Everest Base Camp 2013  

 

 

My Mum was diagnosed with a Glioblastoma Multiforme Brain Tumour in 2005. This type of Tumour is the highest grade glioma (grade 4) and the most malignant form of astrocytomas. Only about one out of every four patients with this type of Tumour survives for two years and they are the leading cause of death from childhood cancers among persons up to the age of 19. My Mum defied her original diagnosis and went on to live 6years longer than expected.

Most of you reading this would have read the story I wrote on here in 2010 when I climbed Mount Kilimanjaro for Macmillan Cancer Support. At that time I talked about my experience of when my Mum first took ill and the affect it had on the whole family. Since then my Mum has sadly passed away. I had already signed up to climb Mount Everest Base Camp before we were informed that my Mums condition was terminal. Since she past, I have now signed up to climb Mount Toubkal, the highest mountain in North Africa - why? I truly believe that my Mum will be watching over me when I reach the summit and that I will be able to spend another minute in her company. I remember seeing the excitement and joy in my Mums face when I talked to her about summiting Kili. I have never seen my Mum look so proud, not even on my graduation day. For that reason, I believe she will be following me every step of my journey.

At the end of July 2011 when we were informed my Mum only had a few weeks to live, the whole family fell to pieces. Although I can't remember what my Mum was like before she got diagnosed in 2005, I vividly remember sitting with my Mum on her hospital bed when the consultant informed us her Tumour had returned and there was nothing they could do. I sat there holding my Mums hand, I can remember her stroking my knuckle with her Thumb and not saying a word. She showed no emotion, didn't even shed a tear or ask any more questions. I knew she was scared, I could tell by the way she was stroking my hand, but she just sat there, so brave. Looking back now, I wish she had said something, let us know how she was feeling and if she really knew what this new diagnosis meant, that she would soon be leaving us, forever. I didn't quite realise how soon that would be, until my sister and I followed the consultant out of the ward and asked for a quite word. She led is to the Bereavement room where I asked the question I never want to ask again 'how long?'. 'a few weeks, maybe months' she replied. I remember flinging my knees up to my chest, putting my arms around them for comfort and saying 'noooo' whilst breaking down in floods of tears. Claire and I then had to return to my Mums bed where my Dad and Julie (sister) sat, unaware of what we had just been told.

Claire then went for a walk with Dad and Julie, to break the news to them, whilst I sat holding my Mums hand, unable to talk because I was trying to fight away the tears and put on a brave face, in the hope that my Mum would think everything was going to be ok.

After that day my Mum deteriorated so quickly. She walked into Hospital unaided and within 3 days she was bed ridden. Unable to walk, dress, go to the toilet or eat by herself. We all thought she would see her last days at Leicester Royal Infirmary, surrounded by strangers. So, we constantly nagged them to get a package in place so Mum could be cared for at home, surrounded by love, her belongings and a husband who had never left her side for the last 7 years.

I can't begin to explain how my Dad cared for my Mum, no one could have done a better job over the last 7 years, even more so over the last 4 months of her life. Not even the trained Nurses who visited my Mum 4 times a day at their flat, to wash Mum and change her bedding, were a patch on my Dad. Dad fed Mum everyday (this took at least an hour 4 times a day), made sure she was as comfortable as possible, told her stories, stayed positive, washed her, held her hand, gave her her medication, always put her first, watched over the carers as they treated her to make sure they were doing a good job and sat there, day in, day out, watching his wife die in their living room. He put on a brave face everyday, not only for his wife but also for his daughters. He said there was not a day that went by when he didn't cry as he lay in bed, wondering how this horrible disease would take his wife of 40 years.

I went back to London to work on Mon - Wed and then spent as much time as I could with my Mum and Dad. Mum was no longer Mum, she was always hallucinating, saying weird things and spent most of her time sleeping. Mum didn't know where she was and we tried to remind her she was at home but she couldn't take it in. This was expected as the tumour was in her brain, Mum often spoke to people in the room (who were not there), mainly people from her past who we had not seen for years, she also saw animals and often said how she had been out for the day or been shopping. At one point she was in Australia, on a cruise, pregnant and even getting married. Mum also used to drink imaginary tea and pretend to eat food. You would think seeing your Mum loose her mind would be unbearable but I was quite relieved, because I hoped it meant she had no idea what was going on. Although, physically she could not do anything, it seemed that in her mind she was having a ball, in comparison to what was going through everyone else's. A day never passed when I didn't think, when will she die, would she be in pain, how will she go, will I be there, what will she look like, how long is this going to last, what's going through her head, should we tell her, ask her if she has anything to say, final wishes, funeral requests and the worst thought of all was does Mum know what's happening? What's going through her head- I sat most days, looking at her, wondering what she was thinking, how she could be so brave and how she had managed to cope so well over the last 7 years, knowing that one day the tumour in her brain would return and take her away from us. Not knowing when that time would come must have been unbearable - but Mum never mentioned it, not once.

For the last 6 weeks of Mums life, she slept about 23 hrs a day, trying to keep her awake to eat or drink was impossible and she hardly said a word. When she was awake she just looked through you, like you were not there. The last 3 weeks she never opened her eyes, she lay there like a shell, her soul had already gone but her heart kept beating, she just kept on fighting because thats all we ever asked of her. When her body started shutting down, her Eyes would occasionally open, but they had rolled to the back of her head so all you could see was the white of her Eyes. I used to close them for her as I couldn't bear to see this.

