Introducing my darling husband who most of you feel like you already know - Serge. Serge is guest blogger tonight! Woot! Woot! Get your tissues ready because I needed them. The reason why Serge is writing this is to help prepare him a little for his Smiling for Smiddy Challenge, riding from Brisbane to Townsville, and to also help you understand why he wants to raise money for cancer research. Details for donating will be at the bottom of this post.

This is my first time doing something like this. Sharing my story isn’t my strong point – that is Emma’s forte. I feature regularly on Emma’s blog and know that she writes about our relationship, often the saddest moments, but we both thought that it is time to share my perspective. It is not often that you hear the thoughts of the partner of a cancer patient - their role as carer, chief cheerleader, comedium, and ultimate cuddle buddy. Warning alert...a bloke may talk about his feelings.

In January, I was sitting down with a palliative care team discussing how I wanted to die. I did not ask about what I could expect. I didn’t ask about the pain I would feel. I did not ask about how I will lose my independence. I already knew what to expect from my last months or weeks of my life.

Instead, I told the palliative care team what I wanted. I told them how I wanted to die. I wanted to die in my family home. I did not want to spend my last days in a hospital. I wanted to die in the bed I share with my husband. I did not want to be forced into a single hospital bed away from my husband.

I know that my last weeks aren’t going to be nice and I am either going to be in pain or out to it on painkillers, but all I can wish for is an ounce of control. Control that cancer would slowly take away from me.