It was Friday the 13th of June 2014, when Brendan and I first found ourselves in Sydney, at the cancer hospital . I was glad It wasn’t a very hospital-y hospital. It made it easier to be there. We were both worried as we walked through the large sliding glass doors at the front of the building and made our way to clinic on level two.
Bren has had a pain in his right leg for about four months, we are going into this consultation knowing he has something growing in the bone of both femurs.. It’s scary. Bren has had quite a few tests already, and the results come through, we should know what we are dealing with.
Dr P, Bren’s new doctor is nice, and approachable. He is wearing a blue and white check business shirt with grey slacks and black, well polished shoes. He looks wise and has a gentle face that reminds me of a character called Harold from Neighbours, an Aussie soap. He talks to us in terms we understand, as he discusses what the possibilities are in regard to the tumours Bren has.
As we stand to leave, he stands too and shakes Bren’s hand, telling him if the tumours turn out to be ‘as nasty’ as they appear, there is still hope for recovery, and that the spectrum of possibilities for this kind of thing starts at completely treatable. That was a huge relief to hear. I cry as Dr P pulls a tissue from the box on his desk. He hands it to me and pats my shoulder. Looking at Bren and smiles saying It’s at this point that they cry…every time.