My Tony was so kind, I was thrilled to do something special just for him. But the next day, tragedy struck. By Fiona Wiggins, 64
Twirling my mousy brown locks, I turned to my husband Tony.
‘I want to dye my hair green,’ I said.
‘You’re far too old for that, Pot,’ he quipped.
‘Watch it!’ I warned.
My Tony loved nothing more than winding me up – it had been that way from the moment we’d met through a lonely hearts ad more than 30 years ago.
I’d been bigger then, so his pet name for me had been Pot, as in hippopotamus.
‘You’re blocking out the sun,’ he’d tease whenever I hung my big knickers on the line.
But his gentle ribbing came from a place of love and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Tony also had the kindest heart and when I’d told him I wanted a gastric bypass after decades of struggling with my weight, he’d paid for it without batting an eyelid.
He’d taken care of me as I recovered from the operation too. But while I’d lost nine stone, the nickname Pot stuck!
Not long after he’d told me I was too old to dye my hair, I was shopping online for a fancy dress party and spotted a bright green wig.
Tony will love this, I thought, ordering two.
When Tony caught sight of me donning the green tresses as I dressed for the party, his face was a picture.
‘One for me and one for you,’ I said, pulling out the other one.
He plonked it on his head and launched into a comical jig leaving me in stitches.
In time, Tony supported me again as my mum passed away. So when my inheritance money came through, I decided it was his turn for a little TLC.
Ever since we’d met, he’d had problems with his teeth, which were constantly chipping and crumbling. He’d often have painful abscesses too.
Although he’d spoken about wanting dental work for years, we knew it would be expensive.
‘Right, I’ve got the money, so you’re getting your teeth fixed,’ I told him.
But our hopes were dashed when the dentist told us a new set of pearly whites would cost £33,000, which was way over our budget.
Then our friend Karen said, ‘My colleague had her teeth done in Budapest.’
We looked into it and found the Budapest practice ran a clinic in London once a month. So we travelled there from our home in Blaenau Ffestiniog.
‘You don’t need all your teeth replacing, the front four are still healthy,’ the dentist advised.
And the good news kept coming because the cost of the work was half what we’d previously been quoted.
Tony’s treatment would involve three trips to Budapest. To make the most of our time there, we added some extra nights for sightseeing.
Arriving in Budapest for the first time, we were pleased to find the clinic was clean and modern.
The staff were happy to answer questions and kept me supplied with tea while Tony was in the dentist’s chair.
After two successful trips, we headed out for the final one.
Tony was grinning from ear to ear as he walked out of the clinic with his new gnashers.
‘I’m so pleased, Pot!’ he said.
Although he had to have vegetable soup the first night, he gleefully told me, ‘It won’t be long before I’m tucking into a juicy steak.’
But visiting a market the next day, Tony was unusually quiet and had to stop to rest on the walk back to our Airbnb.
'I'm so please Pot!'
It was a sunny evening, so I said, ‘I’m going to paint my nails on the balcony, come and sit out with me.’
‘I’ll just pop to the loo,’ Tony said, getting up.
But when he didn’t emerge, I knocked on the door and called, ‘You OK, love?’
He didn’t answer, so I went in and found him standing up with his trousers around his ankles and an awful look on his face.
‘I can’t get my trousers up, I don’t know what to do,’ he stuttered helplessly.
‘Here, let me help,’ I said, pulling them up.
Looking at him more closely, I realised one side of his face had dropped.
‘Oh my God, I think you’re having a stroke,’ I whispered.
I got him on to the bed, then panicking, I called the emergency services and said, ‘Does anyone speak English?’
An ambulance arrived 10 minutes later and rushed us to hospital where Tony was taken for a CAT scan.
Afterwards, a doctor said, ‘Your husband’s had a massive haemorrhage and he’s very ill. We’re not sure he’s going to make it.’
The words hit me like a tonne of bricks. Just yesterday Tony had been on top of the world, now he was fighting for his life.
When I got to his bedside he was confused and they’d had to tie his wrists down.
‘He kept trying to pull his cannula out,’ the nurse explained.
Once she was out of earshot, Tony said, ‘Pot, can you undo my wrists, please?’
‘They’ve done it because you’ve been naughty and fiddled with the equipment,’ I explained gently.
‘I won’t be a naughty boy, Pot,’ he said, before slipping into unconsciousness.
I sat with him for a couple of hours before doctors sent me home to sleep.
But I was woken in the early hours of the morning by my phone ringing.
‘I’m afraid your husband has died,’ I was told.
I sat there in shock, unsure what to do next.
In a daze, I grabbed my purse and headed out to buy some decaf teabags for my son Keith who’d told me he was flying out here when I’d called after Tony fell ill.
When I opened the door to him a few hours later, I said, ‘He’s gone.’
Falling into Keith’s arms, the tears I’d been too shocked to cry finally came.
When my heaving sobs slowed, Keith said, ‘Let’s get out of here, Mum.’
It was a warm day and we found a shady spot along the Danube and sat there for hours while I processed everything that had happened.
Later, I discovered my instinct had been correct – Tony had suffered a massive stroke.
It didn’t have anything to do with his dental work, it was just pure bad luck.
Thinking about how excited he’d been about his new teeth and knowing he’d never had a chance to eat that juicy steak he’d longed for broke my heart.
Flying home without him two days on would’ve been unbearable without Keith by my side. Still, I couldn’t face unpacking Tony’s suitcase, leaving it untouched in the corner of the bedroom.
It took four weeks for his body to be repatriated and with Keith and my daughter Xanthe by my side, we held his funeral.
But even then, it hadn’t sunk in that he was gone.
I kept expecting him to pop round the corner with a cheeky grin and say, ‘Got you!’
Five months later, I booked a cruise and, in need of an extra suitcase, I told myself, ‘It’s time.’
Carefully unpacking Tony’s suitcase, I placed his shirts and trousers back in the wardrobe.
Almost two years on, I still can’t face getting rid of them but I have since met someone new.
Stuart and I forged a friendship after a chance meeting in the pub and in time, it became romantic.
I know Tony would be happy that I’m not alone, but not a day goes by when I don’t think about him and miss his cheeky, teasing ways and kind heart.
And while he didn’t get to enjoy the gift I gave him, I’m still glad I did it. His happy, smiling face as we left the clinic that sunny day in Budapest, will be etched in my memory forever.