After the bomb went off

Though the previous post wasn't enough to deal with, we then discover that they couldn't accurately diagnose at Northampton, and that there were specialist facilities in Leicester or Birmingham that could, and would be able to treat Victoria. I chose Leicester as it's much closer (but still 40 miles away). Arrangements were made. However, now we had to tell Victoria, and that was even tougher still.

The doctor decided to use my layman's term of blood cancer to explain it to her. We all left the room, tried to hold it together until the words had come out. Again, I seemed to be able to stop time, as it was no longer passing at the usual rate. Of course, what followed next was completely lost in a sea of tears and raw emotion.

I suddenly realised that I had to tell people, I picked up my phone and saw that it had turned itself off. Tracey offered me hers. Only problem being that all the numbers that I needed to call were in my phone. I turned it on in the hope that I would get at least enough battery life to extract Debbie's number, but sadly the phone gave up before I could. And of course, the charger was at home, so I now felt really vulnerable. I was unable to tell anyone what was going on, at least until I got to Leicester.

An ambulance was called to take Victoria to Leicester. Tracey and I decided that I would go up with her tonight, as she would have to make arrangements for Samuel.

Bless Victoria, she looked so scared, and I had to be strong and not let her see my pain. I had to be positive and upbeat for her. Fighting your own emotions is always a hard call. Harder still when all you want to do is cry, cry, and then cry again.

The ambulance arrived, and we left for what seemed like an alien world. 40 minutes later, we arrived at planet oncology, and we were now both scared, and I mean really scared. I experienced a whole range of emotions beyond anything I had ever experienced before. This was not going to get any better for some time. I started seeing words that would make me cry, like Macmillan, Children's Oncology Department, Chemotherapy, Prognosis, Platelets, Transfusion and so on, all words I never thought I would hear in relation to my daughter.

We arrived in the ward where the staff took us to Victoria's bed, and once again, went through the same questions and examinations that Northampton had done. We were now entering a new phase, and no-one is able to tell you what is going to happen next. Naturally all Victoria wanted to do was go home. Me too.

During this time, Sarah was understandably asking for news. I felt unable to tell her until we knew exactly what we were dealing with. I didn't want to unnecessarily alarm anyone, and I know that teenage chat rooms and social networking sites are like Chinese whisper factories, so I kept deflecting her questions.

Victoria's main concern at this point was "how to I tell my friends?" I couldn't find the answer in the all the masses of literature that you are given on these occasions.