“I expected the Hospice to be such a depressing place, but it’s not”
By Amanda Pardey.
Pat Will, my Mum, had fought off two bouts of cancer before she heard the devastating news that she had terminal cancer in the womb. The only good news was that Macmillan Nurse, Jim Pugh would be “there for her again”, and in the months that followed he was a constant support to her and the family. Karen, her elder daughter, came from her home in Australia, to help us care for Mum at home.
She started her regular visits to the Hospice’s Day Centre once or twice a week. From the very first visit, the family realised just what a fantastic place the Hospice is. They willingly arranged transport for Mum and she thoroughly enjoyed every minute of the time that she spent there. Mum would often talk about the lovely people she had met, both patients and staff. “There is always someone worse off – but I got him smiling before I left”. Then she would come home laden with craft items that she had made with pride, prizes won in the raffle and importantly her own fighting spirit and great enthusiasm for her next visit.
We then received further devastating news that Karen had been diagnosed with breast cancer, so she returned to Australia to be with her family and start her treatment.
As Mum’s health deteriorated she moved into the Hospice In-Patient ward. I can recall my first visit to see Mum there and not the Day-Centre. I expected to find it a sad and depressing place. Instead I found it to be such a happy environment, where I was made to feel so welcome and it was clear that nothing was too much trouble when it came to making Mum feel comfortable and as happy as possible. Mum always took a pride in her appearance, and I can remember how thrilled she would be when one of the volunteers would call into her room and ‘give her a manicure and a make-over’.
The Hospice were also fantastic about keeping Mum’s son, Jeremy, in Manchester, and Karen informed in Australia. Due to the time difference, Karen would often ring at 3am and the nurses were only too pleased to speak to her. Just days before Mum died, they also arranged a webcam link to Australia, so that Mum could actually see Karen from her bed. “ How do I talk to her, she’s in Australia?” but she did, and it meant so much to them both.
I still pop into the Hospice from time to time, because although Mum died there, I have so many special memories of my visits to Mum, which will always stay with me. Thank you all.
BRAVE FIREMAN DAD VOWS TO KEEP KEIRAN’S MUM’S MEMORY ALIVE BY BRINGING OUT FIREFIGHTERS’ CALENDAR
WRITTEN BY SUE HARDY
TOLD BY BARRIE
Clasping my hand in hers, my girlfriend Penny looked into my eyes. “You know I’ll never make you a dad!”, she gasped. Quite frankly I wasn’t too bothered. It was something that had not really worried me, but I knew it was heartbreaking for Penny to accept she’d never be a mum.
I’d met Penny while we were both working at her parents’ hotel on the Isle of Wight. I was immediately attracted to her bubbly personality and we were constantly laughing and joking around. She’d pull my leg and I’d respond. We bounced off each other and it wasn’t long before we started dating.
Penny opened up her heart to me. She told me how she’d been married before and had been trying for a baby for 13 years without any luck. She’d had four miscarriages before doctors told her she would never have children. Penny had wanted to be honest with me from the start. “I’m not really interested in being a father”, I reassured her.
After we’d become inseparable in early 2001, having kids simply wasn’t part of our agenda. We intended to have some fun and enjoy ourselves.
We’d only been together a few months when Penny suffered a miscarriage. It was in the very early stages and she was disappointed, but I got the feeling it was something she had got used to, as it had happened so many times before. So it was a huge shock when Penny discovered she was pregnant and everything went along without problems. We were shocked, nervous and excited at the same time.
As her waistline expanded and time passed, we made plans. We couldn’t believe everything was going so well with the pregnancy. All the scans revealed a healthy baby and at last it seemed Penny’s dream of becoming a mum would come true. She planned to have a natural delivery. As I’m squeamish, I wasn’t going to be there, but when Penny’s waters broke, her mum rang me at work. “Do you want to go to the hospital?” she asked. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to rush to her side as quickly as I could. “It will be born by half past eleven”, the midwife told me when I arrived in the maternity unit.
