It’s one of those moments you never imagine you’ll live through, you know, like realising you’ve run out of tea bags on a Monday morning!!! Okay, maybe this is a little more serious. Like those sharp, cold shocks that split your life into before and after. There we were, me sitting beside my husband on a hospital bed, on Tuesday morning, gripping Matthew’s hand so tight I’m surprised he didn’t ask for it back, cos i think I nearly stopped his blood supply. As the doctor spoke words that seemed to echo off the walls: “I am positively certain that it is bladder cancer.”

The world changed in an instant. I watched Matthew’s face, searching for fear, anger, denial, some hint that he was as shaken as I was. But there he was, my Matthew: calm and steady. He squeezed my hand and nodded. We listened. We asked questions. We took a deep breath. Matthew shook the doctor’s hand, as did I, and we left the room to follow our new cancer nurse, who will be with us every step of the way. From the CT scan to the operation and whatever else the NHS can throw at us.

I won’t pretend to be brave every second. There are moments when my chest tightens and the what-ifs swirl. I mean, I’m only 47, and Matthew is four years younger; he never lets me forget I am a cougar, either. But every time I look at Matthew, every time I see him determined to fight, not just for himself, but for us, I remember everything we’ve built together: love, family, a home, and a shared ability to laugh at the most inappropriate moments. And I know that this, too, is something we’ll face side by side, sarcasm firmly in hand.

Cancer is a word, not a sentence. It’s a challenge, not a defeat. We’re learning new terms, meeting new nurses, new doctors, and collecting enough hospital leaflets to wallpaper the living room. The days feel long, our sleep patterns are a bit all over the place, and although the future is uncertain, our resolve is clear. We will beat this. We will get through it together, preferably with plenty of tubs of Cadbury’s Pot of Joy’s … (Please don’t buy him any, he eats enough of the dam things!) and a healthy dose of gallows humour. All we ask is that you keep us in your thoughts, your hearts and your prayers.

If you’re reading this and you’ve faced something similar, know that you are not alone. There is power in hope, and there is strength in love. We’re holding on to both. We’re putting one foot in front of the other, trusting that even on the hardest days, we will find reasons to laugh, to hope, and to believe in brighter tomorrows.

This is not the journey we wanted (I’d have preferred a Mediterranean cruise, if anyone’s asking), but it’s the one we’re on. And we will walk it, hand in hand, heart to heart, until we reach remission. And when we do, I’m booking that cruise, Matthew’s coming, whether he likes it or not… I just need to figure out how to fit two sausage dogs into a suitcase and hide them while we sail across the Pacific Ocean, cos I am too much of a tight arse to pay for their tickets too.  

All ideas for pulling the wool over passport control’s eyes are welcome in the comments below! ha ha …