store, High Wycombe and Kingston, but over an agreed time scale. Ann had her own troubles with health and I was honoured that she decided to share her story with me. She was to be my ‘point of contact’ at work from the senior management team and throughout my journey she has been amazing. I was dreading working out of my local store but again life surprised me as a met Mary, who is a lovely lady. She has had her own pain in life and at around 11 am when I’m in the store she makes me coffee and we have a chat about life and I wash up afterwards, thanks Mary for just being you.
Again I feel blessed to have so many wonderful people in my life to support me. I often think of the people going through cancer who maybe don’t have a garden to sit in, who don’t have a partner to look after them or the people who have financial worries to add to the shit that cancer brings. On that point a word of advice, if I had taken out critical life cover as part of my package at work, which would have cost me £100 a year, I would have received £90,000 upon diagnosis of cancer. Now money isn’t everything but £90,000 would have at least made me smile. I remember looking through the options on the form and thinking that I was too young for critical life cover, I’m healthy and maybe I’ll take it out next year, fool! So if you have such an option at work please take it out as cancer knows no colour, creed, gender, religion or the worst of all age. It strikes when it wants in whoever it wants. The word cancer scares the living day lights out of people, one in three of us will be effected by cancer and yet it’s a taboo word. If you don’t say the word then you won’t get it. The only thing we can all do is just hope that it doesn’t come knocking at our door or come calling for the people we love, cos if it does, trust me it’s a bitch!

On 14th April there was a regional store managers meeting which was being held in my local store which I wanted to go to as I just had to sit and even I could do that by now but HR said that they were worried about me getting up the stairs and that as I was still signed off sick by the hospital I couldn’t go, so I arranged to meet everyone who wanted to see me outside Nero’s for a coffee at 4.30.
Now my store is sadly 35 miles away from my house otherwise I would have been in to see what was going on everyday whilst off pre and post Harry coming out so I invited Emma to come and stay the night with us so that there was no rushing around the M25 for her in the morning. It was so lovely to see Emma and have her in our house, we have worked together for 4 years and at work they call us the Wemma effect LOL, we just make a great team. She has all the brains and I just bulldoze everyone into doing whatever mad plan we have come up with. Throughout life we all meet some wonderful people and we are blessed by them and they just stay with you, Emma and Nicky are two of those such people.
Emma left for the meeting and I was in the agreed meeting place at 4.30. Now I hadn’t seen my peer group for months and me being me and not wanting anyone to feel embarrassed decided to take the piss out of myself. My mate Steve prior to the meeting had advised that I should have my XFactor speech ready so when asked how I felt I had to reply “Scarred, sore and shitting through the eye of a needle” and so that was how it started. I made fun of myself and cancer and played the whole thing down. The managers must have thought I was mad and the usual shit that people come out with poured out of them not knowing the hurt they were causing, like “You are so positive” “If anyone can beat this you can” “Be properly selfish” “take care of yourself and forget about work” “Be strong” oh and the old classic “I’m sure you will be fine”
Now I don’t mean to be rude but I’ve got stage 3 cancer, a third of my bowel has been removed, I have cancerous lymph nodes left inside of me spreading all the time, I only have a 25% chance of living past 5 years, I have to endure months of chemo and you sit there with your life and your own little worries and I want to punch you! Why don’t they get it, why can’t they see that not living is worse, I don’t want to forget work, my life, my loved ones, I want to run naked in the sun and not have a care in the world, I want freedom from cancer I don’t want to be properly selfish and doss at home!!!!
I held my tongue and said nothing but listened to the well meaning phrases and we all then said our goodbyes. We return home for coffee before Emma has to go again from my world, back to a world I know and understand and the guilt of not being there to help her kills me.
I’m sat on the sofa in the kitchen and Emma gets it, she knows me, she can see the hurt their words have had on me, I can’t hold back the tears anymore and I cry, Emma cries and the sadness engulfs us.
Emma had to go home and when she left I had yet again not been strong enough, not strong enough for her, my kids, my mom, my hubby as I couldn’t control the emotion and that meant I had failed.
Why do we consider emotion such an embarrassment, I am not sure but I think for me if you let people see your true fears then they become real, you give them life and living in fear is not easy.
Steve returned home from work and asked how I was to which I replied “I’m fine” I’d been able to pull myself together for him anyway.

