Well, s**t.

"I'm so sorry. But the results show that you have ovarian cancer."

It was Wednesday 12th October 2022. Gary and I had been invited to an appointment with Miss Hillaby, a Gynae Oncologist who just a few weeks previously had removed my left ovary and fallopian tube, along with a mass (inconclusive, at that time). And following a few brief sentences of conversation, as we naively assumed we were just there for a follow-up appointment, she delivered the news that no-one ever wants to hear.

While we'd been sat in the waiting room, I happened to settle my gaze on an awareness poster listing the symptoms of ovarian cancer: bloating, needing to wee more often, feeling full or having no appetite and pain or tenderness in the pelvic area. "Well, I don't have any of those", I thought to myself, "so that's something".  But within minutes, Rachel - a Cancer Support Nurse who I had met before my first operation - was opening the waiting room doors and calling my name, and a sense of unease crept in.

I don't remember much more about that appointment, other than Miss Hillaby's recommendation for a full hysterectomy and omentectomy, which she had already scheduled for 1st November, an awful wailing sobbing noise that I realised was coming from me, and the look on Gary's face - one of fear and absolute heartbreak.