In December of last year Laura started to feel pain in her right shoulder and some discomfort in her lower back. Not once did we think it was anything related to cancer. She thought it was the strain from how she was sitting at her desk when working from home. Apart from that everything was fine over the festive period. The expected pain and occasional discomfort from her lymphedema was no real cause for concern. She had a check up CT scan due at the beginning of February so all seemed to be okay. Christmas and New Year brought new hope and we looked forward to the new year with a renewed sense of change.
Of course there is always the lingering worry that everyone that has had cancer has. The worry that it will return. It is summed up brilliantly, yet disturbingly, by Sherry McAllister when she talks about it being a gun at the back of your head. Laura asked me to read it after she had been given the all clear and it was only then I realised the full scale of not only what she had been through but what lay ahead. It never ends. It's not just a case of you get the all clear and it's back to normality.
It. Never. Goes. Away.
I'm ashamed to admit that this was generally my mindset, although not entirely, I preferred to remain optimistic. It would have been foolish and somewhat selfish to think that after all she had been though, that I could just forget it and crack on as if it had never happened. I didn't want to entertain the notion that it could return. Then at the beginning of January she started to feel short of breath a lot. This shortness of breath started to really take hold and she would struggle to walk any distance and even getting upstairs was a chore. So she went to the doctors to get what we thought was a lung infection checked out. The doctor referred her to hospital where they decided that her lungs needed draining. The effusion of her lungs and the results of the drain gave them cause for concern and the CT scan was brought forward.
When Laura called me from hospital on Thursday 28th, she was concerned that what she had read online indicated that the cancer had returned. On Friday 29th she rang me and told me that they had found traces of cancer in her lungs. It had returned. They had said to her if she wanted me there before they told her the news but she wanted to know. So I made my way to hospital where I found Laura sitting up in bed, in pain mentally and physically with a resigned but calm demeanour. I cried for the whole time I was there. Tears of anger and frustration, of sadness and worry. Laura, who was 13 years my younger was meant to outlive me. She was the better half. She was more than half. How could I, we, possibly cope without her? It was just so crushingly unfair. I had to leave and go get the kids but spent about 10 minutes crying in the corridor of the hospital. I had no care that I was sitting there openly crying in public. I then had to straighten myself out before going to pick up them up. My head was spinning and I felt heart sick but she asked me to put a brave face on for them, so I did. And I continue to do that to this day.
We were given an appointment to see our oncologist and she confirmed that not only was there cancer in her pleura but it had also spread to her liver. Its hard to describe your feelings when you hear such news and I think my brain actually chose to ignore the finality of it. It's just shock. Laura was the same. We sat there in silence as the oncologist told us when was asked her how long in her opinion Laura had. She told us a year to a year and a half. She then went on to tell us that she has set up chemo for her and that was recommending immunotherapy too. Immunotherapy basically stimulates the immune systems cells to fight cancer, whereas chemo kills the cells. She also suggested that we be put forward for medical trials but Laura had to get herself fitter before being considered for that. The doctor did try to stay positive, telling us how the treatment can work and extend life expectancy but we both sat there quietly as our world collapsed round about us.
Secondary cancer. There is no cure. There is no miracle. The only miracle you get is living longer than your original prognosis, which, in the big scheme of things, makes the word miracle seem like anything but. It's respite. It's borrowed time. We made plans. Laura worked on her Living List. It's not called a Bucket List. That list is something you make up when you have time and relative health on your side. We worked on that list but didn't even do half of it. It's not easy to do things when chemo floors you and/or you just don't have the energy. She tried. She tried so very hard. Her determination to still plan and try things despite the physical and mental pain was superhuman. I am and always will be immensely proud and incredibly humbled by the way she handled everything. It was truly inspirational.
We were given a year to a year and a half.
We got 5 months.
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