The previous 4 months had been a long process and a real roller coaster of emotions. The main challenge I found was the way my progress lurched from one set of results to another. There were 4 or 5 lots of tests, scans and operations that I had to go through, each of which delivered a result that was very much a sliding doors moment. It was as if someone was playing heads or tails with my health and on occasions, where tests were for a terminal illness, with my life. And yet as soon as a result was delivered, especially if it was not the result we were wanting, there felt like there was no time to deal with it. A line was drawn in the sand to mark your new position and the next set of tests, treatments and operations was put in motion. It was extremely emotionally draining to deal with.

Looking back now, I don’t remember the lows being as bad as I know they were at the time. There were times during many nights and days when I lost my strength and control and sobbed like a baby. I remember an Eastenders type moment when I completely lost it one evening. I was carrying a plate through to the kitchen and Kathy and I had a disagreement about something so unimportant and small that I can’t even remember what it was about. But I lost it, I exploded and threw the plate on the floor, smashing it into a hundred pieces and I literally crumpled into a heap at the bottom of the stairs, hugging the banister and crying uncontrollably. I must have looked pathetic but it was just the release of so much pent up stress, worry and pressure. It was really tough at times.

The hardest thing was when I let my mind drift to a scenario of Emma (and now Sam) growing up without a Dad. That thought literally brought me to my knees within seconds and still does now if I let the thought creep into my head. I obviously tried not to think about such things but there have been some pretty long and lonely nights experienced in the last few months and the mind sometimes goes to places that you’d rather it didn’t.

A similar feeling, although somewhat diluted, occurs when people talk about big future milestones. If anyone mentions Emma getting married for example then the very first thought I have now is that I hope I’m there to walk her down the aisle. I would previously have taken that situation for granted and thinking of her future wedding would have given me nothing but happy thoughts. Now though, the immediate reaction is tinged with doubt and some sadness that I might not be there. That realisation really takes the wind out of my sails. One thing it does do however on the positive side is to make you appreciate things that much more. I know that’s a complete cliché but before all of this happened, I would have just bumbled along in my life hoping and almost expecting to get to 75+ years old, see my children go through school, find themselves a job, move into their own house and if they’re lucky enough, start their own families. I obviously still hope and plan to get to see all of that but what I’m now much more aware of is that all of these things aren’t a God given right and really shouldn’t be taken for granted. Every person probably has similar expectations that life will unfold beautifully for them over many years. However, disease and accidents prevent many others from living their idealistic life plan. Generally when you hear of such situations, the thought is that it’s really unfortunate on those affected but it won’t happen to you so that’s ok. The last few months have just been a very sobering reminder that actually these things can happen to anyone, at any time. It’s that thought that puts everything into perspective. It makes me realise that every family holiday, Christmas, Birthday, and first day at nursery or school are events that other people planned to have but never got chance to experience. It’s not a bad thing to be reminded to really appreciate all the moments we often take for granted. I know how patronising and self-righteous that may well sound and don’t get me wrong, I can still walk through a park without stopping to smell every flower. I don’t sit and watch the sun rise every morning. I still get stressed at work and take it out on Kathy at home. I haven’t really changed the way I live life on the larger scale but I do feel like I appreciate the smaller things a lot more than I did and I feel I have a better perspective on life as a whole which is no bad thing.

I had an overwhelming amount of support during the whole process I went through. I had numerous visits from family and friends, cards, messages and gifts to keep me busy. I was extremely grateful for every single one of them. The situation even made me swallow my pride and rekindle a friendship with someone who was once one of my best mates but I had fallen out with. Another cliché here, but life is definitely too short to hold grudges so if nothing else, this whole process enabled me to get a really good friendship back.

Whilst I had huge support from so many people through everything, Kathy was an absolute rock through it all. I just don’t know how she managed to be so supportive and strong  when it must have been so stressful and worrying for her but she was incredible and made everything so much easier and more straight forward for me to deal with.

I really missed my Dad during this time. He passed away just over 3 years before this journey started, dying suddenly when on holiday with Mum and some friends. It goes without saying that I have always missed him since he died but this whole situation made his loss even harder and more obvious. I felt like I had to be stronger than I wanted to in front of the rest of my family, as Dad wasn’t there to reassure them so I needed to do so myself. I knew that the situation must be really difficult for my Mum. It must have been horrible for her to see her little baby (albeit 6’4” and 18 stone baby) going through what I was. I felt like it was already tough enough for Mum, Kathy and the rest of the family that whenever I could, I needed to be seen to be strong and coping. This inevitably meant that I bottled up my feelings and sometimes the floodgates opened, as per the Eastenders scene and other more private ones. Luckily this didn’t happen too often and not for too long but when it did it was horrible to feel so vulnerable and low.

I missed Dad’s reassurance and his support. I missed his trademark firm handshake, accompanied by a small sideways tilt of the head, a wink and a little clenching of his teeth that spoke a thousand words of encouragement and love. I’m sure Mum missed him even more than normal through the previous few months too. It was tough to go through it all without Dad.