But suddenly everything changed and panic gripped me. “The baby is stuck, so we’ll have to do an emergency Caesarean.”, said the consultant. Our son Keiran was born at just before 3pm on March 27th, 2002. When I looked into his cot, I thought my heart would burst with love. Penny was glowing with pride. “He’s our own special miracle.”, she smiled. I put my arm around her. “I love you.”, I sobbed, as tears trickled down my face.
I never thought I’d be a dad, and nor did I expect such a strong bond to be forged so instantly. I was totally bowled over and vowed to be the best dad I could.
It seemed a long week before Penny was allowed to come out of hospital and we were able to take our little boy home for the first time. It seemed as if Penny’s dearest wish had come true. She was the happiest I’d ever seen her. As a proud father, I felt I could take on the world.
During the following year, Keiran started crawling, then walking. We needed more space, so Penny, Keiran and I moved into a new bungalow.
In late November 2004, Penny complained of a pain in her breast. As she walked past the phone, she picked it up and rang our GP. “We have an appointment for twenty past ten this morning.”, said the receptionist. I really don’t think Penny would have bothered if there hadn’t been an appointment that morning. After her examination, Penny was referred to the hospital for a biopsy. We went back for the results just before Christmas. We sat in the hospital room as the doctor told us Penny had breast cancer. The consultant was optimistic they had caught it early and that she would only need a partial mastectomy.
Christmas was a subdued affair, but we made the effort for Keiran. Penny wasn’t going to let it spoil any of the celebrations for him. On January 8th, 2005, we made the journey to Southampton for the operation. Sadly, it turned out to be a lot more serious than expected and Penny made the decision to ask them to remove the whole breast. Most of the lymph nodes were removed as it had spread, but the doctors were sure that Penny would make a good recovery with radio- and chemotherapy.
On January 10th, Penny was able to come back home. She was determined to beat the disease. With chemotherapy treatment, Penny’s lovely shiny hair fell out in clumps, but she didn’t complain, although she was worried about how it affected me. Penny had always been quite slim, but the steroids made her swell up. “Will you still love me with one boob and no hair?”, she asked. All I cared about was getting her well again.
On Penny’s 40th birthday in March 2005, we went out for a meal with all the family as normal, to celebrate. That summer, I did a parachute jump to raise money for Cancer Research. Penny had finished her radiotherapy and picked up the pieces of life. She started training to become a care worker. We both breathed a sigh of relief.
Penny suggested we buy a new bed. “I thought it might help my bad backache.” She had just done one day at her new job in an old folk’s home when she had to call in sick with the pain in her back. When her back didn’t improve, she mentioned it to her doctor during her routine check-up. Penny was admitted to hospital for more tests in October 2006.
This time, Penny was told the cancer was back. “We can’t beat it, but we can control it.”, said her consultant with confidence. It seemed so unfair. Penny had bone cancer. Again, she vowed to fight the cancer in the base of her spine and faced more radiotherapy. Keiran was like a little carer. He seemed to know his mummy was sick and fussed over her. ”Are you alright, Mummy? Do you want a drink?” Keiran would ask. He’d grown used to doing things for his mum and could even make his own sandwiches. It made me so sad that he’d had to grow up so quickly.
By Christmas, as we put up the tree together, it seemed Penny was out of the woods for a while. She smiled as we filled Keiran’s stocking, determined as ever to make the most of every minute with her miracle child.
By February, Penny was back in hospital after the pain in her back returned higher up her spine. More radiotherapy followed. We’d planned to go to Disneyland as a special treat for Keiran’s and Penny’s birthdays, but mainly for Keiran. When we’d booked it back in the autumn, we’d both been thrilled at the thought of our first family holiday abroad together. Nothing would stop Penny from going along and I managed to get her an electric wheelchair to make things easier for her, and so that she wouldn’t have to walk too far. However, after we’d enjoyed our first breakfast at the hotel, Penny fell over and hit her head. Confined to bed with a severe headache, she insisted I took Keiran off so he wouldn’t miss out on rides he’d been looking forward to so much. Penny felt she didn’t want to miss a moment of Keiran’s adventures and found the strength to come out with us a few times. Somehow, she managed to put on a brave smile, and seemed content to watch. Keiran enjoyed himself, even though his mum was obviously in pain. He was the centre of her world and as far as she was concerned it was all about him having fun. At the end of the day, Penny loved nothing more than giving him a kiss and a cuddle.
