Rushing along the corridor of the Oral Department at Pilgrim Hospital; I glanced back, calling out to John, ‘You don’t have to come with me you know’(hoping that he would take the hint and wait in reception)! In true Marshall fashion I was at least two metres ahead of him, I always walk as if on a route march! Two days earlier on Monday 12th October, I had undergone a biopsy on my tongue. When my husband John had informed me that he would accompany me for the result, before work at 3pm; I was initially very pleased. At least I would be spared the hassle of parking the car. Now, I really thought that it was a bit ‘over the top’ for him to be with me. I could see no earthly reason for that. I felt like a child whose parent insisted on accompanying her to the dentist. At 1.30pm, Val Thompson the nurse who had assisted at the biopsy, ushered us both into the consulting room. John sat in the chair next to the door, whilst I sat in the dentist’s chair. Mr. Glendinning the Consultant Oral Surgeon entered the room. I remember distinctly thinking that he did not look surprised to see my husband. Without smiling, he quietly greeted me by name and then acknowledged John. ‘We’ve analysed the biopsy and it's a malignant tumour.’ Words that I had never, ever expected to hear, not even in my darkest and wildest imaginings. There had been no warning. Mr. Glendinning just dropped the bombshell! Although numb with shock and disbelief, something suddenly registered: the instant realisation of why John had been led to come with me coupled with the enormous relief that he was there. I sat in the dentist’s chair petrified with fear. My thoughts were racing in utter turmoil. This isn’t happening! How can God let this happen to me? Aren’t I special to him? He’s kept me from harm before. So what on earth’s He doing now? As my dazed inner questioning was continuing; I became aware that Mr. Glendinning was still talking. He was commenting on it being a very slow growing tumour in its early stages, which could be most effectively dealt with by surgery. He stated that the Consultant Ear, Nose and Throat Surgeon, who specialised in this type of surgery, would be joining us. Mercifully, I was unable to see John. He said afterwards how dreadful it was for him not to have been sat with me. I am sure that I would have reacted differently if I had seen how devastated he was by the news. Even though tears were welling up in my eyes, I was determined not to break down in front of the consultant. I partially heard Mr. Glendinning’s explanation but was incapable of absorbing it, because my mind was still reeling in frantic denial. The word Cancer had not even been mentioned. I knew that I had to voice that dreaded word. I stated, ‘You mean I’ve got cancer!’ There was a pause before Mr. Glendinning replied very solemnly, ‘Yes I’m sorry you have.’ By now I had managed to gather my composure sufficiently to be able to ask further questions. John seemed to be coping; in that he also joined in this strained conversation. I still had my back turned to him, so was unable to see how he was reacting. Then the Consultant E.N.T. Surgeon joined us. He gently reiterated what Mr. Glendinning had said; adding that there was a 50% chance that the tumour had either been caused by a tooth chafing on the tongue; or just bad luck! He had considerable experience in dealing with this type of tumour. It was apparently a very rare occurrence in someone so young, who neither smoked nor drank, other then the occasional glass of wine. He explained that although radiotherapy was an option; in my case he preferred immediate surgery: to give the best chance of a successful outcome. Having explained this in further detail, he told me that obviously it was my choice. I immediately said, ‘I haven’t really got a choice have I!’ He seemed to agree. He then examined my neck. It appeared to be quite swollen, which indicated that the cancer cells could have spread. He appeared most concerned about my enlarged right lymph node and thyroid gland. He explained that the swelling could be a reaction to the biopsy, or that the cancer had spread even further via the lymph system. This would be established during surgery, by taking a frozen section for immediate analysis in the Pathology Laboratory. If this had occurred, more extensive surgery would have to be carried out. He obviously hoped that this would be unnecessary but it was a definite possibility. The consultants then discussed a date for theatre. The Consultant E.N.T. Surgeon stated, ‘I’ll have you in a week on Monday, to operate on the Wednesday.’ I retorted, ‘Oh that’s half-term, can’t you make it the week after?’ Here, John immediately piped up, ‘Don’t be silly, it wants doing as soon as possible!’ The Consultant E.N.T. Surgeon commented, ‘I think this time you must come first.’ He repeated that it was a slow growing tumour and not immediately life threatening, otherwise emergency surgery would have been arranged. One week would not make any real difference; nevertheless, it needed dealing with promptly. To try and lighten the situation I then added, ‘Oh well, you’ve sorted out my plans for half-term then!’ I asked how long I would be in hospital and I am sure that he said five days (I recall thinking, so I’ll be out in time for the Sunday service)! They enquired whether we had children and seemed relieved that at the ages of thirteen and ten, they were not very young children. John informed them that we would have support from our family to help with the situation. The Consultant E.N.T. Surgeon arranged to see us at 12 o’clock following his Friday clinic, so that he could give us as much time as we needed. By then we would have had time for the shock to sink in and to reflect on what we wanted to ask him. As Val escorted us into the corridor she asked, ‘Are you alright?’ I suppose that she felt completely helpless, for she could obviously see that we were not. By this time I was crying very softly. Fortunately, it was lunch-time and everywhere was deserted. Val added, ‘If you’ve any problems just ring ward 2B.’ This meant nothing to us. It would have been helpful if there had been someone there ‘to pick us up off the floor’ and to offer some immediate counselling and support. We now felt completely on our own. It was a long silent walk back to the car. What words could adequately express the depth of our despair. Once in the car, we clung to each other and sobbed. How John managed to drive home, I do not know. We were both numb with shock, utterly devastated and very frightened. Ahead of us lay the grim task of telling our two children, the rest of our family and friends. I felt as if my whole world had fallen apart and I was a very tiny broken piece!