Thursday 23 March 2006
I left a message on the answer phone for Tracey but still no word from her.
Building myself up to tell the girls today, and then my mother tomorrow [it will save my Sister having to tell her].
Early evening I get a call from Tracey, not the nurse I was expecting as this Tracey is the Vein nurse from the Bronchoscopy. I will have to call them Tracey Hair, on account of her spiky highlighted hairstyle and Tracy Vein.
Anyway, Tracey Vein tells me she should have a date for the PET scan for me tomorrow. It will more than likely be in Middlesex, more of that later no doubt.
We confirm and compare all that has passed thus far and I ensure her that I have all the necessary information I need regarding my condition.
Eventually, having seen the girls mum upon her release from hospital, I can get around to informing the girls of my illness.
No time wasted, so as soon as they are altogether in the living room, still stripped of paper, I take a deep breath.
Although I am relieved to get that off my chest [I will be more relieved to get the tumour off it] it was not easy.
My eldest took it quite matter-of-fact, as if to say ‘OK Dad, get on with it, I will be there for you’.
My stepdaughter says little, she never does on serious matters, she will no doubt mull it over and perhaps talk to her mum.
My youngest from my first marriage is a different kettle of fish altogether, she takes it really badly: there are tears and she keeps her distance for the rest of the evening. I know that sounds really bad but it isn’t; she has a way of dealing with things that highlight just how sensitive she is, and it is easy to forget looking at her that she is still only 15 years old. She will also be there for me when the time comes.
Our baby daughter, 1 year old on Tuesday next week, is thankfully oblivious to it all and consoles me with a ‘Wot, wot, wot’, which is her favourite sound at the moment.
A weight has been lifted, if not a little ‘shifted’ onto others but I remember asking the surgeon the last time I had cancer how I would tell my family, he replied
‘just tell them like it is as I did to you’.
All will be well.
[I opened an envelope given to me by my best friend at work today, neither of us are in the office next week. It was a little note explaining how she was feeling about my illness and how her wishes were with me. Accompanying the letter was a little ‘Angel’ broach, and although she knows I am not religious she wants it to bring me luck’. Thank you. I am superstitious about having lucky charms and will not carry them, but it will remind me that people do care]
Building myself up to tell the girls today, and then my mother tomorrow [it will save my Sister having to tell her].
Early evening I get a call from Tracey, not the nurse I was expecting as this Tracey is the Vein nurse from the Bronchoscopy. I will have to call them Tracey Hair, on account of her spiky highlighted hairstyle and Tracy Vein.
Anyway, Tracey Vein tells me she should have a date for the PET scan for me tomorrow. It will more than likely be in Middlesex, more of that later no doubt.
We confirm and compare all that has passed thus far and I ensure her that I have all the necessary information I need regarding my condition.
Eventually, having seen the girls mum upon her release from hospital, I can get around to informing the girls of my illness.
No time wasted, so as soon as they are altogether in the living room, still stripped of paper, I take a deep breath.
Although I am relieved to get that off my chest [I will be more relieved to get the tumour off it] it was not easy.
My eldest took it quite matter-of-fact, as if to say ‘OK Dad, get on with it, I will be there for you’.
My stepdaughter says little, she never does on serious matters, she will no doubt mull it over and perhaps talk to her mum.
My youngest from my first marriage is a different kettle of fish altogether, she takes it really badly: there are tears and she keeps her distance for the rest of the evening. I know that sounds really bad but it isn’t; she has a way of dealing with things that highlight just how sensitive she is, and it is easy to forget looking at her that she is still only 15 years old. She will also be there for me when the time comes.
Our baby daughter, 1 year old on Tuesday next week, is thankfully oblivious to it all and consoles me with a ‘Wot, wot, wot’, which is her favourite sound at the moment.
A weight has been lifted, if not a little ‘shifted’ onto others but I remember asking the surgeon the last time I had cancer how I would tell my family, he replied
‘just tell them like it is as I did to you’.
All will be well.
[I opened an envelope given to me by my best friend at work today, neither of us are in the office next week. It was a little note explaining how she was feeling about my illness and how her wishes were with me. Accompanying the letter was a little ‘Angel’ broach, and although she knows I am not religious she wants it to bring me luck’. Thank you. I am superstitious about having lucky charms and will not carry them, but it will remind me that people do care]
posted by old enough to moan @ 10:27 pm
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