We saw a very nice and seemingly competent consultant who told Jane straight that she has liver cancer and then said ‘it is treatable.’ He thinks they removed all the organs affected by the bowel cancer they dealt with during emergency surgery, and the ‘current thinking is’ that her liver is the primary.

So…from imminent death, to quite possibly a further 25 years of life. To say Jane was shocked is an understatement. Almost a week has passed and she is coming to terms with maybe living rather than dying.

However she is very ill. And liver cancer is no joke; already I have lost count of the people who ‘know someone who had 20/50/80% of their liver removed during surgery and within a mere 4/6/8months following surgery their entire liver had re-grown and was cancer-free.’

Every one means well; but it is hard to keep a smile plastered on your face when actually all you want to do is yell ‘F*** off!!! What do you know about Jane’s situation, eh? Nothing!!’ Family don’t do that…but well-meaning friends sending ‘love and light’ and ‘sending healing to you’ drive me nuts. I know it says more about me being an unpleasant aggressive person…but really? Have they not other option but to bleat platitudes which are utterly cringe-making? Just a simple ‘Sorry to hear that, can I help you strip and change the bed tomorrow’ would be, oh, so much better.  The other pet hate: ‘Ask me if you need help’

I have had one good help; a close friend asked specifically if I needed anything for the hens. He was happy to go and collect heavy sacks of layers pellets and poultry corn. THAT was kind. I phoned the store, pre-warned them and pre-paid too.

And another good man, who usually does gardening with us, has instead taken Celyn, our 20 month old Huntaway and has walked her, played with her and been willing to even keep her overnight sometimes. THAT practical help is priceless.

My brother and Jane’s sister, have driven us to and from hospital. She stayed here with me while Jane was in hospital. Jane’s brother plus wife is taking Jane to a most complicated scan in far away Wrexham on Wednesday. Family have rallied, there is no doubt. Good friends have emerged as unacknowledged heroes.

I am most grateful.

And there is no getting away from the fact that I am disabled; in constant chronic pain and am approaching utter exhaustion. I have dusted off my mobility scooter and can use it to get me and the dog down to the beach, and to the newly opened village shop. The beach is mostly rock with occasional outcrops of sand… I can wobble my way onto the rocks, leaving the scooter by a bench, knowing it will be there on my return – rural Wales, here – and so I am forging a new life for myself while watching my beloved become increasing frail, thin and wasted. Life is, indeed, tough. 

CMM

A Moodscope member