Carol's Story

Carol’s mum, Patricia, was diagnosed with ovarian cancer after first experiencing abdominal pain and nausea. She was often described as “one of the best, yet most unlucky people,” having faced three separate cancer diagnoses in her lifetime. Here, Carol reflects on what it was like growing up with her mum, the impact cancer had on their lives, and the warmth and kindness Patricia showed every day.

There’s lots I don’t remember about my mum being poorly - the timeline feels almost blurred, in a way. But what I do remember is how it felt.

My mum, Patricia, was one of the best, but unluckiest people in the world. She had three separate cancers in her later years, none of them secondary – all separate primaries.

First, she was diagnosed with breast cancer at 70. When she was given the all clear, we all celebrated – there was champagne, pasties, and lots of relief. And then, almost in the next breath, came another diagnosis. This time it was non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma.

She lived with that for years. She had check-ups with thankfully good results, and we held onto those moments and carried on.

My dad died in 2016, and after a few years of living alone and then the pandemic, my mum decided to come live near us in Chester. It felt like a new start, and it was so lovely having her nearby.

But not long after she arrived, she began having stomach pains. Mum being mum, she brushed it off and told me, “It’ll pass.” I kept telling her to go to the doctors, just in case, and thankfully, she eventually did. The doctor sent her for an ultrasound, and it came back clear with no more tests needed. Brilliant news, but she still kept getting worse. It didn’t make sense.

At a routine lymphoma appointment, she mentioned the symptoms again. This time, the consultant stopped her. “You should have a CT scan with these symptoms,” he said. “I’m very concerned.”

I can’t describe the feeling of waiting for those results. We sat there, trying to distract ourselves -I put some silly comedies on, random films - but no one was really watching. I remember just feeling so sick.

When she told me she had cancer, I think part of me already knew, even though I desperately didn’t want it to be true. We were obviously devastated and shocked, even though we’d been bracing ourselves for something.

So, we made a plan.

Because of previous heart attacks my mum had had, surgery wasn’t going to be an option. Instead, they offered her low-dose chemotherapy at Clatterbridge Cancer Hospital, who were so lovely to us.

Treatment became a bit of a cycle. The steroids would lift her – she’d been full of energy, almost buzzing, racing around the shops and full of life. Then, days later, the crash would come. There’d be sickness, exhaustion, and terrible constipation. Then she’d level out before it all started again.

It felt like the world’s worst rollercoaster.

My mum also had terrible veins. Blood tests were always a struggle, and only certain nurses could manage it. Still, she stayed really positive. She believed the treatment was helping, and for a while, it did.

But during her third round, she nearly passed out in the middle of treatment. They had to stop, and I remember saying, “It’s okay, we’ll just find something else.” The consultant was really positive and supportive, and so we held onto that.

Soon after, my husband and I left to go on holiday to Cornwall, and mum seemed okay. We hadn’t been there long when we got a call from her saying she was going to the hospital for a kidney infection.

She never came out.

She got infection after infection, all the while the cancer progressed without treatment. She stopped eating, no matter what they tried to give her. She didn’t really stand a chance.

In September 2023, she died. We were with her, and we played her favourite music. Her Christian faith was very important to her, so we called a chaplain to bless her. She was asleep during it, but I’m hopeful she heard it.

There's lots more I could probably say about her. She was an incredibly brave person who had to endure a lot of pain and suffering. She was as strong as she could be in the face of it all, always finding the humour. She’d always try to see the sunny side of even the worst things.

She was also wonderfully organised. She’d worked as a secretary in her career, and even after, she kept everything written down; appointments, plans, details of everything. She even planned her own funeral – she wanted everything in order.

I was grateful throughout this to have my husband, my absolute rock. He drove her to every appointment and sat with us through it all. My mum used to say he was the son she never had.

My mum was incredibly kind to me growing up, even though I can admit I wasn’t the easiest child! I’m hoping I made up for that later on in life. There are things I regret, looking back. Conversations we never quite managed to have.

But we always had so much laughter, even during the difficult times. Once, when she was on strong medication that caused her to have hallucinations, she asked me (completely seriously!), “What’s that frog doing on the floor?” There was no frog, and later, she didn’t remember it at all. We laughed about that for a long time.

Looking back, her main symptom was persistent tummy pain, and later some sickness and loss of appetite. At the time, we honestly thought it was just stress, and when the first test came back clear, we trusted it. I wish we’d pushed for more or got a second opinion.

Most of my mum’s aunties had died of cancer – breast, womb or ovarian. Naturally, the doctors wondered if there was a genetic component, so she was tested for BRCA. Thankfully, it was negative.

Since losing her, my own health has been impacted. I’ve had IBS for years, but it flared badly during the stress of her illness, and again after she died. The worst part is that the symptoms can mimic ovarian cancer, so it utterly terrified me. Grief and fear can do that to you.

I’m sharing my mum’s story in the hope that someone else doesn't have the same thing happen to them. You're not being silly if you want to go to the doctor with stomach pain like my mum did. You're not being a nuisance.

No one deserves this, but my mum was one of the least deserving people I know, and it happened to her three times. I can’t change that, but I can share her story and tell everyone what a wonderful woman and mum she was.

And hopefully, along the way, it might help someone else, too.