“I know, he looks brilliant!” I said. Kate turned and flashed me a smile too. With the big-band music pumping and the street-party atmosphere swirling all around, I felt invigorated. It had to be a good omen, I thought. Baddies couldn’t destroy my family. Cancer had been defeated, and The Incredibles were back in town.
November 30, 2009
Although Kate and Reef are not quite out of the woods yet, it is lovely to know they had such a marvelous time in Disney World and swam with the dolphins in Florida. They will not be at the family Christmas meal at Tortworth as they are flying off to Lapland that day, returning Christmas Eve.
December 29, 2009
Christmas was a non-event for us as we had to take poor Kate to A & E at Weston Hospital, extremely ill on Christmas Day. It resulted in her having fluid drained from her lung and loads of blood tests. She has also had a bad allergy rash from too many antibiotics and has lost about fifteen pounds.
She stayed in Boxing Day too and came home late in the evening. After December 27 at home in bed we had to return her to hospital again on December 28, very poorly again. Humbug!
Poor thing has been in bed today and has to go back into hospital for a bronchostomy to have lung samples taken tomorrow. They suspect that chemo and radiation have damaged her lung/back and made her very susceptible to infections/fungus and they need to find out exactly what is causing the trouble.
It was Finn’s fourth birthday but it wasn’t much of a day for him, although we did manage to get a cake and blow out candles.
Roll on 2010!
December 30, 2009
Kate had her bronchostomy today and is back home tucked up in bed. She has had the nod that nothing sinister was visible, but there was a lot of inflammation of unknown cause. She is still coughing and they took away some more fluid today.
Kate needs complete rest and relaxation (fat chance with three “boys” in the house, a dog and four guinea pigs!). We are asking the family support team to take the boys to school in the mornings and hopefully the doctors can sort Kate out after her appointment with the lung consultant on Tuesday.
January 5, 2010
Not the news we were hoping for—Kate’s cancer has spread to her lungs and bones and she is now on palliative care.
We are devastated.
January 9, 2010
After the shocking news of last week, Kate is now at home in bed on permanent oxygen awaiting a full body MRI, CT and heart scans next week to see whether it has spread to any other organs. The results will decide what holding options might work. They are considering using one of the chemicals Reef was given.
Katie finds it fairly difficult to talk on the phone. The boys are still home from school with the snow, but the Disabled Team who they know well are assisting. The boys are getting used to their mum not participating that much, although she is determined to go to the Snow White pantomime at the Bristol Hippodrome tomorrow—oxygen tanks, wheelchair and all!
She didn’t deserve this!
January 11, 2010
The panto trip went well, but Kate is tired out.
Big furniture moving round at their house today. The waterbed has been sold and removed as it was not supportive enough for her. Kate is using Nan’s electric bed which has a memory foam mattress until their new “megabed” arrives soon.
Reef is back at school and Finn back to nursery tomorrow, weather permitting. Singe is getting almost nimble on the stairs! Katie very weak.
January 12, 2010
Katie, with enormous effort, had her full body MRI done. She couldn’t have her oxygen tube for forty minutes and came back exhausted. Singe could hold her foot through the scanner. Both boys enjoyed school.
January 13, 2010
Katie stayed in bed today as her breathing is so difficult. She is hardly eating or drinking and is very fed up. She felt a bit better after a shower. Reef’s teacher came to have a chat with her. We had six inches of snow and difficulty getting up our hill today.
January 16, 2010
Kate was a smidgen improved today and managed a smile and a giggle when she saw her brother. She is now in Berrow Ward at Weston General Hospital and having moisturized oxygen, which seems to be beneficial. Reef and Finn came in for a short visit and a cuddle, which cheered her up. She is enjoying receiving texts, although it’s difficult for her to reply as her right arm is full of cannulas. She managed a mouthful or two of food and a cup of tea but her breathing and talking are still terrible, and she is wearing the oxygen mask most of the time. She took it off and smiled for a photograph with the boys—a mum’s joy!
January 19, 2010
Kate has been moved to a single side room and is more comfortable with a foldaway bed. She brightened up a bit this afternoon and was looking forward to seeing the boys, who have been at school today. She will be having two chemo tablets twice a day for two weeks and then a week’s break. Her prognosis is poor. If the lung drain can be removed later she may be moved to a hospice. Boys OK—us spaced out.
January 20, 2010
Sorry to be the bearer of bad news—but we lost Katie at 5:15 a.m. this morning. Singe, Martin and I were with her and she saw the boys yesterday evening.
It was peaceful and we knew she couldn’t struggle on any longer.
Life can be very cruel. She was only 38.
I cried uncontrollably when I got to that last line. I think I’d been reading and reminiscing for two or three hours, I’d lost track of time. Even though it was unbearably sad, and I knew the terrible ending, I had been unable to stop myself reading the next entry, and then the next.
I was struck by the medical detail Christine had recorded. It was shocking to see it in black and white, to see how quickly Kate declined. Even in her last weeks I still thought she would make it, I really did. Losing her was absolutely unthinkable. Reading the bald facts about her failing health made me realize how desperate I was for Kate to survive, because I didn’t let those facts stand in the way of my love-fueled, blind hope.
