Just like Daddy...
And now my Superman has someone following his lead
From the moment we said ‘I do’ in August 2011, friends and family dubbed me ‘Lois Lane’.
But I adored the nickname because it made Dave, then 43, my Superman.
And just like the comic-book hero, our relationship was flying at full speed from the off.
We’d first met on a night out when I was 31. And it turned out Dave Lane was about to move next door to my sister Joanne.
‘Small world,’ I laughed. ‘Gives us an excuse to see
each other again,’ he winked. Not that we needed one. We began dating – and within a month, were living together next door to my sister. Fast for some, but for us it was just meant to be.
Our relationship continued to blossom – and, through the years, we supported each other in everything.
So when Dave began experiencing strange pulses in his head at his job driving HGVs in June 2010, I was right by his side. Concerned, Dave decided to go to the doctor’s.
At first, they believed he was experiencing a mini stroke. To be sure, Dave was referred for blood tests, a CT scan and X-ray. And one of the scans found something.
‘It’s a tumour,’ the doctor said. It was a type of brain cancer, glioblastoma. ‘I’m afraid it’s inoperable,’ the doc finished. Dave’s only chance was to prolong what little time he had left, by having chemotherapy.
With any luck, it might help slow the tumour’s growth. But there were no guarantees. I was in total disbelief.
It felt like our whole future together had been given an expiry date.
Thankfully, Dave was determined to fight.
That’s why, not long after the diagnosis, he dropped down on one knee.
‘I’d hoped to do this on our trip to America,’ he sighed.
We’d had to cancel it after the diagnosis.
‘But I still want to make you my Lois Lane,’ he winked. Of course I said yes.
We began planning the wedding, but focused on finding other ways to help the chemo do its job.
We tried reflexology, reiki, healthy eating.
And something seemed to do the trick. Because in June 2011 – good news.
‘There’s no signs of growth,’ the doctor said.
Pleased Dave was out danger for now, they stopped chemo. It meant we could start our lives again – dreaming of a future.
A family.
Doctors still wanted to monitor Dave, he’d have monthly checkups.
In August 2011, we said our ‘I dos’ and I officially became
his Lisa Lane.
Not long after, we began thinking about having a family.
The chemo had affected Dave’s fertility – so, in the September, we started IVF.
And in April 2012, I had the fertilised egg put in me.
Two months later, I nervously took a test.
‘We’re pregnant!’ I beamed to Dave.
He was so excited and swept me into a hug.
‘Do you know what day it is?’ he gasped, a big smile on his face.
Then I remembered... Father’s Day! But despite the excitement, I was worried.
Dave’s behaviour had begun to change.
He was becoming forgetful, more unaware of himself.
Concerned, his specialist sent him for a scan.
And it was bad news. ‘The tumour has grown,’ the specialist confirmed.
‘We can try chemo again but I’m afraid it doesn’t look good.’ Devastating.
Slowly the chemo began to take hold, and Dave rapidly deteriorated. And I became his full-time carer, but I had to be careful.
I couldn’t do too much, didn’t want to risk affecting the pregnancy.
And that was the hardest part for me.
Knowing, at most, Dave had six months left.
It meant he’d never meet our baby.
So I did everything I could to keep him a part of it.
‘It’s a boy,’ I whispered after the 20-week scan.
Laid up in bed at home, Dave had been too sick to come with me. But he smiled.
We spoke about names.
‘How about Davey?’ I asked.
‘Davey,’ he echoed, ‘I like that name.’
But as the months ticked by, Dave gradually worsened...
Eventually he couldn’t walk or talk.
And by the end of November 2012, he required more care than I was able to give.
Doctors suggested he be admitted to Dr Kershaw’s Hospice, in Oldham.
It was the best thing for both of us.
Sadly, just four days later, Dave passed away.
It made the last months of my pregnancy even harder.
The one person I should’ve been sharing every kick and craving with was no longer here.
And I knew when I went into labour it would be just as hard.
Davey arrived on 1 March 2013 – St David’s Day – weighing 7lb 13oz.
It soon became clear Davey was every inch his father’s son.
So I signed me and Davey up to a charity walk, in aid of Dr Kershaw’s Hospice.
In honour of my hero husband, I donned my Superman T-shirt.
And I dressed little Davey in a Superman onesie, too!
Davey, my Superboy, was just 6 weeks old as I pushed him the 7.5 miles in his pram.
All to remember his Superdad. Our brave hero. We raised over £3,000 that first year.
And we’ve done the walk every year since, raising several hundreds of pounds each time.
It’s our tradition. Davey, now 6, adores doing it.
For him, it’s something that brings him closer to his dad.
And they’re so similar. From the way Davey walks, to the way he holds himself, or even the cheeky looks he’s always giving me...
‘God, you look like your dad when you pull that face,’ I tell him all the time.
I know Dave would be so proud of our Superboy. We miss him every day. But one thing is for certain, he’ll always be our Superman.
Knowing Dave would never meet our baby was hard