Looking at the faces of the 100 guests as I walked down the aisle, my heart was racing. Waiting for me down by the altar was my groom, Jem, then 23, and to the side of him, his best man, Steve, then 31.
‘Congratulations!’ Steve whispered as he passed Jem the diamond band.
It was 1990 and the three of us had been the best of friends since Jem and I first met in a pub four years earlier. We all spent so much time together, but not long after Jem and I got married, Steve met someone and moved away to Rochdale.
We kept in touch for a while, speaking on the phone every couple of weeks and taking it in turns visiting each other, too.
But then Jem and I had our daughter, Emily, in 1992, our son, Tom, in 1995, and Steve had a son. Life moved on for all three of us and we fell out of touch.
It was sad, but for me and Jem, family came first. He had such a big heart and couldn’t do enough for the kids. We were a happy little unit and a few years later, when we decided our family was complete, Jem decided to have a vasectomy.
Heartbreaking news
So, one Friday in March 2004, Jem went under the knife. It was a short operation and by Monday he was back at work. But less than a week after his surgery, Jem started to feel unwell. ‘I think I’ve got the flu,’ he groaned.
A home visit from the doctor confirmed that Jem had an infection and he was given antibiotics.
But the following morning, Jem’s condition had deteriorated. He was incredibly pale, his lips were blue and when he began slurring his words, I knew something was seriously wrong. Calling for an ambulance, Jem was taken to hospital and I followed once my parents had arrived to watch the kids. But by the time I was on the ward, the doctor delivered some devastating news.
Denne historien er fra June 08, 2020-utgaven av WOMAN'S OWN.
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Denne historien er fra June 08, 2020-utgaven av WOMAN'S OWN.
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