Cancer Awareness Month

It is pink October. Cancer awareness, but not sure why it has to be pink.

It is also 13 years ago since our eldest daughter died aged 36 from cancer. She died. She did not pass away, pass over or enter the arms of Jesus or any of the other Victorian euphemisms that seem to be creeping back into our parlance. And while I’m at it, I have to say it used to infuriate her, and still does me, when people talk about someone who is “fighting cancer” as this implies to us she and all those who died didn’t fight hard enough.

This blip isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, and yes it is self-indulgent, but I haven’t written about this before and Blip is my diary, and I need to now.

She was ill for 10 years before diagnosis. After all those years of being fobbed off, an optician in London where she worked, saw a serious issue, sent her to Morefields eye hospital which immediately sent her to St Thomas’s where they found a tumour on the left ventricle of her brain stem. The National Neurological hospital inserted a shunt to remove the fluid which was pressing on her brain. They said the non-malignant tumour would be too tricky to remove so she was offered chemo and radiotherapy. She was also given massive doses of dexamethasone. She lost her hair and her looks. She continued to work, but eventually, after taking taxis to work as her balance was too bad to walk any distance, she had to give up work, give up her own home, and come to live with us. (We thought non-malignant meant it didn’t grown, but soon found out that wasn’t the case. It just didn’t spread to other parts of her body.

When we moved to Northumberland she was put under the care of our local GP practice and she had a wonderful young oncologist who said she thought a Newcastle surgeon could help. If the tumour was not quickly removed she’d die in weeks. This operation removed some of the tumour and though it gave her 3 more years of life she was left severely disabled.

She who loved sewing could no longer manipulate a needle, or a toothbrush or loo paper
She who spoke well lost the clarity of her voice so she had to put up with some people speaking loudly and slowly.
She who loved books struggled to read with the aid of an eye patch and a magnifying glass.
She who loved sport and had won trophies for running could no longer walk or even stand unaided.
She who loved cooking and eating good food lost her ability to swallow and was given nutrition via a tube going directly into her stomach. She could not even have a sip of water.

Three years after this operation she became unwell and a scan showed she had a massive tumour on her liver, a secondary from elsewhere in her body. The oncologist was devastated and said it was very unusual to get another kind of cancer as it couldn’t have come from the brain tumour which was not malignant. She died three weeks after this was diagnosed.

If there can be an upside to all this - we had fun times in those last 3 years. She retained her intelligence and quick acerbic wit, (to check if she knew what was going on, they asked her in hospital who the PM was. She sighed and said ‘I expect it’s still Tony Blair”).

We had trips away when we could find suitable accommodation. As a family we became closer and her sisters took her by train to London where they found Malmaison hotels suited their needs and where she could meet her London friends.

She continued to have a keen interest in politics and went to vote wearing red. Yes she did fight to the end of her life. She fought against injustice, intolerance and inequality.