It had been just over two weeks since my son's MRI.
I had just came home from taking my daughter to school and sat down with my first cuppa of the day.
The children had barely had time to get into their classrooms so I assumed for once it wasn't either of the schools. 'It'll be a call centre again' I told myself as I walked across the room for the handset.
For once I actually wish it HAD been a call centre.
'Can I speak to Mrs Gwynne please?'
I love being alone. I love the tranquillity, the freedom and the independence it gives me as a mother of two children with complex needs.
Yet right at that moment I would have given anything to have someone in the room with me, anyone.
The call had been from the secretary of my son's specialist saying they had found 'something' on my son's MRI and could I come in tomorrow to get the results.
I had asked about bringing my son in and was told 'not on this occasion but you may wish to bring someone with you.'
That is hospital talk for 'we need to have your full attention and you will probably need someone with you for support because we are going to tell you bad news.'
My husband out at the supermarket, my children at school; my mind left to wander.
My son had neurofibromatosis type 1. His body grows tumours.
The MRI was scanning his brain.
It didn't take a genius to put the pieces of the medical jigsaw together and realise what was going on.
The next day we were told Isaac had an optic glioma in his left eye, a tumour on his optic nerve, or in layman's terms: a brain tumour.
His right eye had a separate eye condition called microphthalmia which means he has no vision in that eye at all.
Having waited over 24 hours after the phone call to find this out we then had an agonising 17 day wait to find out if he would be starting chemotherapy or not.
Thankfully, at present his vision seems stable, although poor, and it will be monitored very closely.
He will now see even more specialists than before. We have a lifetime of hospital appointments ahead of us.
In a few weeks my children will return back to school after summer and I will come home one day again and make myself a cuppa.
The chances are high one morning the phone will go again.
And once again I will pray it is a call centre.
I just hope it won't ever be the hospital again asking us to come in urgently.
That is the sort of call every parent dreads.