I was grateful to Christine for her diary, as I would never have remembered so much specific information, and I was very touched by some of the memories it brought back of our everyday routines. It was amazing to remember how, somehow, ordinary life carried on as cancer ran amok through our lives. I smiled at how Christine kept her sense of humor, managing to have a cheeky little dig at my size and weight when she called me “nimble” on the stairs as I was zipping up and down so often, tending to Kate in her final days. Treatment was slotted in around school, work, day trips and normal family life—or at least it was in the beginning. Somewhere along the line, and I couldn’t remember where or when, Kate and the boys and I had to fit in around cancer, as it grew and spread and seized control.
I realized there were countless elements missing from the diary, and it is very much Christine’s version of events, but that pleased me. There was no mention of Mum’s List, for example, because this was something Kate and I did alone, and I am glad some memories are unashamedly ours and ours alone.
Through both Reef and Kate’s illnesses, we inevitably lost some privacy and control of our family life. We needed so much help we had to throw open our doors. Family and friends had been unbelievably supportive, and I could never have coped without Christine and Martin, but it wasn’t the way life was meant to be.
Time had moved on now, and boundaries had been gradually redrawn. Finn was about to start school. On a practical level, life would be more manageable. I could take both boys to school together and then go to work. I could ask their grandparents for help as and when I needed it instead of having to rely on them, which is how it should be. I also had Kirsty to babysit, and the Disabled Team on hand for extra help.
I realized I was looking forward to this new chapter, and to taking back full control of my life.
Chapter 9<
br />
“Always help them if they ask”
Finn was beside himself with excitement. It was September 6, the long-awaited day when he was starting “big school” with Reef. He’d tried on his gray trousers and red sweater half a dozen times already, and had even decided exactly how he was going to gel his hair, with a bit of a quiff in the front so he looked “really cool.”
“Come on, Daddy!” he said, jumping on my bed and pulling me up. “Get up now!”
I squinted at the clock. It was only just 7 a.m., and we had loads of time to get ready, but I dutifully got up and joined in the excitement. Reef was awake too, and the whole house felt incredibly alive and vibrant for such an early hour on a cold September morning.
“Your hair looks like a hedgehog!” Reef said to Finn, who was already busy with the hair gel.
“Yours looks like a dead hedgehog!” Finn replied, giggling a wicked giggle.
I thanked my lucky stars, grateful Finn was so happy and full of optimism. The drive to All Saints School was an absolute pleasure as I listened to Reef rattling off all sorts of tips and advice. It was good for his confidence to play the big brother, and Finn was listening intently, lapping up every last word.
“Mr. Webber is really nice,” Reef said with authority.
“I know, silly!” Finn laughed. “I’ve met him LOADS of times.”
This was true. Kate asked: “Go to as many school activities as possible—praise assemblies etc.,” and I promised I would. Praise assemblies are held on a Friday at the end of the school day, and Mr. Webber hands out certificates and awards to deserving children.
Finn used to come with me after nursery, often clapping and cheering enthusiastically, and Mr. Webber had told him many times he looked forward to him joining Reef at school. Now the day had come, and as we walked up to the school gate I spotted Mr. Webber striding toward us through the bright, crisp morning air. Finn was striding too, looking every inch the “Mr. Confident.”
“Good morning, Mr. Webber,” Finn called out, raising his hand to give his new headmaster a high five.
Gamely, a rather surprised Mr. Webber gave Finn a high five, then looked at me with a wide smile on his face.
“I don’t think I’m going to have any problems there,” Mr. Webber said, and I had to agree.
I had a big grin on my face too. The way the boys had coped without their mum was incredibly impressive. To sail through a milestone like this so happily, I thought, was a minor miracle. It was less than nine months since that terrible day when I had driven the boys to the beach to tell them Mummy had died, yet here they were, as bright and confident as any parent could hope for.
Of course, it was a tragedy Kate couldn’t share the occasion, but I didn’t let it spoil the mood, which was overwhelmingly happy. Lots of thoughtful parents made a point of asking me how I was, and I genuinely replied: “I’m fine. It’s just brilliant to see Finn start school,” because it was.
I liked the boys being together at school, and it also meant we could establish a more regular routine. I was working Tuesday to Thursday, Reef was about to start Scouts on a Wednesday night and both boys were having swimming lessons on a Friday after school, plus rugby practice at the weekend.
Kate’s parents, as ever, were willing to help out as much as they could, and sometimes had the boys for sleepovers as well as helping with school runs and taking the boys on trips, though I didn’t want to put upon them too much. I asked Kirsty to babysit every Wednesday night, regardless of whether I was going out or not. It gave me a chance to catch up on chores in the house, get paperwork done or nip to Tesco’s if need be.
