Stolen memories
I was robbed of such precious time with my girl
Sometimes, life can be beautiful.
And in 2009 it seemed everything was just right. I had a lovely daughter Georgia, then 9, a devoted husband Stephen, then 53, and a good job in the civil service.
But a clumsy fall at work one day and a persistent ‘fluey’ feeling led me to book an appointment with the GP.
Tests revealed there was something wrong with my blood.
The doctor referred me to a haematologist at a hospital in Manchester for more tests. And a week later, the results. ‘You have multiple myeloma,’ I was told. ‘A rare blood cancer.’ I was stunned. ‘How long have I got?’ I whispered.
‘With treatment, around five years,’ the doctor replied.
My mind flashed to Georgia.
How could she possibly deal with losing her mum?
Determined to fight the death sentence I’d just been handed, I made my way home.
Stephen burst into tears when I told him.
But I couldn’t bear to tell Georgia.
‘Mummy’s poorly, but she’s going to have some treatment to fix her,’ Stephen simply said.
Chemotherapy knocked me for six.
Sickness, exhaustion, losing my hair. My whole life was on hold. Then, horrific stem-cell transplants, too.
Thankfully, in October 2010, I went into remission.
For 18 months, normality was restored.
I could finally enjoy time with my family, but the recovery was slow. Then, in September 2012, the cancer came back.
Never mentioning the word ‘cancer’, I told Georgia I had poorly blood.
Fighting it again, I had more chemotherapy, more stem-cell transplants.
But the disease fought harder than me.
Despite hitting my five-year life expectancy in 2014, doctors warned I was lucky to still be here.
‘Go and make memories with your family,’ I was advised.
Nobody knew how long I had left.
It was now that I decided to tell Georgia, then 13, everything.
If my time was limited, she needed to know the truth.
‘I want to spend as much quality time together as possible,’ I explained.
Broken, together we cried and cuddled.
She agreed we needed to make the most of the time I had left.
We travelled to Austria first, for a skiing holiday.
Too frail to join in, I watched Georgia and Stephen having fun in the snow. As a young girl, I’d lived in Santa Monica, California. I’d always wanted Georgia to see where I grew up, so we booked a three-week trip in May 2016. Only I had to leave after two weeks because I was so ill. When we arrived home, I was back in for more crippling chemotherapy. But I was so glad we’d made those memories. ‘Thank you, Mum,’ Georgia beamed as we looked through our holiday snaps. On 21 September, she went to school as normal. I was home, recovering from the chemotherapy. As I walked our two dogs in the afternoon, I saw an ambulance parked in the road. Walking around the corner, I saw the flashing lights, traffic at a standstill,
We needed to make the most of the time we had left together
paramedics and police... Then, I saw it. Georgia’s schoolbag. Blood everywhere.
Running over, I found my darling daughter sprawled out on the pavement. ‘Georgia!’ I wailed. She didn’t flinch. ‘Please wake up,’ I cried. Paramedics moved me aside to work on Georgia.
Hit by a van which had mounted the pavement as Georgia walked home from school, she’d bounced onto the windscreen.
She was flung 10ft into a tree, thrown against a house and into a window, suffering a stroke at the scene.
Within minutes, an air ambulance arrived and ferried her to Alder Hey Children’s Hospital.
Doctors placed Georgia in an induced coma.
‘We don’t know whether she will make it,’ they told us.
She was in a coma for five days – we stayed by her bedside, praying for a miracle.
After everything we’d been through, we deserved one.
Cancelling my chemo, my priority was Georgia.
As she stirred, Stephen and I waited for her to open her eyes. Her pale face was fearful. ‘Who are you?’ she screamed at us. ‘Get out!’
She didn’t even recognise her own parents.
‘Georgia may never be the same again,’ a doctor said. ‘She suffered severe brain trauma.’
As we slowly re-introduced ourselves into her life, she started to remember who we were.
But so many of the precious memories we’d made had faded. Gone forever.
Then, last December, I was told I had just three months to live.
Christmas should’ve been our last celebration together.
Instead, we were helping Georgia with her recovery.
When she finally came home in January, I decided not to continue treatment. The chemo had vicious side-effects, and couldn’t save my life.
I wanted to spend my last months focussed on Georgia.
On 30 August this year, van driver Lee Griffiths was sentenced at Preston Crown Court.
Admitting driving without due care and attention, he was disqualified from driving for a year and fined £500.
He walked out of that courtroom a free man. That’s not justice, it’s a joke. Georgia is 16 now, still struggling with tiredness, memory loss and pain.
She needs surgery to fix a broken cruciate ligament and nose, and her self-confidence is at rock bottom.
She’s also had to come to terms with the fact her mum won’t see her finish school, get married, have children.
It’s likely I won’t make it to Christmas.
And there’s a chance I won’t be here by the time you read my story.
But I hope my experience encourages you to cherish every moment with loved ones.
Not just at Christmas, but all year round.
I saw her schoolbag, and there was blood everywhere