Wednesday 25th March
Today has been up and down. A real mix of emotions.
This morning began fairly well and upbeat. We decide to take part in this year’s memorial Mount Snowdon trek for those affected by Testicular Cancer. We plan to do this in honour of our beloved son. Contacting the chap who runs the charity, he immediately goes ahead and books a hotel for us, for two nights, so that we can join the group. The generosity shown to us is awesome.
In the afternoon we are just about to go out and meet up with my younger son when the phone rings.
It is the Coroner’s Office.
The report is back from the autopsy.
“Upper gastro intestinal haemorrhage.”
A gastric ulcer.
Metastatic testicular tumour.
I don’t know why, but I find this so, so upsetting.
A few moments after putting the phone down, it rings again.
It is the Funeral Director. He has also had a call from the coroner.
Now that the autopsy is complete, there is no need for an inquest.
So we can now move ahead with our plans for our son.
The funeral director will visit tomorrow afternoon.
Then I break down. I cannot stop sobbing. Our beautiful, caring, loving son.
Could the outcome have been avoided?
Why wasn’t it picked up?
Our son had never complained of tummy pains.
Should this have shown up on the last scans?
His bloods were checked so regularly.
Upon speaking further with our wonderful GP, he was absolutely dumbfounded.
He just couldn’t believe the result from the post mortem.
He said “It throws up a new layer of bafflement”
He asked about the day, then the evening when I found my son.
There was nothing untoward. No indications of the impending tragedy.
When I went to give him his night time medication, there was a little blood on the sheet and pillow, when I pulled my son over, realising that he wasn’t responding.
There was no blood when I gave him mouth to mouth to try and resuscitate him.
The GP is going to talk to the Coroner’s Office, the doctor who carried out the autopsy, and also the oncologist who was treating our son, tomorrow.
Was it the cytotoxic chemotherapy that damaged his intestinal tract?
A build up of poisons that just overwhelmed his body?
It just seems so unreal. So strange.
Having spent all afternoon and evening with our younger son and girlfriend, we walk home in the dark and rain.
Deflated. Bereft. Left with yet more questions. Why? Just why?
And then we find a card has been left at the back door: there has been a delivery of flowers and they have been left in the shed.
The bouquet is truly wonderful. A huge display of colourful stems.
Having opened the card I read that it has been sent from the charity I am supporting on behalf of my son.
What lovely kindness and generosity they have shown. So, so thoughtful.