Occasionally I had another “date,” typically with a friend of a friend, or even a friend of a friend of a friend. We’d meet for a drink or a bite to eat, and I always enjoyed swapping life stories and having a few laughs. I realized after the first two or three encounters that I was not the only one with “baggage,” which was a relief. It was a bit of an eye-opener, to tell the truth, to realize that some people have such dreadful marriages. I’d kind of assumed that if a marriage wasn’t working people got divorced, and that most marriages were as loving and passionate as mine and Kate’s. I thought every man idolized his wife, and I imagined every wife was besotted by her husband, and that they naturally fancied the pants off each other. From what I was hearing, though, our marriage seemed pretty exceptional.
“How did it go?” Kirsty always asked afterward.
“Great time. No snogging though!” I always replied.
I felt comfortable talking about seeing other women. Kirsty was a really good friend of Kate’s, but I didn’t feel guilty at all discussing the dates, which surprised me. I guess it’s because Kirsty knew all about Kate’s wishes.
“It’s really good for you to get out and do something unconnected to the boys and the house,” Kirsty said one night.
“I know,” I said. “It’s very weird doing this whole single bloke thing again, but I’m not hung up about it like I was at the start. It’s just socializing really, isn’t it?”
“Yes,” Kirsty agreed. “And you’re good at that! You’re doing well.”
One Wednesday I was sorting out some photographs to dot around the house when Kirsty arrived. With the new school term and our new routine established, I could sense life moving forward quickly as we headed toward the end of 2010. I was worried the boys would start to forget Kate, and I wanted to keep her memory very much alive in the house.
We had a large photo frame on the landing, filled with wedding photographs, and it pained me to look at it every day.
“It just makes me too sad,” I explained to Kirsty, as I replaced the wedding pictures with up-to-date ones of Kate and the boys. I did the same in the office and the lounge.
“I think this will help the boys remember Kate more, because they were actually there with her when the pictures were taken,” I said. “But do you think it’s too much . . . and do you think if I ever bring a girlfriend here one day it might put her off?”
Kirsty shook her head. “Kate wasn’t just your wife, she was Reef and Finn’s mum. Anyone who cares about you would appreciate that.”
“I hope you’re right. Do you think the boys are starting to forget?” I asked.
“No!” Kirsty laughed. “Only the other day I was reaching back in the car to help them with their seat belts when Reef piped up: ‘Mummy must have had longer arms than you because she could reach the back.’ I don’t think a week goes by when the boys don’t say something about Kate. Last week we went past the dry ski center and Reef said: ‘That’s where we went skiing when Mummy was alive.’”
“What about Finn?” I asked, enjoying the chance to explore my fears so comfortably.
“Reef usually brings Finn into the conversation—you’ve seen him,” she said.
I nodded. I was worrying too much, and it was good to hear that from someone else. Recently Finn had pointed to someone in the audience on their Blue Man DVD and said: “Look, there’s Mummy!” I knew he meant the blonde-haired lady in the crowd just looked like Mummy, and I didn’t correct him. I was just quietly pleased Kate’s image and memory lived on.
* * *
Work took an exciting twist later on in September when I received an unexpected phone call from Pete Miles, an old friend of mine who is a stuntman.
“Fancy being an extra in a film I’m working on?” he asked.
“Too right!” I replied. “Tell me more!”
I knew it would be big. Pete had worked on lots of Harry Potter and James Bond movies, so I was all ears.
“It’s the new Steven Spielberg movie, War Horse,” he said. “Fancy it?”
“Count me in,” I said, not having a clue what sort of extra I might be.
Pete explained that scenes for the period film were being shot in picturesque Castle Combe in Wiltshire
, which had been transformed into a traditional First World War village for the occasion. They needed about three hundred extras for various scenes, and as an experienced and respected member of the crew, Pete would be able to get me in to claim one of the prized places. It was a great opportunity to work on the set of a real Hollywood blockbuster, and I would even get paid for it. I couldn’t wait.
A few days later I drove excitedly to the village and, as promised by Pete, was checked through security and straight into a vast costume hangar. Pete had fixed it for me to be a German chef, but the grin slid off my face when I saw the other extras who were being kitted out, and the outfits. The other men were playing cavalry soldiers and were all very fit and young. All the costumes were clearly designed for trim young blokes like them, including my chef’s outfit.
After an embarrassing few minutes when I tried to squeeze into several different shirts and jackets that were bursting at the seams, I was unceremoniously dismissed for being too fat. I scuttled back to the car feeling like a bit of a chump and phoned Pete to tell him what had happened.
“Sorry about that, mate. Leave it with me, I’ll call you back,” he said optimistically.
I sat there stewing for what felt like ages. I needed to lose weight, and this was a bit of a wake-up call. Kate didn’t like it when I piled on the pounds and she made that clear, but she never really nagged me it about it. My weight had crept up while we had far more serious things on our minds, and I always blamed the hospital food and the takeaways we relied on for so many years when Reef and Kate were ill. There were times when the only home-cooked meal we ate all week was a Sunday roast at my dad’s, because we simply didn’t have the time or energy to shop and cook on top of everything else.
That day, I added “lose weight” to my own mental “to-do” list. When the boys went swimming on a Friday night, I would swim too instead of sitting on the side and watching. At least that would be a start. My phone rang.
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