Having a very wibbley day

Not really having a good day at all today. Tom was having his appointment with the consultant at the Oncology centre at the hospital this morning, at 10am, and was going to ring me when he was finished. I tried to keep busy with work, chatted to Jen on my phone, and generally trying not to think about it. While I was out of the office, I rang my mum to ask if I could have 4 hours off work tomorrow (unpaid as I have no holiday left) because Tom had invited me to do some training tomorrow before a trial on Saturday. Of course, I partly want to go for the training, but I mostly want to go to spend some time with Tom.

I know I should have asked her before, but I kept procrastinating about it, as I knew she would be pissed off. When I asked her, she shouted at me, told me I have to stop keep doing this, and that work should come first. During lunch, I went to get a new key cut for my Dad (for my house), and went there to drop it off to him. While I was there, my mum arrived, and started shouting and swearing at me. She told me that I wasn’t pulling my weight at work (not true, I work really hard, she just doesn’t even notice it), that she was stressed because of the business and it was only because of me that she had to carry on with it (Not true, she is obsessed with work and wouldn’t sell it even if I didn’t work there), that I was manipulative (Yup, she dropped the ‘M’ bomb!!), that I was using her.

While she was ranting, my phone rang, and although I knew she would just assume I was being rude, I told her I had to take it, as it was from Tom and I had been waiting all morning for his call. It wasn’t good news. They haven’t confirmed anything yet, but the consultant has said that they have found ‘something’ in the lymph node in the stomach now too. What they are speculating is that it is cancer in the lymph nodes and a secondary cancer in the liver (or the other way round). They aren’t sure about the bowel even though there is a mass there. He had a lot of blood tests today, and has to go back for another CT scan, an endoscopy (The one with the camera whatever that is called?) and a biopsy of his liver and his lymph nodes.

It was strange. It was almost as though he was talking, but I wasn’t really hearing it, or I just that I didn’t seem to be taking it in. This is worse news that before, although it still isn’t confirmed. Only when the tests come back will be know whether it is cancer or not, but it isn’t looking good. By the time I went back in, my mum had gone, but my Dad, bless him, told me not to be down about it, as he knew the call had been from Tom. The hard thing is, I am trying to be strong for Tom, and not let him know how much I am struggling with this news. I am doing the same with my Dad and his cancer – but for another reason. With Tom, I want him to think I am being strong for him. With my Dad, I can’t seem to let him see that I am vulnerable, or that I care. I know I need to do this before it is too late, but I just CAN’T right now.

The silly thing is, my Dad acting concerned made the tears start, when I had been holding them back through the whole conversation with Tom. Why does someone being nice to you make you emotional? I managed to get back to the car as I didn’t want my Dad to see I was upset. I tried, unsuccessfully, to stem the flow of tears that just kept running from my eyes. I had 10 minutes of driving before I got back to the office and the last thing I wanted to do was to arrive and look as though I had been crying/still crying. I will not let my mother know how much she gets to me, despite how vile she is being. I wonder sometimes if she has her own personality disorder, as her mood can switch in a moment. She can be vicious and nasty one minute, then seemingly caring the other.

On the way back to the office I phoned Kim, who I hoped would help me get myself together. I am slowly unravelling again and I can’t seem to stop it. My mum left the office a little later, a returned with a bag of gifts for me. It never fails to amaze me how she still thinks she can buy me. Perhaps nowadays she can. Perhaps my Dad phoned her and told her she had been out of order, perhaps she had had a sudden pang of guilt, who cares. A simple sorry would have been enough.

It’s still only 3.30pm and I am desperate to go home, curl up on the sofa with Hogan, and cry in the safety of knowing no-one can see me, or judge me. I feel desperately like I need to sleep but I guess that is my bodies reaction to stress – to attempt to dissociate, and thankfully I am learning to control it and not allow it to happen.

 

 

 

 

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