Nearly a year into this dreadful journey, my beloved is still here, physically less, suffering with frustration, an unrepaired hip and cervical cancer that has robbed her of her womanhood (her words).

She's no idea I'm writing this and for the sake of those concerned, I'll remain anonymous. As I said before, its almost a year since vaginal bleeding turned into a stage four cancer diagnosis, ten months since radiation treament (which extended into July) and four months since she was given six months or less to live.

She's the woman I love, ordinary, well, not very, hard working, incredibly, house proud, absolutely. She's a family person, from a strong loving family who are hard workers, clean, know how to enjoy life. There are three grown up children, all in good jobs, all three live and work away, although one has returned home. She has a few very close friends, without whom life would be much poorer. She's chair bound now much of the time, able to walk for brief periods to the kitchen, or out to sort washing when she's having a good day. At other times, she gets these infections which knock her sideways and make her afraid, like she's falling apart, disintigrating, bit by bit. She still manages to smile though, when she's awake, there's a hug and a kiss, sometimes, a good old fashioned snog, reminds us of what we used to do, and we did, often. She feels like she is less of a woman, not being able to make love, that's not possible now and hasn't been for a very long time. I love her more though because how she handles herself with such dignity and pride continues to amaze me. When she visits the hospice or goes for any appointment, she takes care to make herself look presentable, it's important, to her. She refuses to allow cancer to rob her of her dignity and self confidence, we're not talking masses of make up here, just a woman who wants to look her best.

The absolute truth is that I only see this periodically, my work is away from home although a time will come when I will live at home when she absolutely needs me there. Before you judge me, it was her idea that I continue working away and we talk often, we cry together, express our joys and fears, mundane news, general gossip and the bubbles of daily life. Sometimes we struggle to be relevent when we talk but thankfully those times are few and far between. I have witnessed  my beloved lose six stones in weight, undergo painful injections with needles longer than my forearm, be subjected to brachytherapy, radiotherapy, I've seen her drag herself painsfully around the house hoovering, she needs a new hip, she's already had one done and the other was due for replacement but she doubts she's last the op now. She won't give up the housework though, it just takes a lot longer.

The man with the ponytail and beard at the hospital who she calls the bear is a pain guru, he does his very best, Macmillan are regular visitors, the district nurse is on first name terms, the drawers are full of drugs, because of the ravage of this cruel disease, she now wears a bag,

For all of this though, she remains who she is, larger in spirit and more loving. Physically she is less, less able, in her eyes, less a woman, unable to work,

So when I come home on leave, my lover is dimished, physically less, more tired, less of a spark, her wearyness breaks my heart. When we kiss our hello's there are tears of thankfulness, the next morning, during the first coffee, a kitchen ritual, there's a hug and then tears, we renew our closeness and I'm so glad. If she's able, we talk, she's at her best in the mornings so we talk then. Fears spill out and tears well up at the forthcoming separation which we will have to endure, we both know it's coming, not the day or the hour but there is no denying that damned disease which is rotting her away.

Part of me becomes really angry at times, she has never done anyone any wrong, and there are folk who lie, cheat, kill even, walking around healthy, I wouldn't wish this on anyone but it really is not fair.

She's not perfect, who is? but to be subject to this, suffering not only pain but frustration and indignity. Sometimes I wish it were me, not her but I'd never tell her, she'd really tell me off !

So why am I saying all of this to absolute strangers?

I have no one else to tell this to. Of course my colleagues know, and they politely ask after her, they are good people, but they don't know her. I don't tell anyone how I feel because right now, my feelings are not important.

This is a tribute to the woman who has enhanced my life, put up with my stupidity, endured my hobbies and kept me company with the best loving any man could ever hope to have. I could not ask for any more, yet I hope with all my heart there is.