When we got home, Penny was taken into St Mary’s Hospital on the island. It broke my heart when they told us the cancer had spread to her brain. She refused to be beaten and put on her usual brave face, but I was devastated. More radiotherapy followed, and her hair, which had just grown back, fell out again. This was the third time my courageous Penny had lost her hair. Doctors warned she could only have ten treatments on her brain, and she had five sessions on different areas. She was losing her speech, but remained positive, fighting it with all her worth.
When Penny came out of hospital, she went into Earl Mountbatten Hospice in Newport. Penny and I talked about how much we wanted to do something to raise money for the hospice where she was cared for so wonderfully. She loved painting and working with her hands whilst she was there and in the spring of 2007, came up with the idea of doing a calendar. My colleagues at the Sandown Fire Station gave me their support and I approached the hospice in May, 2007. It took a lot of organising, but with the help of local businesses and a photographer, the calendar began to take shape. Penny was thrilled when she heard Keiran was going to be photographed with me for the October page.
In the summer, we wanted to be together as a family. We booked a cottage in the Midlands where we could stay with Keiran and Penny’s mum and dad. We were all disappointed when Penny was taken back into hospital and wasn’t well enough to go with her parents and Keiran. I’d arranged to do the Great North Run and was going to call in and see them when I’d finished. It was so typical of Penny when she insisted we didn’t cancel the holiday, so that Keiran could still go and have a good time.
When the proofs for the calendar came through, Penny was delighted, especially with the mock up rescue involving Keiran and me. It was early December when they were finally printed and Penny was so proud of them. We only had a few weeks to sell them, but they were soon disappearing as fast as we could supply them.
I was at her bedside when I had this feeling it might be Penny’s last Christmas. I hadn’t wanted to know and had never asked the doctors how long they thought she had left, as I wasn’t sure I’d be able to cope. Something was telling me to do something special and give her something to look forward to, and Keiran a lasting memory of his mum’s last Christmas. “Why don’t we see if we can take Keiran to Lapland?”, I suggested. Penny readily agreed. She must have been having a good day. But by the time I’d scoured the internet to see if I could get a last minute deal for the three of us, Penny wasn’t well enough to go. I was absolutely gutted.
We didn’t talk about it again. Then, just before Christmas, doctors broke it to us they had found more tumours in Penny’s brain. It was a case of putting on the best possible show for Keiran’s sake, but Penny was very poorly. In January 2008, Penny went to Southampton Hospital for the last lot of treatment she’d be allowed to have. This was Penny’s last chance as the doctors warned there wasn’t any more radiotherapy she could have.
When Penny came back from the hospital, she went straight back to the hospice. She was fighting all the way, but was getting weaker and weaker. On February 14th, Valentine’s Day, Keiran kissed his mummy goodbye for the last time. Early in the morning, I got a phone call to say Penny wasn’t going to last much longer. I kissed her cheek and she knew I was there. I held her hand tightly as she took her last breath, aged just 42.
Now I tell Keiran mummy is up in the sky with nanna, who died last year. I’m sure he understands how brave she was. I know she would have been so proud of him when we presented the hospice with the cheque for £5000 raised by the calendar, and Keiran said, “It was for my mummy.”
I intend to carry on fundraising in Penny’s memory as I know it is what she would have wanted. I’ve already put my name down for a parachute jump later in the year.
Becoming a father was never a major ambition of mine, but if I hadn’t, I would have missed out on the most rewarding and wonderful experience in all the world. Keiran wasn’t just a miracle to his mum. He’s my miracle too.
Barrie's story was published in 'Chat' Magazine on Fathers Day this year and he wanted to share it with everyone.
