Is there such a thing as being on the other side of Cancer?

I’m not entirely sure if there is so I looked up ‘Side’ in the Oxford English Dictionary and found amongst a long list the following definitions:

Noun,

• A position to the left or right of an object, place, or central point.
• Either of the two halves of an object, surface, or place regarded as divided by an imaginary central line.
• The right or the left part of a person’s or animal’s body, especially of the human torso.
• The position, interests, or attitude of one person or group, especially when regarded as being in opposition to another or others.
• A particular aspect of a situation or a person’s character.

It seems there is and the last point is especially meaningful.

John has been diagnosed with cancer and I am here, at his side trying not to show how much it hurts. Instinct is telling me I can’t be down around him but quietly I am crying inside. It isn’t me who has been handed a potential death sentence, I’m the one who needs to be strong and carry on but I’m not afraid to admit I found it extremely difficult.

John’s family history for cancer isn’t the finest and in 2008 he had cancerous polyps removed from his lower colon. In 2014 he was gene tested and found to be carrying a gene which translates to Lynch Syndrome. Carrying this gene means he is at a greater risk of developing one from a very long list of cancers, but ironically Sarcoma isn’t on that list. Even though this has always been in the back of our minds, I truly never believed it would actually happen. John on the other hand has been conditioned that one day he would develop a cancer of some kind. Either way, it still didn’t seem fair.

A fews days after receiving the news, it was becoming more apparent that there was this huge elephant in the room. We would talk about it but not properly. John knew I was bottling everything up but he was agitated and angry. This was the start of one of the strangest arguments we have ever had. It all started with him nitpicking at me for no reason and eventually after a couple of hours it culminated with selfish statements which I eventually bit at. Numbly I started shouting at him for being selfish and to never speak to me again in that way as I stormed out of the room in tears to the bedroom for the next three hours. To an outsider it would have probably looked like the perfect teenage tantrum; storming off after being told you can’t go to the party of the year. I have never in my life shouted like I did that evening at John. Every conceivable emotion came out at once. The last time I remember feeling like that was when my father died 24 years ago.

I eventually calmed down and ventured back downstairs, finding John sitting in the garden very subdued. I was still angry but at the same time I knew I had to listen to him and hear it all from his perspective. Looking back it was the best thing to happen, maybe not in the way it did but things needed to be said. John goaded me to have a melt down and whilst most people will be questioning why it happened this way instead of in a calm manner, we are human and sometimes we just behave differently. What it did do was kick the elephant into orbit.

Since that day, I started to see things from a different perspective. It was okay to feel bad about the diagnosis but it was also okay to carry on as normal. In John’s mind, until a consultant, oncologist or doctor tells him its not curable then we carry on as close to normal as possible. Why should I behave differently now he has been diagnosed?

I am immensely proud of how John approached his treatment. In the coming months there were several weeks of going backwards & forwards to the University College London Hospital at Euston. The initial appointments were to prepare his radiotherapy mask and then the actual treatment. In-between these sessions there were regular trips to the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in Stanmore for further chest scans to monitor for Mets and of the tumour itself.

As each week went passed, everything seemed to be a bit easier. The reality was no longer a shock but something we had to deal with. In a way we both sort of slipped into a routine. Each day John would travel into Central London for his treatment, quite often getting off the train half way to meet me for coffee either beforehand or afterwards. If it was later in the day he would wait for me to finish work and we would head home together with me being the protective one on the jam packed train. In a strange way, it was a mechanism to keep things a little bit normal.

Before I knew it, John’s radiotherapy course was finished and very quickly the insistent boredom set in. If anyone reading this has children or has children you will know exactly what I am saying. It was reminiscent of the school holidays – I’m bored Mum, what can I do Mum, I don’t want to that; its boring. Yes, I really did hear I’m bored every day for the next 6 weeks until the run up to Christmas. Even Jeremy Kyle was boring! In a way it was easier for me as I could escape to work and be ‘normal’ for a few hours a day. Whilst I sympathised, I would never truly understand as I wasn’t the one stuck at home day after day for weeks. There is a lot to be said about truly understanding someone’s situation. It wasn’t that I didn’t want to understand, it was I just wouldn’t be able to as I have never been in John’s situation. It was then I started to feel guilty again. I had my health, my family, my friends and a successful career. In contrast to John at that time I had everything.

It was time to refocus.

With some thought we decided we would start planning our trip to Scandinavia. This hopefully will be the distraction John needs during the wait till his operation. And this is how we ended up doing this trip and fundraising for Sarcoma UK and Macmillan Cancer Support.

I guess what I am trying to say is never give up hope. I do believe that I will never understand what it means to be told you have cancer. But not having it isn’t easy either and anyone close to someone suffering will experience a rollercoaster of emotions. My advice, just be there and take each day as it comes. There are no answers, its not always good news but whatever happens try to be positive as much as you can. I have been lucky as John is determined to not be defined by this disease and I am certain some of his positivity has rubbed off on me. Even today I found myself forgetting he is ill.

Alexa xxx