Sitting in the doctor’s small office, at the height of summer last year, I felt like it was too stuffy to breathe all of a sudden.
We were there to get Tom’s MRI scan results and I sat numbly trying to take in the doctor’s words. “Tom has glioblastoma,” he gently explained, which we learned was the most aggressive form of cancer – starting in the brain.
As I struggled to comprehend what this meant for us, I could feel sweat beads forming on my forehead. But I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.
I didn’t leap up and shout, “Why us?” I just accepted the news, digested it and made plans to move forward. We were told his treatment was starting in three days, so I turned to my husband and said, “Let’s go home and figure it out.” Get exclusive celebrity.
Read more on ok.co.uk