A word of warning!! well 3 words actually but it doesn’t matter as you will not listen to me, I wouldn’t listen and neither will you. My words of wisdom would be ‘beware the internet’!

Anyone who has been diagnosed with cancer in this ‘age of the internet’ will do what I did, which was search as much as you can for information. Another word of advice is only go onto trusted web sites (I use www.cancerresearchuk.com a lot) and don’t start looking for miracle cures as there are some wacky ideas out there. Steve Jobs (founder of Apple inc wasted years thinking that a macrobiotic diet would save him rather than drugs) he lost years of his life through this.

I remember when I was told it may be bowel cancer just before my colonoscopy. I waited until everyone was in bed and googled bowel cancer, I was horrified and quickly shut down the lid on my laptop. I couldn’t have bowel cancer, that shit was too scary to even think about. The next night I googled again and this went on most nights, alone and searching, firstly obsessed with signs and symptoms. These were quite reassuring as I didn’t have the classic symptoms, so there was still hope. As time went by I ventured onto the prognosis pages. Now these pages are dangerous.

Firstly at a high level, bowel cancer is a slow growing cancer and normally associated with more mature people, shall we say to be polite. There is a high of survival rate past 5 years if you are older, I think the age group given was 65+. However if you were younger, below 50 then the cancer is likely to be more aggressive and the survival rates drops to around 56%.

Now there were just 5 of us in ward 12 and 3 were more mature shall we say.  Karen and I were younger (I’m not giving Karen’s age away on here, that would be rude), So if you apply the statistics one of us won’t make it. Now that’s an awful thought. The other thing about statistics is that they don’t give you the whole picture. So of the 44% of the people diagnosed under 50 and died, how many died via other causes? The problem with numbers is that you can make them read how you want them too. With chemo, 40% of people don’t complete the full course of the treatment, I found that number shockingly high, but why do they not complete it? Is it too hard to go through? Is it that they are terminal and can’t see the point in spending whatever time they have left being ill and how many die through other causes whilst having treatment? See the numbers don’t tell the whole story.

You see statistics are not that simple as I am not just a number and neither is Karen who is on the same journey as me. If you apply the 56% rule, one of us might not make it and then who should that be? What if it’s neither of us and we both make it, happy days you think but that means that two other people under 50 that I don’t know won’t. That’s okay you say because we don’t know them but I can’t think like that. They would be no different to me or Karen in that they would probably have children, they would have friends and family that loved them and they would have suffered so much. It’s heartbreaking that anyone has to die through cancer or any other disease like cancer that completely takes over your life.

So the message is, do your research from trusted sites. You are not a statistic and you are better off waiting for actual concrete results from tests and then using the internet based on facts but you won’t listen as I didn’t. You will do it in private hiding your secret obsession from your loved ones. Pretending that you are oblivious to the statistics and the information you have read. The truth is that they have probably read what you have read but don’t want to scare you either. So you will all play the pretend game until you have formally been diagnosed. Then you cry, not at the words “you have cancer” but because you already know too much about what lies in store for you.

