In sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part.’ Those were the vows I exchanged with my husband Martin* back in 1991. Young and in love, we both meant every word. A scenario where either one of us would break those promises seemed impossible.
Martin and I met in our 20s and like most young couples, we had a fun, exciting relationship. Even after we married and had our two children we made time for each other and were as in love as ever. I always did my best to support him, travelling the world with the kids in tow for his work.
Then in December 2015, aged 44, I was waiting for an appointment with a gynaecologist after suffering from heavy periods for a while when I came down with flu-like symptoms. Confined to my bed, I felt like I had no energy at all. Within days I was vomiting blood and my temperature soared. Martin bundled me into the car and drove me to A&E where I was seen quickly. Blood tests revealed my immune system wasn’t working at all and I needed blood and platelet transfusions immediately.
Transferred to a short-stay ward, I was given nine pints of blood. The next day a haematologist consultant had some terrible news. I had cancer.
I clutched Martin’s hand as we listened to the consultant, who explained I had acute lymphoblastic leukaemia (ALL) and offered me a trial chemotherapy treatment. We were both too upset to speak and continued to clutch hands, neither of us wanting to let go.
I began the trial straight away, but just weeks into it, still in hospital, I started suffering from strange symptoms. I had tingling, numbness and spasm in both hands, I lost the ability to swallow and I caught numerous infections.
Diese Geschichte stammt aus der March 02, 2024-Ausgabe von WOMAN - UK.
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Diese Geschichte stammt aus der March 02, 2024-Ausgabe von WOMAN - UK.
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