Every Sunday night towards the end I said my goodbyes and didn't think I would see her again. This became emotionally draining- how many times can you say goodbye to someone you love? I will always remember the Sunday before she died, Mum had not spoken for days, eaten, drank or moved. I kissed her goodbye and told her that I loved her, she used all the strength in her body to utter the words back to me. This was the last thing she said and something I will never forget. Those last few words 'love you too' meant so much to me, because I knew how much strength it took to say them. I think Mum knew she would be leaving soon and she wanted to make sure I knew how much I meant to her before she left.

The next morning I left my Aunts and went to the station to get the Train back down to London to work until Wednesday. I stood there crying, watched the Train pull up, other passengers board and then the train pulled off. I could t get on, I knew the time was coming and I had to be there for Mum.

I went straight back to Sleaford and lay by my Mums side all day holding her hand. That night I slept on the floor by her bed, knowing she could leave us any minute. At times she struggled to breath and got into a panic and stopped breathing, gasping for air. I thought on numerous occasions that the time had come and she would just die in a panic, but then she would start breathing again. Listening to her breathing the last few days was horrible. It was so loud and Mum sounded exhausted. She was struggling to get enough oxygen and at times we wondered if she was in pain as her breathing sounded terrible. The Nurses reassured us that she was showing no signs of pain. They also said that if she was fitted with a device that pumped medication into her every 4 hours to control any pain, it would literally stop her heart and she would die. Because they were adamant she was not in any pain, they were uncomfortable with fitting one as that would mean, in theory, they would be taking her life. As much as I wanted it to end and Mum to be at peace, I couldn't even consider them pumping drugs into her that could help her to die. Mum had fought for 7 years and what right did anyone have to take that away from her? If it was me lying there, I would have wanted it fitted, I believe in euthanasia, more so now. I would like to think this is something I could consider if I was ever in that position, however, this was not something Mum had ever discussed and if she wanted to fight it until the bitter end, then I was going to be there until she had had enough, not until I decided I couldn't take anymore. We did beg Mum to give up the fight, all of us, Dad, Claire, Julie and I all sat around the bed on Saturday, told Mum we loved her very much, that we would all take care of each other and that we were ready to say goodbye and we wanted her to let go. We begged her, we cried, we thought she had listened to us, but she was not quite ready. She kept fighting until Tuesday 22nd November 2011 at 10pm. Dad and I were by her side and she took her last breath as the church Bells struck 10. Julie and Claire had not long left, they came straight back and we all sat around talking to Mum for about 5 hours. We cried, we laughed, we reminisced and we held her hand, kissed her and said goodbye again. I thought I had prepared myself for everything, but nothing could have prepared me for the hurt I felt when the undertakers came and carried my Mum away. Knowing I would never see her again or hear her voice finally hit me. Nothing can prepare you for that. 7 years of knowing this day would come, 4 months of watching Mum slowly die, 4 months of saying goodbye everyday and thinking it was the last time I would see her and 4 months of wondering how it was all going to end and knowing that that day was going tobe soon, didn't prepare me for the day it did.

We all agreed not to to tell Mum she only had a few weeks to live as we didn't want her to give up her fight. I am not sure how I feel about this decision now, as I wish she had spoke to us about how she was feeling. On my worst days, all I think about is that day in the Hospital when Mum held my hand, stroking it like she knew her time on earth was coming to an end. I could tell she was frightened, she was not stupid, she must have known she was dying. I wish I had spoke to her about it, reassured her, seen her cry, let her tell me what she wanted, talked about her funeral and reassured her that I would look after Dad and make her proud. I wish I knew what she was thinking and I wish I had told her that I would never stop loving her. I always remember when she was informed that there was nothing more they could do, she asked me how Dad was. I can imagine Mum lay there for days worrying about my Dad and how he would cope without her. Not once thinking 'why me' or about herself, just constantly thinking about her husband of 40 years, who had cared for her 24/7 for the last 7 years.

I like to think that the tumour had caused so much damage to her brain that she lay there for 4 months with no idea of what was happening to her. But, I will never know that and it upsets me everyday to think she lay there for 4 months knowing she was dying but was unable to talk about it. I would have given anything to get inside her mind for those last 4 months and know what she was thinking. The only good thing in all of this was that Mum was not in pain. If she had been, I don't know how we would have coped. How anyone does is beyond me.

I truly believe that night Mum died that her soul went up to heaven. As soon as she took her last breath I felt her looking down on me. I know she is with me everyday and I just want to make her proud and show her how much she means to us all. When Mum first got diagnosed our family grew stronger and we were all there for each other because we all had the same aim in life, to look after Mum and pray that the Tumour would not return. Every 6 months when Mum had a check up, we would all feel the same, anxious, worried, scared and then relieved when the results were good. Since July last year, our family slowly fell to pieces. We all went off on our own, coped with it in different ways and never spoke about what was happening. Cancer bought our family together and made us stronger, but the death of Mum has torn our family apart. I apologise to Mum everyday for this because I know it would upset her so much. I cope with Mums death by wanting to make her proud, climbing mountains, having a good career and raising money that will help other families through this terrible journey.  

To date I have raised over £20, 000, 00 for Cancer charities and over the next year and a half I aim to raise over another 4. So, please sponsor me, donate to my events and do anything else you can to help me reach my target, because one day the money I raise will benefit either you or somebody close to your heart.