Monday June 9th 2014 was a day I will never forget.
Mum had gone through the menopause several years earlier, when she started to experience vaginal bleeding. She wasn't overly concerned, her father had passed away recently and she put it down to stress or infection or possibly a cyst, but nothing sinister. She went to the GP and he referred her to a gynaecologist. The appointment came through quickly, it was for a Friday and was the day of my Grandfathers funeral. Mum called the hospital and rearranged for the following Monday.
I went with her. Since Dad died 10 years ago, its just been me and Mum (though I am married with 3 children). We saw a doctor, he sent mum for an ultrasound there and then. Afterwards we saw the consultant gynaecologist. She wanted to do a biopsy there and then. It was brutal. There was no pain relief, no anaesthetic, just pain. I thought Mum would hit the roof, she certainly cried. Then back into the consulting room to be told it was cancer. She would have to wait for the biopsy results to confirm the diagnosis and she wanted several scans performing. Mum would be referred to an oncologist. Then we were shown into another room, one of those small ones with the obligatory box of tissues on the table where they invariably deliver bad news. We met Mum's specialist gynaecological cancer nurse - Vikki and were given lots of information. It was, in all honesty, a bit of a blur. Neither of us expected to have our lives turned upside down so dramatically or so quickly. We had only been at the hospital for about 2 hours.
The next few weeks were strained. Mum had her scans and celebrated her 65th birthday. It should have been a good celebration. We had family over from Australia, but the celebrations were overshadowed by the diagnosis and the wait for the results that would tell us what kind of fight we were facing.
We saw the oncologist. Mum was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer. It was pretty much everywhere - her ovaries, fallopian tubes, vagina, omentum, abdomen, lymph nodes and liver. Mum was told they could treat her to control symptoms and prolong her life, but that ultimately the cancer would win. He said that the average life expectancy was just 3 years.
Fast forward to today and mum has undergone chemotherapy almost constantly for 2 years. She had time off for surgery to remove the tumours in her pelvis, abdomen and liver. For awhile we thought she was winning, the tumours vanished and there were no visible signs of cancer for a few months. Sadly the bleeding started up again and tests revealed earlier this year that the tumours were back. She was given a hormone therapy designed to stop the tumours growing, but after 2 months the scan showed a new tumour had grown, and it was a biggie. That was 3 weeks ago.
The oncologist has prescribed more chemotherapy, but (and its a big but) it only has a 20% chance of working, and there probably isn't anything else he can try. He muttered something about a clinical trial, but its not local and Mum would have to travel 100 miles each way for treatment.
I'm scared, mum seems to be following the average trajectory, which means this Christmas could be her last. I don't even know if she realises this and I'm too scared to bring it up. I'm angry. I've already lost my dad to cancer, why does it have to steal my mum too? I wanted my mum to see me become a grandmother, I wanted her to experience the joy of being a great-grandmother, to see her grandchildren become parents. And this future, this hope is being ripped away from us. But most of all I feel despair. I can't do anything to change this and I feel that we are hurtling towards it.
