Naomi Thomas - No Ordinary Wedding Planner - Fighting against the odds to help others make their dreams come true

Unfortunately my job with the council was no longer secure, and it looked as if I was going to be made redundant in the very near future. I wasn’t sure if this was good or bad timing! Luckily I had racked up an awful lot of owed holiday and lieu days, and hoped that the money would tide me over for a few months until I knew how hard the chemo was going to hit me. I couldn’t continue my wedding planning either, so I passed my workload onto a friend; it wouldn’t have been fair on the couples to put any less than my all into their weddings. Our own wedding was going to have to take a back seat for now, but I used the photo that Graham had taken of me in The Dress as my inspiration to keep going. I was determined to wear it one day.

My surgery went without a hitch and they removed the lump with clear margins; they were able to cut around the tumour and leave cancer-free tissue behind. The surgeons also removed nineteen of my lymph nodes. Luckily, they revealed, the disease had been contained; the doctors were happy that my cancer had not spread. At last, my first piece of good news since the diagnosis!

Chemotherapy was decided upon as the next course of action, and was due to take place over the next six months. It all seemed so overwhelming, and so fast moving. When the swelling from my operation eventually went down I was left with a concave in my right breast – yet another war wound to add to my already burgeoning collection of scars! I often joked that I looked like a completed dot-to-dot, and used humour to help me through some of my toughest days.

By now it was the end of May and Graham’s 30th birthday was fast approaching. It was going to be the first birthday we would celebrate as a couple and, although I knew he expected it to be a quiet affair, I had a few tricks up my sleeve to make it amazing for him; not least the surprise birthday party I had planned! Organising the party hadn’t been the easiest of tasks, as although I had heard all about his family members I was yet to meet many of them. However, with the help of Facebook and his mum, the invites were sent in plenty of time.

I’d decided to hold the party at Graham’s house and, while he was at work, prepared all the food and decorated his lounge with balloons, banners and streamers. I told him that I had a surprise for him; he was to go off to work as normal, taking a change of clothes with him, and then meet me on the other side of Exeter in a pub. The plan was set! As we enjoyed our drinks, members of Graham’s family and friends began to fill his house – I have no idea to this day how I managed to keep the secret.

When it was time to leave, I handed Graham a blindfold and instructed him to put it on. We set off on our journey, taking a long-winded route to try and throw him off the scent. We must have explored the whole of Exeter that night, travelling up and down roads that I never even knew existed in an attempt to disorientate Graham. Unfortunately, as we neared his house, a train sounded its horn and alerted Graham to the fact that we were nearing home; I started to panic a little. Nevertheless, I carried on up the steep hill leading to his house. He drove that road so often that he knew every lump and dip; I was sure he was onto me.

We made our way through Graham’s front door and upstairs, past the living room where everyone was hiding. How he didn’t hear their hushed whispers and giggles I’ll never know! I whipped off the blindfold at last, just in time for the room to erupt into cheers and birthday congratulations. It was a lovely moment, and I will never forget his face as he drank in the sight before him. I was so grateful that his family and friends had turned out in force to give Graham a reason to smile.

Graham’s grandparents were there too – his granddad, who he affectionately called Gramps, had been ill for some time, but Graham and I were unprepared for the deterioration in his health. His face was grey and riddled with pain, and he didn’t move from his chair all night. The family knew that he was suffering from cancer, but not to what extent. He was a proud man, not wanting to make a fuss, and an amazing husband to Graham’s grandma.

In the two months leading up to Graham’s birthday, Gramps had made the decision that he and his wife should move into a home together. We all knew that he was making plans for the future, ensuring that Graham’s grandma would be safe. It was heartbreaking. As they left the party, Gramps said goodbye to each family member individually, as though he knew that this was going to be the last time he saw everyone. He was unable to make his way down the stairs, so Graham carried him out to the car. He later confided that he’d had an overwhelming urge to tell Gramps that he loved him, something that he hadn’t done throughout his adult years.

The following week Graham and I travelled to London to catch a show. Visiting the West End had been on my ‘bucket list’, and a friend had kindly purchased the tickets as a special treat for my impending birthday. While packing up ready to leave for a short day of sightseeing before returning home, we got a call from Graham’s mum. Gramps had taken a turn for the worse. Graham was visibly upset and I made the decision to leave there and then. As we pulled up at the nursing home, the doctor was just leaving. Graham shot out of the car.

‘How is he?’ Graham asked. The doctor’s face was grave.

‘I’m sorry. He passed away about ten minutes ago.’ We had missed Gramps by minutes; it was devastating. He had been such a character and, although I hadn’t known the family for very long, he already had a special place in my heart.

It was decided that I would start chemotherapy as soon as possible. Gramps’s funeral was drawing closer and had been planned around my treatment, giving me a day or two to recover from my first dose. It had been good for cancer to not be at the forefront of my mind; supporting Graham and his family had been my primary concern.

Chemotherapy can ruin your chances of having children. As there was no time to freeze my eggs, the doctors had suggested putting my ovaries to sleep to try and protect them. There was no guarantee that it would work, but Graham and I both thought that it was worth a try. I knew that I needed to come to terms with the fact that we would probably never be able to have children of our own, but, at that very moment, all I wanted was to beat cancer.

Before the chemotherapy could be administered I had a small operation to insert a portacath. This device, which looked very much like a Flying Saucer sherbet penny sweet, fitted snugly onto my ribcage and was connected to my heart via a long tube that would dispense the chemotherapy intravenously. I was so nervous about starting my treatment, not least because I knew there was a good chance it would make me sick. No one particularly likes being sick, but I am terrible at coping with it; I can’t even hear someone vomiting without crying and freaking out a little.

The nurses were lovely, but, as they handled the bags of chemotherapy drugs, they resembled something out of a Hollywood chemical disaster movie. They had to wear protective overalls and huge, armpit-length rubber gloves and protective goggles; not exactly reassuring! I will never forget the feeling as they linked the bag of chemotherapy up to my portacath. I knew that the fluid now seeping into my body was poison and that, even if I’d asked them to stop there and then, my hair would still have fallen out. Deep down, I was heartbroken.

The treatment took around three hours to complete and I went home later that day. Although I felt tired, I was relieved that there was no sickness. All of the research that I’d done had led me to believe that the sickness would eventually catch up with me, but I felt fine the next day. I started to feel positive for the first time since my diagnosis – perhaps I was going to breeze through this after all.