I remember the feeling as if it were yesterday, the day Geordie was diagnosed. Even the voice of the lady who called me from the Children’s Hospital is still clear in my mind, though I’ve not seen her for years now – a sweet gentle voice, trying to make small talk about the summer time weather. I could dictate the conversation to you now if you asked, a conversation I had play over on repeat in my mind the subsequent days following on from that phone call that changed our lives forever.
That sick to the stomach feeling that happens when we receive bad news is hard to replicate. It’s like stress on a whole new plane. Stress of the highest kind reserved for emergencies. It doesn’t feel like work pressure or conjuring up every part that you have inside you to hustle; I liken that to more-so the taste of adrenaline and my blood pumping through my veins, the type you can feel pulsating.
But the type of stress I associate with heartache feels like your gut has been ripped out and replaced with a big black slab of fear.