HEAVY CLOUDS

Heavy grey clouds have hung over Oslo for a week, the sky almost touching the yellow and red treetops and camouflaging the hills around my city.

My life has been heavily clouded too, and in one week I feel I've aged several years. Wednesday eight days ago my husband was diagnosed with a brain tumour, the following Friday he had surgery - and the days after have been one long string of hospital visits to sit by my husband's bedside, in between talks with doctors and nurses, trying to absorb as much information as possible into our already exhausted minds.

At the moment things look promising because he has done so well after the operation. Up walking from time to time, but very tired and worried, because there are still tests, scans and ultrasound to be done - all to make sure that there are no other horrible surprises lurking in his body. Then waiting for the test result of the tumour, so that proper treatment can be started.

After the operation at the hospital with the best neurosurgeons in Norway he stayed in a room that faced an adjacent brick wall. All the time we heard and saw the ambulance helicopter flying over with patients from all over southern Norway. Yesterday he was moved to another hospital, much more modern and a short drive from where we live. From his bed by the window he can see - at a distance - the white church where we were married thirty years ago, where we christened our three daughters as babies and where they all had their confirmation ceremonies as young teenagers. If you look closely you can spot it - on a hill on the left side in the photo taken from his hospital room this afternoon.

I'm not a church goer - far from it - but today this old church became a symbol of my hope and optimism.

I have been overwhelmed and deeply touched this last week by the human network around us. Family, friends from near and far, even not so close friends and acquaintances - they've all shown their deep care. They've offered to help in any practical way - shopping, walks and talks. Phone calls - even long distance ones - text messages, emails, visits, flowers. Concern and compassion. Tears and laughter.

Our three daughters have been their Dad's and my best support. I don't know what I would have done without them. They are not only a SYMBOL of our hope and optimism. They ARE hope and optimism.

And love.