My hero isn’t someone wearing a cape and fighting crime.
It isn’t the person with the biggest muscles taking down the ‘bad guys’
It isn’t someone who is fighting fires or saving lives.
My hero sits and watches me sleep even though he knows he doesn’t have long to visit me in hospital as he has to rush back for the school run.
My hero tells me I’m beautiful when I’m in a hospital bed and haven’t brushed my hair for days.
My heroes eyes shine with tears because sometimes it’s all a little much for him.
My hero sees my stoma and in it sees a future healthier me and it makes him happy.
My hero cares not about the blood, shit and tears when he kisses me and tells me he loves me.
My hero takes home my bags of washing as he knows I couldn’t deal with anyone else seeing the state I have been in.
My hero is running our business, caring for our children, running the house, pets and everything…
My hero doesn’t treat me like I’m sick. He takes the piss out of me, he makes me laugh and he says inappropriate comments to make me giggle.
My hero supports me in this blog. He knows how important it is for me to talk about this and helps me do it.
When I say I’m worried ill be embarrassed in public with some of the noises my stoma makes, my husband tells me he will lift his leg and take the blame!
My hero makes sure that when I’m too hurt and not strong enough to stand up for myself, that my voice is heard and my corner is stood.
My hero will spend the next few weeks nursing me back to strength. He does it with love, kindness and a sense of humour.
My hero is Timm