Rattle and hum

I really am dreadful at remembering time. I recall every detail of an event, except when it happened. I'm a chronological failure.

A while ago, and thanks to the fact I throw nothing away an old email tells me it was February last year, Kate became quite tired and breathless. Trouble climbing the stairs, couldn't sleep on her right hand side. Found her having sudden gasping panic attacks at night, stuck at the bottom of the stairs or in the kitchen, waiting patiently for me to help her back to bed.

Kate always enjoyed having her back rubbed. Which was great because I enjoyed doing it. Aches and pains of the day, soothed away in the evening. It was then I noticed as she talked to me of the little things I'd missed in the day that - she was missing something. Hands on her back and... weird? No vibration on her left side as she spoke. Asked her to hum. Nope, nothing there.

Despite her constant trips to the doctors and hospitals, somehow they'd missed this. The cancer, free to roam her body and create havoc where it fancied, had settled in the lining around her lung, and the irritation had caused fluid to build up, collapsing the lung.

Rushed her to hospital; where matter of fact, no-one in a hurry, nurses popped Kate, the kids, and me, in a drug store cupboard whilst waiting for a doctor and a bed. You couldn't make it up.

Twelve pints of fluid drained over days in hospital, lung lining glued back in place, they packed her off for who knows how long. Well. I know now. But I was so happy to have her back for that however long.

To feel that rattle and hum of life one more time.