A life worth living

As I stood in my surgeon’s office, he put his hands on my shoulders and turned me to face the window. ‘I want you to walk out of here and don’t look back,’ he said. ‘You’re all clear.’ I felt a wave of relief wash over me and the biggest smile crept onto my face. Five years earlier, at the age of 56, I’d been diagnosed with bowel cancer. I’d been waiting and praying for this day to come.

Following an operation to remove my sigmoid colon, I’d had regular scans and check-ups and now, in January 2020, I was relieved to see the back of cancer.

My sisters Betty, then 68, Jane, 66, and Kate, 65, were delighted for me and I couldn’t wait to get back to normality, working as a senior civil servant and living by myself in my beautiful home with a big garden where I kept chickens, bees and fish. I was just so grateful to have my life back. But then, just two weeks after being told I was all clear, I started to feel unwell.

I kept coming out in sweats and had a pain in my left side. I saw my GP and, to my disbelief, blood tests showed an alarming spike in cancer markers. ‘There has to be a mistake,’ I kept thinking.

I was referred back to hospital and, after scans and tests, I had an appointment with a surgeon, who told me 60% of my liver was cancerous. I went numb with shock as he showed me an image of the scan. ‘How long can I live with a liver like this?’ I asked. ‘Two months,’ he replied, gravely. I felt sick as he explained that he didn’t think surgery was an option.

NOTHING TO LOSE

Walking out of the appointment with my friend who’d come with me, I didn’t know what to say. ‘I need to be alone,’ I finally said when we got back to my house. I just couldn’t understand what had happened. How had doctors missed this?

Within a few days, I was invited back to the hospital to meet an oncologist, who recommended that I start chemo with the hope it would shrink the tumour enough to operate. With nothing to lose, I went ahead with the gruelling treatment and, after three months, surgeons removed 80% of my liver in a high-risk operation. It was successful, but despite another three months of chemo, I was told the cancer had spread to my left lung, and now there was nothing more doctors could do.

My cancer was terminal and all I could do was wait and see. As my sisters rallied