Monday 20th April Steve and I head for Mr Mullerat’s clinic. Under advice from my best mate Nicky I had not only listed the questions I wanted answering but it was also typed and even had spaces for me to write in the replies he gave us as we went through the results so that we didn’t forget anything.
We were back in the same waiting room as we had been a few months ago when Harry was still inside me, an odd feeling as Harry had gone and within the next hour we would know everything.
Mr Mullerat was surprisingly excited to tell me about the size of Harry, I think he liked that Harry had been a challenge for him. He said I was lucky that he could do the surgery via key hole, that there was a moment when they considered opening me up completely. He explained again about removing the stomach muscles and that seriously would hold back my recovery and cause me to be sore for longer, then we moved onto Harry.
We were told that Harry was an aggressive cancer, that I would have had him for no longer than 18 months, that I was at stage 3 cancer and that without chemo I would only have a 25% chance of living 5 years.
The chance of getting bowel cancer again was only 5%, but that he would be seeing me every six months for the next 5 years, that I would need chemo but I would have something called 5FU and you don’t loose your hair with that chemo. He wouldn’t answer what the chances were of me living past 5 years with chemo was as he said that the Oncologist would go through all that with me but he did say that I needed to start chemo as soon as possible, within 2/3 weeks.
The big bombshell for me was when he explained that 22 lymph nods were removed and half were cancerous and that he had to leave cancerous lymph nodes behind as they were supplying blood to vital organs. Harry was living in me still.

Steve wanted to take me on the previous cancelled holiday and Mr Mullerat gave his permission that this would be a fantastic idea prior to starting chemo, no stress holiday, no cruises but those were the only two rules and I was glad as I knew that Steve would throw himself into the mission of planning and organising it as soon as he could, it gives him a focus, a thing to do to make it all better and to bring some joy into our lives.

On the way home in the car I said to Steve that I couldn’t tell my poor mom the results but I knew I had to, no lies was the deal with everyone. We drove in silence, I looked out at the countryside and the green fields rolling by unable to say anything.
There is a local beauty spot on the way back from the hospital and Steve suddenly indicated left, I knew where we were going. Steve said that I wasn’t ready to go home yet and parked up. We got out and sat on the benches, Steve had his arms around me from behind, we were quiet not saying anything and the tears slowly rolled from my eyes. Not uncontrollable tears just tears gently falling, there was not a lot to say so we sat for a while, I cried and Steve didn’t cry.

I asked him why he didn’t cry as I didn’t understand and he said that it wouldn’t do if he broke down as well, that he had to be strong for me. This just made it worse for me as who was supporting my man?, who asked him if he was okay?, who sent him messages of love and support? who could he turn to? and the answer is that men have to endure the worse thing out of the sexes in that they have to be strong, they have to hold it together, they have to protect us but the loneliness of that burden haunted him and me as I couldn’t help him. I couldn’t make it go away for either of us.

So Harry had been sent off for tests whilst I was recovering at home. We all knew that these results would be important in terms of the next steps. Mr Mullerat had told us that Harry had broken through the bowel wall and started to eat away at my tummy so we knew we were at least looking at stage 2 or stage 3 cancer and these results would shape the next steps of the treatment. Would I need chemo? would I loose my hair? how long would chemo last? The endless questions going around and round and round in my head. I was sleeping at least twice a day still getting over the operation, I could walk and stand a little easier but I wasn’t anywhere close to being normal. I was going to mention poo at this point but I think poo needs a whole blog just to itself later on so I’ll just say that trips to the loo was followed by discomfort and burning like I had never experienced, making you feel very childlike and very sore, oh my poor bum!
On Saturday 11th April a letter came through the door from Mr Mullerat to say that he wanted to see me in clinic on 10th May. My mom went into a complete outrage, it was disgusting she thought, just not good enough for her daughter, I shouldn’t have to wait that long for the results, I should be a priority. She said not for the first time that I should go private, that she would sell her house to fund it and it would all be okay if enough money was thrown at it, oh bless her for wanting this to be true. Steve on the other hand was elated that we were being kept waiting as that meant that it was all okay, nothing was wrong, no stress or panic cos if there was something serious going on they would have called me in sooner, denial again Steve I think.
The problem was that it was a Saturday and so for the weekend I was stuck in the middle of my furious mom and my happy hubby. We all decided that I would call on the Monday to find out what was going on and why I had to wait so long for my results, it was a long weekend.
Monday morning came round so at about 10.30 I dialed the secretaries number, straight to answer machine as she was on annual leave until tomorrow so there was nothing I could do until the next day, stuck in the middle of two opposing views and trying to stay calm.
On Tuesday I dialed the number again and got through 🙂 Mr Mullerat’s secretary was lovely and completely understood my call “let me just get your file” she said and after a pause of her reading she said that yes Mr Mullerat did want to see me sooner and was I available to come into clinic on Monday? Yes I replied, of course.
Now any woman loves the ‘I told you so moment’ and if you say you don’t you are lying but I couldn’t do that to Steve his face said it all, I knew as he did that what he had been saying about them seeing you earlier if it was urgent was true and him lying to himself for 3 days and trying to calm the whole thing down had just slapped him in the face like a big wet smelly fish and he had no words left. Mom went quite too, not that she wanted the ‘I told you so’ moment either but like Steve and I we had all been hit in the face with a big wet smelly fish and another waiting game unfolded of ‘what if’s’ until the appointment date came round of Monday 20th April when we would find out about Harry.

