As I walked back to the office, the implications of what I had been told started to dawn on me. My car hadn't been trying to kill me, but I wouldn't be able to drive it any more. A brain tumour was an instant licence loser. How was this going to affect my work? The Police Service is supportive of its officers, but what would happen if something went wrong? What if I needed a long period of rehab? I wouldn't be able to drive to any jobs? Could I still pay the mortgage? I had my first wave of real emotion, and realised very quickly that I couldn't dwell on self pity or negatives. Someone was going to go where no man had gone before, and nor should they. The brain is in a closed compartment for a reason, and no-one should ever have to comprehend the thought of someone being inside it. I knew I couldn't dwell on this either...I had phone calls to make.
I arrived back at the office with my thoughts in order, and they needed to be. I wanted to tell Lydia and my parents, and I knew that the next few sentences were going to define their experiences, and certainly the rest of their days. I felt positive, and knew this had to come across that way to get her feeling as I did. At the time, Lydia was on her way to a meeting which I knew was important. I stopped to consider how this was going to affect her. Lydia had offered to join me at the appointment, but I'd declined. It just hadn't seemed a big deal. By way of a bit of background, when I have a problem, I prefer to knuckle down and sort it out, and am not great at accepting help. I wondered whether to wait until she was back, but quickly realised how angry she would be if I'd sat on this information. I don't remember my exact words to Lydia, but they didn't register. Lydia was in shock, and having torn her focus from something else important, she had obviously struggled to process the information. "But I'm on the way to this meeting", she said. For a moment, I wondered if my words had come out properly. Wanting to avoid what seemed like an increasingly inevitable car crash, I decided to end the conversation, "Give me a shout when you're done." I answered. I had made it hard for Lydia to take in what i was saying having been such a closed book until this point - I had shut out the possibility of such a diagnosis. I had shut out emotion to the greater extent. In fact, I had shut out Lydia by internalising so many of my thoughts.
I had found it desperately difficult breaking the news to Lydia, and still had work to do, and was terrified of how my Mum would react. I rang home, and I remember the words. "Mum, I've got some good news and some bad news". "They've found a brain tumour, but it's benign". I couldn't tell you how the rest of the conversation went, but I was so grateful that my Mum had held it together, because it was the worst news I had ever had to give her. In fact, it was the worst news I had ever had to give anyone. I had been on the brink of bursting into tears at the thought of breaking this to her, but knew I had to remain upbeat for her sake. I'm sure my Mum was absolutely devastated, and have my suspicions about what happened after our phone call. My Dad and I are very alike, and think he would have probably tried to remain positive, and upbeat - I hope he did. The truth - I can't stand the thought of finding out what that information did to them, and have never asked. I spoke with my brother a short time later - he was superb. A friend of his had suffered the same, and had been successfully treated. I needed this kind of information - this was the kind of fuel I needed to battle through this, along with a bit of good karma.
I went back to the office, and sat down with my Inspector. I outlined to her what I'd been told, and her reaction? "Go home, Pete". It was a more straightforward conversation than I had foreseen. My boss had correctly gauged my need to get my head around the fact that I had a long uphill struggle ahead, and granted me two days of compassionate leave. I asked her to make some sort of announcement in the office, I tied up some loose ends, and took myself home.
I had a brain tumour, and it had to go. For now though, it was a waiting game while I counted down the days to my appointment with the consultant.
Lydia and I went back to see my boss a couple of days later. My mind was still on minimising the amount of time I had away from work pre-surgery, so I went in trying to tell her what I was still able to do. We discussed my downward spiral, and my prior request for a move. It now all made sense. I thought I had done a decent job of making my case to stay and get my work sorted. "Go home and get yourself well", she replied. "But I still have loads to do, and I can still work". "Go home". I'm not quite sure what she was trying to tell me, but I sat down and prepared handovers for my jobs (which funnily autocorrected to hangovers...which is still fairly fitting), and walked away from the office. My workload had shrunk to one job. Getting well. I am eternally grateful that my Inspector sent me home. Out of pure stubbornness, I would've worked up to the day of my forthcoming operation, but what I needed was to be as strong, fit, and ready for what I was about to face.
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