Madder than Spit

“In the back of my mind I'm thinking the cancer might have spread to your ribs,” the doctor said chattily, as if we were discussing the weather. “But I think it's more likely it's pleurisy.”

These comments came on a house visit on Monday, when I'd had about 2 hours sleep the night before, had to drive to Truro to do an interview, then raced home to be in time for the doctor. As you can imagine, his words didn't exactly provide the wisdom and comfort I had hoped and provoked a wonderful email from my sister in law entitled "Madder than Spit".

(The another picture above is of Lerryn, designed to calm all troubled thoughts, particularly Shelagh's.)

It's been a bit of a week for poor Himself who has suffered high fevers and then thought he'd broken a rib he was in such agony (this could be the pleurisy). But at least the antibiotics have kicked in and so have the heavy duty painkillers. When Himself woke up yesterday looking and sounding a bit better, I was so relieved I burst into tears over my toast. And last night I had the best night's sleep for a long while.

On the day that the Chilean miners were released, my husband decided he might get out of bed later. For someone who has never gone to bed when ill, a week in bed is quite something, but he's still too weak to do much more than doze. I think it could be another week in bed actually, but at least he looks much better and is no longer in pain so fingers crossed.

The last week has been hell, but has shown me several things. Firstly, how much my husband means to me. We don't actually have much in common but we do share a sense of humour and we have a steady companionship which means so much. In the dark hours of the night, when I thought this was the beginning of the end, it was the companionship that I realised I would miss the most.

Secondly, I have the most amazing friends. You know who you are so thank you so much for your love and support. It means the world.

Thirdly (the list could go on but I won't bore you), thank god for my job and for lovely Holly Young, milliner and great talent, who unwittingly kept me from turning into a weeping, terrified wreck on Monday because of our interview.

Lastly, I think we'd both forgotten what a lousy cook I am.