Well, we’re nearly at the end of
May. Can’t believe how far we’ve come on this journey and there is light at the
end of the tunnel - although I thought somebody had turned it off at some point
to save electric! Only five sessions of chemotherapy left out of the fourteen,
each one another step nearer for my return home. I suspect a ‘good bottoming’
will be required after leaving Gary in charge of the feather duster! (For those
who don’t know, this means a good clean and nothing rude!)
Since moving to Birmingham back in
November, we have said numerous times it was the best thing we could have done
under the circumstances. A swift count up adds up to fifty nights in hospital
and we’ve lost count of how many outpatient appointments there’s been so far.
On occasions we’ve been at the hospital until late and thank god there’s no two
hour trek back to Wales, fifteen minutes and we’re home and dry.
Watching your daughter go through
such gruelling treatment requires an inner strength and commitment I didn’t know
I had - (although having been married to Gary for 35 years has given me good
practice!) However, out of the two of us I think Rhi is the stronger. She never
grumbles or moans about any of the treatment she has to endure. I won’t say she
hasn’t shed a tear, because we both have. Sometimes the days have been long and
dark (and the nights too when sleep evades you and your mind starts to wander
and worry what the future will bring). But morning comes and I think of Builth
High School’s motto of ‘Carpe Diem’ meaning ‘Seize the Day’ and get up and face
whatever the day has in store.
Looking back at some of the
lowest points it’s been hard to always stay strong and positive. Standing by
the bed when they took off her bandages after her major operation, I didn’t know
what to expect and neither did she. Things were worse than I thought but with
time and care things have improved greatly in that area. Radiotherapy was also particularly
heart-wrenching. Sitting there while she was left alone in that room when the radiation
was being delivered, I often found myself to be quite emotional. Her hair loss
has probably hit me harder than it has her. Thinking back to all the times she
used to love doing her hair – whether it be blonde or red, she never left the
house without it being immaculate. Her fertility, well I try not to think about
it. She’s done what she can in terms of freezing her eggs and hopefully one day
I’ll be a Nan! But from a selfish point of view I think as long as Rhi’s alive
it doesn’t matter whether she has any children or not.
The Young Persons Unit at the QE
has become our second home. I have met many mothers and fathers, who like me,
have a story to tell about their child. We all agree that although life is
tough, they seem to have such courage and determination, enduring any treatment
that’s thrown at them, facing life with great optimism and hope for the future.
Before I leave you, I’d just like
to say that it’s not been all doom and gloom. I think most days we have found
something to laugh about – whether it’s been her new nickname ‘Argos’ (because
she says she looks like the aliens in the advert and there’s now the added Olly
Murs reference!), the many bush tucker eating trials she says I make her endure
or wondering whether we’re in the right clinic for radiotherapy when we see two
men walking around with women’s handbags and thought perhaps we were in the
gender change department?! They say laughter is the best medicine and I’m sure
they’re right, whoever they are! It’s certainly helping in Rhi’s journey, that’s
for sure.
