I’m just a girl standing in front of the chocolate aisle asking it all to jump into the trolley without me having to make an effort. It’s been a bit of a week.
I’m not going to lie, if the Maltesers don’t hurl themselves into my trolley right now I might have to go all Supermarket Sweep down the neighbouring crisp aisle and put dearly departed Dale Winton to shame.
The mister left me unattended. The fool. He nipped off to get some juice and returned to find me standing in the middle of the centre aisle like a lost soul clutching a tub of Haagen Dazs.
His puzzled look is met only with my protestation it’s on special and please don’t take this away from me <insert wailing here>. He knows it’s a lost cause and balances it on top of the Pringles I have assured him are ESSENTIAL for my mental health today. What can he do – put them back or soldier on muttering about how we came in for ONE thing and now the beepy machine is telling us we’re at £76.
£76 for a little comfort isn’t a massive expense is it? <insert pleading here> The mister’s eye roll, perfected from 16 years of being married to me, is performed and he moves swiftly towards the tills with me trailing behind like a spurned toddler.
I’ll quickly point out my tolerant, supportive husband is not the cause of my child-like pout fest. He is merely trying to get through it unscathed by accepting this period of mourning I have flung myself into must run its course and he can either go with it or become a casualty. This isn’t the first time he’s been exposed to this particular ‘M-J’ and knows exactly what to do.
He drives us home leaving me to sob into my scarf, mask already sodden, puts Fleetwood Mac on the stereo (I’m sure there’s a more modern word for the car sound system but sod it) giving my hand a wee squeeze to show his concern when the crying becomes more feral. He has the patience of a saint.
Everyone who knows me KNOWS he has an infinite amount of understanding and love in abundance. I remind myself of this and realise how lucky I am. This fact just makes me weep even more for I am an ungrateful wretch.
What on earth has caused this catastrophic sob-fest? Nobody has died. Kids are all good. I’ve already been diagnosed with cancer so it’s not life shattering news again. Has Cadbury announced they’re going bankrupt and I can say goodbye to Dairy Milks? Nope. None of the above, phew.
I have, however, just come from the hospital and my final appointment with my brilliant, brilliant doctor. Unfortunately not due to my being cured but because she is moving on to pastures new in another area.
Do I have the right to be this upset? Probably not. Is it a rational reaction? Definitely not. Even I realise this is quite a scene. Even from me. I’m proud of the fact I managed to hold myself together during our final appointment but by the time we’d driven to the nearest Tesco all hope for a mature reaction was lost.
This incredible lady picked me up at the worst, WORST point in my life and made it feel okay. She took control. She told me while everything might not be alright forever, she had me now and she was going help me understand and fight. She used better words but this is my dumbed down recollection.
I believed her whole heartedly and handed my trust over with a sigh of relief. I couldn’t have been in better hands, navigating the extreme learning curve the journey of a newly diagnosed cancer patient undertakes. I am incredibly grateful she was the rock I needed to set me on the right path of this f**king horrendous journey, especially when, by my own admission, I may not be the easiest patient.
Did I manage to say any of that in person? Not a bit of it. But maybe she’ll read it here and know how grateful I am, as am sure ALL her patients are, for her kindness, wisdom and dedication.
Goodbye and good luck Dr A, we’ll miss you.
