Last Thursday, I cried on a friend's shoulder. I don't mean a few tears, I mean wracking sobs with my face buried in her hair.
Was it because I am afraid I have Cancer on my liver? Or misery at the thought of chemo?
No. It was because I had to cancel our trip to the Harry Potter Studios. Honestly.
I'm not a Harry Potter Obsessive, truly I'm not, though I might sound like one having started this blog with a reference to Voldemort. But when my diagnosis threw everything into disarray, I was determined to preserve our long-awaited visit to the Studios with my kids. Not only were they massively excited to be going at last, but we had arranged for my son to do it with his American best friend - a last treat before the friend returns to live in the US. So it was a big deal, and luck was on our side for once because the tests would be finished in time to allow us to go to London for the weekend, do Harry Potter on Monday as planned, and come back on our original Eurostar tickets on Tuesday. In time for our big Wednesday meeting at the hospital.
Then yet another test appointment came through for a liver MRI at 9.15 Tuesday morning. We would have to come home early.
Of course, my rational brain told me that we could go to the Studios any time and I should be grateful to get the needed MRI so quickly. But telling my son was not easy. He did his best to hide how upset he was... I was the one left sobbing on my friend's shoulder.
As my husband said later, making sure we still did the trip despite everything had become symbolic: my way of showing that the Cancer couldn't beat me. And it looked like I'd just lost the first battle.
Then - sound the horns - reinforcements arrived! My lovely husband leapt into action and cleared his work diary so that he could drive us back on a very late Eurotunnel crossing Monday night. It needed a little bit of magic but we made it to the Harry Potter studios after all.
Even though he had a bit of an incident with the car on the way to pick us up (flat tyre by the side of the road, don't ask) we still made it back to Brussels in the early hours of Tuesday morning and the liver MRI is duly completed. Buoyed up by the support of family and good friends over the weekend, I feel stronger. Unbeatable.
Which is just as well because today we meet the oncologist and surgeon to hear the results and find out what the treatment will be. The war goes on and my newly won strength is tinged with fear.
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