Dear Chris,
Do you remember our first date? Sharing a bottle of wine in a pub beer garden in the evening sunshine, time just flew. We had loads in common, from our love of 1970s tunes to our quirky sense of humour.
It was July 2020 and we’d met online weeks earlier, but COVID-19 restrictions had prevented us meeting in person. Once rules had relaxed, we’d pre-booked a table at my local, the Royal Inn on the Park, in Hackney.
That evening of conversation and laughter was the first of many, wasn’t it? We both had demanding careers – you as a solicitor and me in marketing – but we’d meet up for leisurely walks and picnics.
Once temperatures were dropping and autumn leaves were falling, we were officially dating. A real foodie, you loved taking me to restaurants. But during autumn, you lost your appetite and kept being sick. We assumed it was a flare-up of Crohn’s disease; you’d been diagnosed at age 17.
But on 20 November, your 40th birthday, you sent me a selfie, looking pale in a hospital gown. You’d been admitted to Guy’s and St Thomas’ Hospital with agonising stomach pains. I stared at the image of you hooked up to a heart monitor and I felt a chill of fear.
Although you were allowed home, your symptoms gradually worsened and, mid April 2021, after many more hospital appointments, there was crushing news.
‘It’s advanced grade-3 bowel cancer,’ a consultant explained, gently.
When you rang me with the news, my immediate reaction was to switch into ‘cheerleader’ mode.
‘It’s going to be OK. You can do this. We can do this. Together,’ I said.
You went through a range of emotions, of course. So did I.
This story is from the August 28, 2023 edition of WOMAN'S OWN.
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This story is from the August 28, 2023 edition of WOMAN'S OWN.
Start your 7-day Magzter GOLD free trial to access thousands of curated premium stories, and 8,500+ magazines and newspapers.
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