Uterine Cancer - treatment for ovarian cancer
Deep down you know what it is. Deep down, you know it's cancer, but your mind won't allow it to be spoken, somehow. The evening before, I'd received a phone call from the surgeon's secretary. Would I please report to the hospital at lunchtime the following day. Mr. Sullivan would like a word.
For some odd reason, in England, we always call our surgeons 'Mister.' I was ushered into a large, untidy office and given a chair at a large, untidy desk. Mr. Sullivan came striding in, followed closely by a male nurse. I wondered idly about the presence of the nurse, but by that time, Sullivan had seated himself opposite me and leaned his hands, fingers interlocked, on a small mountain of files he'd been carrying.
"Right, Mr. Bond. Your wife has three months."
"Oh! And then she can come home?"
"No, Mr. Bond. She has three months to live. Sorry."
Why he'd bothered to sit down in the first place, I don't know, because he simply gathered his files and can tered out of the room. The nurse hovered. I stood. "Will you be all right, Sir?" "Yes thanks, fine." I went outside into the bright sunshine and felt the tears pushing fiercely against the backs of my eyes.
Don't let go now, old son, I thought. You have to drive home. I managed the short journey and held myself in without too much trouble. I climbed out of the car, went into the house and flung myself down on the sofa. Then boy, did I let rip!
About ten minutes worth of cushion-soaking, though, and I pulled myself together. I was yet to go through the grieving cycle, of course. Far too early for that. All I'd done was to rid myself of the raw shock.
Apart from the knowledge of losing Anne, which was an all-enveloping darkness of spirit, my other great concern was that I'd turn back to the bottle. I went to the doctor, and she gave me some strong antidepressants to be taken as needed. They proved invaluable.
I had to make the usual arrangements for cre mation, which was something Anne had insisted upon years before, the Death Certificate and other necessary items. My sister-in-law flew in from Canada, (Anne was Canadian), and she supported me magnificently.
I must admit now that everything's somewhat of a blur. To begin with, this happened over 30 years ago now, and memory has a way of fading the unpleasantness into a sort of oblivion. I went through all the usual grieving steps; deep sorrow, self-pity, anger. I went upstairs to sort Anne's clothes out, but of course the smell of her was upon them, and I simply couldn't continue.
The surgeon gave me his prognosis in May. One August evening I arrived home from work, just as the phone was ringing. It was the hospital, to say that Anne had died. The interesting part about all this is that it hit me like a sledgehammer. I thought I was well prepared after three months, but I wasn't.
There's always a residue of hope...
Grief affects us all in different w ays. You can feel very lonely and if someone else is going through this same misery, I hope this article shows that they're not alone. It happens, and you recover. Go to Mike Bond's website, The Hypnosis Attraction, where you'll find other tools for dealing with grief