It seems like only yesterday the words were ringing in my ear "I've got cancer, I'm not scared mom, but what about my kids?" No one knows how you suddenly taste the very pit of your stomach, until those words sucker punch you, right in the heart. My eldest son had cancer of the upper esophagus and lower bowel. My world was suddenly falling apart.

Here was my first-born, a single father, a beautiful, fun loving young man, now suddenly in hospital receiving chemotherapy, and hoping against hope, he would be around to see his baby son and daughter grow up. A mother's nightmare is this very thing, thinking that she may outlive her own child. It's a horrible, horrible experience, I would never wish upon my worse enemy.

Yet I had to be strong for my son, and his beautiful children. But it's so much easier said than done, I can assure you. I've never, ever, experienced such a crisis, so often I felt as if I could not go on. But with my son fighting for his life and his children totally oblivious to their daddy's illness, there was nothing else I could do but pray.

Specialists came and went, shaking their heads and looking so grim. Chemotherapy had my son's beautiful thick hair turn brittle, break, and fall out. Gone were the cheeky dimples, the bright blue eyes. Now we saw sunken eyes, pasty cheeks, and my son's weight plummeting. The doctors decided to operate.

My son and I had made a pack that we would both give up smoking, if he pulled through. By the look of him, I'd be smoking for the rest of my life. Out of sight from my son, the rest of the family were told that the odds of getting all the cancer were 80/20. Not good odds at all,
yet we all began to pray.

My son was not at all a believer, and no one expected him to be, that was his option. Yet he knew full well that I was, and the day of his operation, he grabbed my hand and asked me to pray for him. Even my husband, who was a full-fledged atheist prayed.

Hours later my son's operation was over. The results were uncertain; my son needed a lot more chemotherapy, and a plethora of tests, to see if they had got all the cancer. Now while this had all been taking place, I had consistently been suffering breast pains. These were dull aches, which were not excruciating, but were still quite painful.

I was a smoker as well, and simply put these aches down to asthma, and bronchial problems. Wrong! It wasn't long before I was sharing a bench in the chemo room. Yes, side by side we sat, wondering

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