Cancer ? What is that ?

Cancer to me is a word that tends to drift into the back of my mind, to be fair I would hear it on the TV, see people collecting for it while out shopping with the family, see my wife and her friends complete charity organised runs in pink to raise money to assist in the research to combat it. It never affected me other than a small degree of sympathy for those to which it effected and to whom I would hear about.

Let’s be honest, cancer does not happen to us? That happens to other people.  We are a normal family living with normal stresses in life, work, finances, dreams to have material things, holidays to which are not affordable, what to have for tea tonight for a family of 5, without one or more of the kids complaining about it! That is my life, my normal, my sometimes not so perfect world, but to me is perfect.  Cancer is a big word, something that I never had to think about, nor ever wanted to.

The 19th January 2018 would see a change to this, and make what I always saw as a big world, with big nasty illnesses in it suddenly appear so small. For a bloke, who like many, does not remember birthdays and anniversaries, this would become a date I will never forget.

My role, as a husband and a father, is to provide and protect my family. I have done this for 18 years, and if I was to be honest, is probably the thing I like to think I do best. I am not the most patient person in this world, and I have many flaws, but being a dad and a husband is something I not only enjoy, but like to think I do ok at. That day tested my strength as a husband and a father.

Our son was diagnosed with ALL (Acute lymphoblastic leukaemia). Up until this point I had never heard of it, yes I’d heard of leukaemia, as a close friend of ours daughter had been diagnosed just less than a year previous. I struggled to hold it together for him when he told me, now I have to hold it together for my family.  The doctor at Addenbrookes was brilliant, but the blow was like a sledge hammer, and came from nowhere. There was no time to process it, a bed was ready for him in the ward they informed us, and how did we want to tell our son, he asked? Do you want to? Or would you like me to tell him?.

How do you tell a fit healthy, popular 10 year old boy that he has leukaemia? He won’t know what that is, and why should he!  We opted to tell him all together, but followed the lead of the doctor. It seemed like seconds between us being told, to my son being bought in. He sat down, and the doctor explained what the bone marrow aspirate showed, and what they had done. He told my son, “you have Leukaemia, do you know what that is?” To which my son shook his head.” You have a type of cancer that affects your blood, but we can treat it, and make you better, you will need to stay with us for about nine days”. Nine days was all he heard, he burst into tears, he did not want to be there, football training was tonight, and that was to be missed. Shortly after, we were led out of the paediatric day unit to settle in for eleven long days onto the Children’s Oncology and Haematology ward.

He stood there confused and said these words that will always haunt me ‘what is wrong with me? Do I have Cancer?’ A question no parent should have to answer, other than to say ‘No, don’t be silly’. I again felt helpless, weak, emotionally confused and drained, and had to look at him in the eye, and say ‘yes’.  I would not wish that on my worst enemy.

The weeks and months to follow have not become any easier. Normality no longer exists. Information overload began.  Everyone else’s nightmare is to become your normality. You can’t change it, leave it, or pass it over. It is here, it’s not going anywhere, and is yours to own, to deal with and cope with. The magnitude of it will leave you overwhelmed.  Emotions will leave you exhausted, numb and angry.  I remain helpless in the hands of the professionals, humbled by the support of friends and family, and people who I have never met, empathy with others who are in the same boat as we are. 

At times I am grateful that my son has ALL, I sat on a ward of 17 children with my son  all who have some sort of Cancer,  many worse than my sons, it is truly heart-breaking and makes a none religious man search for answers as to why this happens.

I have done the majority of my crying, mostly in times when I am on my own, and now resume the role to which I take pride in. I am a dad and a husband who will remain strong in a situation to which I never thought in a million years I would be in. The word cancer is now everywhere. My father also has it, only being diagnosed in November with prostate cancer, I hear it everywhere, as I am sure I did before; I only now listen to it.

My world is smaller than it once was, there are no plans, there are only treatment schedules and medical charts and medication talk and a drive to ensure he is well. There is a need to keep the family strong and together. I feel a slight anxiousness when we are not together. I like to know we are all safe. I am sure I did this before, but my son’s diagnosis has put a different perspective on everything.

I feel sorry for friends and family when they get upset.  I felt guilty telling my Dad about his grandson, as he has his own fight to battle. I felt guilty telling my friend that my son had it, as I knew it would drag up emotions and memories for him and his family also on his daughter’s diagnoses. But mainly feel a sense of helplessness in offering comfort to my wife, who is very much feeling the same overwhelming wave of emotions and facing the same struggle to come to terms with the situation we are now in, I do the best I can.

I feel upset for my son’s siblings; they are at an influential age and having to deal with this also. I am proud of the way they have managed it.

I wish I could take it away from my son; I would in a blink of an eye. But I can’t. It tests your ability as a parent to the max. I am proud of the way he deals with it, but struggle on the days he is ill. I often have to walk out of a room and compose myself before returning. I am so proud of his strength and ability to cope with his diagnoses.

So many feelings and things to cope with, all of which I never gave a thought to before. I am amazed at how everyone copes and supports each other. Cancer is here, it is with us, our world may feel smaller and not the same as it was before, but it is our world, we are in it with others, and as ironic as it may sound, still remains a pretty perfect one if not a little battered.