Determined
Ipushed myself to the limit to make my mum proud...
Lana Freeman, 34, from Lowestoft
Carefully carrying a tray of drinks from the bar, I placed them down on the table. Passing them round to my mum Sharon and sisters Kelly, now 42, and Vicki, 39, I raised my glass.
‘Cheers!’ I smiled, as we all clinked our Pornstar martinis.
We had reason to celebrate – Mum had just been given the all-clear from breast cancer back in 2017, after five years in remission. She fought it like a trooper, never once losing her positivity or sparkle.
After a year of treatment in 2012, including chemotherapy, radiotherapy and a lumpectomy, she was doing well – and after five years of yearly check-ups, she was officially in the clear. Mum had been given a second chance and we weren’t going to waste it.
I felt like I’d been winded
‘Another round?’ I grinned, as Mum drained her martini.
‘Go on then,’ she chuckled. She was the life and soul.
But in March 2020, everything changed with one phone call. ‘Hey Mum,’ I said, smiling when
I saw her name flash up.
‘Lana,’ she said, and my stomach dropped. ‘The cancer’s back.’
I couldn’t believe it. I felt like I’d been winded.
‘It’ll be OK,’ Mum reassured me.
‘Just like it was last time.’
‘I love you,’ I said, my voice wobbling – before I hung up and burst into tears.
I’d known Mum had been a bit poorly – but she’d had a cough and a sore chest. We thought it was a chest infection or maybe even Covid – we never dreamed it would be cancer again.
As lockdown hit and I was furloughed, I moved back in with Mum and my dad Paul, 58, to be part of their bubble. I was glad I could be on hand to support Mum.
She’ll beat this, just like she did last time, I thought.
But at the beginning of April, I’d gone out with Kelly to the supermarket and when I came back, I could tell by Mum’s face something was wrong.
‘Can you come into the front room?’ she said.
Sitting us down, she took a deep breath.
‘The cancer is stage four, it’s spread to my liver, lungs and bones,’ she said. ‘It’s terminal.’
I felt like the whole world had come crashing down.
‘They think I’ve got two to three years,’ she added – and looking at Kelly, her face mirrored how I felt.
Broken.
Ever our positive ray of sunshine though, Mum refused to dwell.
She decided against more chemo, opting for quality of life over quantity.
But I just felt so helpless – I needed a distraction. I threw myself into exercise, using workouts to cope – and then an idea came to me.
‘What if I run a marathon?’ I said to Mum one day, in February last year. ‘To raise money for charity.’
M
