November 18 to Jan 19……An Eternity

I am in a pink waiting area. Most of the 30 or so chairs are occupied. Every so often a door opens and a name is called. All of the names are female and, as their name is called, they rise and walk towards an open door. Most are in middle age though sometimes, the name belongs to a much younger woman. Although the waiting area is warm many of those called are wearing hats, or headscarves

Those called are usually, but not always, accompanied. Often by a male of a similar age. The man is always a split second behind and has a faint look of incomprehension. I know. I have the same look.

Sometimes there are little knots of women.  Mums with their daughters or, more poignantly, a daughter with her mum. And her sisters. And her aunts. They all want to go through the door with her. But they cant.

We are a long way from home and we do not recognise anyone else, but everyone knows, within a narrow margin why everyone else is here. A wretched demarcation making it clear who the patient is.

As I look around the only thing that I understand is that I will never be able to understand how those affected here are feeling. I have no right to experience  this in the same way, however close to it I am. My experience is relevant, agonising but different.

We wait  and it seems much longer than it actually is. We wait quietly. Sometime my wife asks me a question or raises a thought. They are logical, pragmatic matters that do not always relate to the visit.  They don't seem important to me right now.I don't know how she does this. Calm and focussed. I cannot think straight.

Eventually her name is called and inside I am saying “This is a mistake” as if it is a miscarriage of justice. I walk that half step behind her as she goes towards the door and I want to stop her, to pull her back, like someone that is too close to a cliff edge.

As much as anything  I don't want to hear what's going to be said. I want to put my head in the sand. To ignore.To deny. To protect myself like a child hiding behind the Sofa.

My wife goes forward with purpose. She wants to know whatever there is to know. Know what she needs to do. To start dealing with the next stage. She wants to make whatever choices she has available to her. Her first choice is, that she is not going to run and hide.

I'm reminded of the times I was with her during childbirth. Then I felt I was stripped of all purpose. I could only watch and admire as she demonstrated resolve and courage and strength and determination.

The consultation takes time. She has asked me to remember certain questions in case she forgets to ask. I try and remember what they are.

Everything is covered. I crave knowledge and certainty of the outcomes and of the future. But it's too soon for there to be any element of certainty about anything. The best we can have is probability. We leave without the crucial answers that we wanted, but we knew we weren't going to get them even before we arrived. It didn't stop us hoping.

Like everyone we leave through the same door back into the waiting area but this is now a parallel universe for us. It looks and sound like the one we left  but in this dimension we are changed. Our transformation can't be seen by anyone else but we know and see it in each other,

I want to pray. Your heart says you should. Your mind wants something more tangible. You’ll take anything that helps, anything at all but your faith is now in science and medicine. You are entirely dependent on the knowledge,judgement and skill of the people you meet and even more people that you won't. You meet them only fleetingly and they hardly know you, but they now have such significance in your life. In that short time they only ever make you feel that it matters to them and you want to cry because there are people who can help and who want to help, and you are so grateful

You hang on their every word and want to drill down into anything that in your mind leaves room for further clarification. You watch their faces as they respond to your questions looking for any sign that they might not be telling you everything. It's not a question of trust Nothing that is said satisfies you even though you know that there is nothing more that could be said. You are getting as much as they have to give you.

Meanwhile no one else knows but the people who are essential in your life. You know that your situation is not exceptional and this is validated seeing the scale and workload of the clinic.

There is a shared energy from being here. It reflects and magnifies. It gives hope and reduces the isolation. The odds don't feel quite so stacked against you. Others have done it and others are doing it right now. So can you. I have to believe that whole heartedly and to be able to pass it on with true conviction and true belief, unwavering and undiluted by any form of doubt.

We are not affected equally, how could we be. Subtle changes in dialogue and emphasis. There are careful inflexions. There are caveats added to every bit of planning. The uncertainty does not kill you physically but mentally it destroys you. It constrains every thought you have.

She faces a daily routine without the perceived certainty that she previously enjoyed. She is not bitter, but bewildered. She lived her life to a standard that gave her the most chance of ducking this vile vicious disease. I weep at its cruel, and in my eyes, futile attempt at the destruction of her beauty, but I marvel that it cannot take who you are, what you are made of and what you mean to me. And this is all I see, and all that matters now.