HE DIED IN MY ARMS

Susannah Harrison’s husband fought bravely until the very end

- MISHAAL KHAN, LUCY LAING

Sitting at the dining table with my husband Tim, then 46, and our two kids, seven and four, I frowned as Tim hiccuped yet again. It was December 2009 and, for the last couple of months, Tim had been hiccuping every time he ate. Most of the time, he quietly left the room. But, when it was still happening in January 2010, I suggested he speak to our GP.

Eventually, Tim was booked in for an endoscopy, a procedure involving a camera down his throat. But when I picked him up from his appointment later that day, Tim looked concerned, saying the doctors suspected it might be cancer.

Tim was so matter-of-fact about it, but my head was all over the place and I was in shock. The news was a bolt from the blue, not what we’d expected at all.

Tim was a fitness fanatic, spending time in the gym and working as a personal trainer and fitness professional. He was one of the healthiest people I knew. But none of that mattered because, two and a half weeks after his endoscopy, it was confirmed that Tim had a large cancerous tumour in his stomach.

‘How long have I got?’ was the first thing Tim asked the consultant as I sat there in silence, trying to take in what we were being told. The cancer had spread to Tim’s lymph nodes and it was predicted he had between six and 12 months left, two years if he was really lucky.

I was distraught – and even Tim, who’d been so resolute throughout it all, looked devastated. He was only 46 and we had two young children – how on earth could we possibly lose him?

Leaving the hospital, we exchanged few words. What could we say? We’d had the worst news imaginable and neither of us knew how to process it.