I remember how I attended the hospital on my own. I didn't know how long we'd have to wait and Martin needed to be at work. I don't think he really accepted at the time what might have been wrong with Joel. I thought he had a brain tumour but we didn't talk about it. Martin just knew that Joel wasn't right.
Joel's school performance had been declining rapidly since the December. He would stare into space, not hearing when you spoke to him. He would jump at loud noises. He would dribble and his food needed to be cut into small pieces. His arms would tremble and he would spill his food and his drinks. He could no longer dress himself. He had become incontinent, in fact he had been for months - though the doctors thought this not unusual. He had a cold that had lasted months. By the end he could hardly walk - he would stumble and fall. He would always wake with a tummy ache and would occasionally vomit - though he had been prone to this since birth, so we hadn't taken great notice of this.
Each time we went to the doctors, Joel would be Joel and he would charm everyone, putting on a show, trying his very best to walk in a straight line when asked, squeezing fingers as hard as he could, touching his nose as the doctor instructed - he passed a lot of the tests, much to my frustration. It took a lot of insistence and evidence to get his case noticed. I took along a video of him tripping as he walked, and a range of school work which showed his skills decline. This was all suggested by the Brain Tumour Trust's 'HeadSmart' campaign.
Martin had called on his way home from work to see if he should be coming to the hospital. I told him to go straight home as the paediatrician had just told me that the scans were so blurred that they were useless, they couldn't see anything from them. We'd have to come back the next day to have a scan with sedation. After putting down the phone the consultant then came back to say that someone else had looked at them.
I remember the nurses taking Joel away to play. I remember desperately not wanting to be told anything without Martin there with me. I asked if I could call Martin, get him to come. The consultant wouldn't wait. He told me that it was likely that Joel had a brain tumour and that he had to be taken to Bristol urgently.
I remember how calm I was. So cold. So unemotional. I remember calmly phoning school to say that I wouldn't be in work for a while.
I remember thinking how the hell was I meant to tell Martin over the phone. He was currently driving home. I phoned my mum instead who was looking after Thomas. Thomas would have to go home with her. I read out a list of what I'd need for Joel and what Thomas would need. My mum is a rock, at least she is on the outside. I can never read what's actually going on under the surface, but she deals with all that is thrown at her. She has a positive answer to everything. She always makes sense. I don't know where I'd be without her.
Martin's world was shattered.
Joel and I were taken up to Bristol by ambulance that night. I persuaded Martin not to follow until the morning. I can't imagine how he endured that night at home on his own.
My neighbour, who is now a close friend, is a nurse at Treliske and I remember her coming to the ward to see us at the end of her shift. She waited with me and Joel and helped us into the ambulance. I won't forget that. It meant so much.
We arrived at Frenchay around 1am. I had spent the entire journey in the ambulance writing in my notepad - working out my cover lessons for work. Seems crazy now when I look back on it all. I've still got that notepad. Adrenalin. It kept me going from that day until his Proton Therapy, when I crashed.
Joel was taken into theatre at 9am. Martin didn't manage to get to Bristol before he was put under. That scared me. Not knowing whether Martin would see him alive again.
I remember Mr Edwards, the neurosurgeon sitting down with Martin and I, rapidly talking through the surgery that was necessary to relieve the hydrocephalus. The tumour couldn't be removed but he thought they could get a biopsy. The risks were horrendous and we weren't sure of the outcomes.
I remember us both in tears, sat at a table outside the cafe. We had hours to pass. Hours to contemplate our sons life. It was surreal. For me, I didn't feel like I was actually there.
Everynight I still trace the line of his scar and cup his forehead in my hand. Wishing that my hands could heal.