5th April, one week and 5 days post op. I hadn’t really been out of the house since the operation on 24th March. Steve needed some more local photo’s for leaflets to be used for the forthcoming election. We went to a local park with Molly of course. It was warm and partly sunny, perfect for picture taking. Molly was happy, well she is always happy when she has a ball to run after, I don’t think she cares about the surroundings, it’s all about the ball.

I can walk very slowly, if I don’t carry anything and I was enjoying the fresh air. My mobile rang, it was Pat, Karen’s mom. I could sense something was wrong.

I had briefly got to know Pat whilst we were in ward 12. She was a lovely lady who was in her 70’s (I think) she lives in Devon but had come up to be with her daughter, mom’s hey! Bless them all.

Even though I had gone home from hospital on Saturday 28th March, I had returned the next day with biscuits and thank you cards for everyone on the ward. Karen was still in hospital but told me that she was being let out soon. I was pleased, she had lost the hot water bottled shaped green sick bag and was up and about. Her family were all there, hubby, son and Pat. We chatted for a short while but I had to get home and rest as just going to M&S and to the hospital was a major thing. I said goodbye to the other ladies on ward 12 which I had spent the previous week with. I went to say goodbye to Karen, she stood up to hug me from her bed and that was it, I just cried in her arms and she in mine. Those few short days had been tough on both of us, we had shared the same pain and forged a bond through the experience that would never, for me be forgotten. Would we ever see each other again and would we survive whatever lay ahead? Those around us I think were a little shocked at us hugging and crying, I could see Pat was also upset and I saw her tears when I hugged her to say goodbye too. We had already exchanged numbers the day before and said we would keep in touch, I hoped that we would.

Pat told me that Karen had been very ill, they had to call 999 the previous night and she was back in hospital. The bowel had become infected and formed pockets of abcesses on her bowel. She was on drip form antibiotics and that whilst Karen was okay, Pat had been very scared by it all. I was horrified that Karen was ill again, that after all she had been through in hospital and she was still suffering. Poor Karen, and I just hoped that she would be okay.  Apparently it’s days 2-5 days that are the most critical after bowel surgery. Karen had got through the those critical days and almost two weeks later was back in hospital.

When Karen returned home she called me and we talked through what she had been through. They couldn’t even move her in the ambulance without giving her morphine first for the pain. At the hospital she had to cry and beg them not to operate on her again as they were considering giving her a bag. Thankfully they didn’t operate and she was going to now be okay surely! She had definitely suffered through this and maybe she had just been unlucky. That had to be it for her now in terms of pain, her body had been through so much, I worried how much more she could take.

Weeks later she found out at her post op appointment with her surgeon that they had removed 61 lymph nodes and 5 were cancerous. She was facing chemo over a 6 month period.