Laura was only 30 and the light of my life. I leant down, kissed her and told her it was OK to let go...
CANCER VICTIM’S TRAGIC LAST MOMENTS
Diagnosed with breast cancer aged 25, Laura Vickery spent four years fighting for life with breath-taking determination and courage. But, tragically, on Sunday, the young newlywed lost her battle.
The disease had spread to her liver, and she had developed pneumonia and, it is thought, sepsis. She was just 30 years old.
Last year, despite her obvious pain and exhaustion, and with fiance Sam at her side, former mental health worker Laura spoke to the Mirror’s Emily Retter to warn other young women of the dangers of the disease.
She had first suspected breast cancer in 2012, but doctors had refused to believe her, even though her own mother had died young from the disease. Heartbreakingly, the following year, Laura received her diagnosis.
During her interview, Sam was by Laura’s side, showing his support. The couple, who lived near Bath, Somerset, married months later and remained positive about their life.
Frail but hopeful, Laura said: “This is a very different path to the one I would have chosen. But we will fight this and I will try to get through each day, however ill I am, with as much joy and laughter – and as many inappropriate jokes – as I can.” And that is what she did. Here, in a poignant open letter, Sam, 29, describes the events leading to Laura’s death. He recalls the devastating decisions he was forced to make to end her pain, and pays tribute to his incredible soulmate, who fought for life until the last.
It is with a heavy heart that I have to write this. On Sunday the 14th of January, 2018, at around 2.10am, my beautiful Laura passed away. She had entered a hospice on the Wednesday previous, to receive rehab and for me to have some respite.
Due to Laura’s worsening state and weight loss, she had started to have trouble walking and even completing the simplest of tasks.
And I was struggling to cope after we received the news Laura would have to have chemotherapy once again as the cancer had spread to her liver and was quickly multiplying.
Laura was mentally the strongest person in the world and was still determined to beat this vile disease. She entered the hospice with more determination than ever to get stronger.
After her chemotherapy I went to visit her, and we sat and talked as she went in and out of sleep.
I told her I loved her and she told me the same. I went home and struggled to sleep, as there is nothing more unnatural than not having your wife in bed with you.
The next day I went to the hospice again and Laura was bright and smiling. We talked for hours about our life together, and kissed and cuddled every time I helped her out of her wheelchair.
I left her that night around 11.30pm and as we always did every time we went to sleep we said to each other: “Good night, I love you and I will see you in the morning.” I left that night, positive and full of hope that Laura would come through.
At 5.30am, I woke to banging on my front door. I knew immediately that it was my mum, and I rushed to the door.
I arrived to the hospice and Laura was awake but looking very grey and finding it difficult to breathe.
She said: “Hi Baby.” With that, her eyes started to roll around and she lost consciousness.
The nurse pulled me into a side room and said to me: “Sam, I think Laura is dying.”
The nurse asked me outright, do you want to call an ambulance or do you want to let her slip away peacefully here?
Laura was always a fighter and I knew she would want the ambulance. It was called and we rode to
hospital together as I held her hand and told her that everything will be OK.
She slipped in and out of consciousness over and over. She was slipping away from me and there was nothing I could do.
We entered the hospital and Laura was taken to resus, where they counteracted her morphine. She came round immediately and started talking. There was hope after all, or so I thought.
The nurses once again pulled me aside and reiterated: “We think this is her time.”
I couldn’t even comprehend what was being said to me.
The doctors told me that she had pneumonia and most likely sepsis.
It was at that moment I knew that she wouldn’t be coming home again. I spent the day holding Laura’s hand and chatting with her as she went in and out of sleep.
Family and friends were a revolving door that day. We all spent time with her, laughed with her, hugged her and kissed her.
She knew how loved she was.
Before she went to sleep, I said to her: “I want you to know how proud of you I am, how much I love you and how strong you are.” She turned to me and replied: “Always and forever, babe, I am going to beat this. Team Vickery.”
With that I chuckled. We kissed and I settled in for a long night watching over her.
At 2am, Laura took another turn. She grabbed for my hand and I could see the fear in her beautiful eyes. As I tried to speak to her she fell unconscious. I was asked by the doctor: “If her heart stops, do you want us to attempt resuscitation?” This was by far and away the hardest question I had ever been asked and I only had 10 seconds to respond.
In those 10 seconds, I played over the options.
Laura had said earlier on that day that she wanted to be resuscitated if anything happened.
I also knew, though, that if they did she would probably have her ribs and sternum broken and most likely would only survive in a coma for another day or so. With that I made the hardest decision I have ever made and asked the doctors not to attempt to revive her.
I couldn’t believe this was the moment. The nurses stayed with me and removed all the cables and tubes that were attached to her. I asked them to leave the room. I looked at my Laura, ravaged by disease and the treatment that was supposed to help her, and I leant down, kissed her on the forehead and told her it was OK to let go.
Five seconds later, Laura breathed her last breath.
It is the most devastating feeling in the world.
I stayed with her for a while and talked to her a little more. I told her I loved her repeatedly.
I cried and cried and cried. I haven’t stopped crying since. The thought that I will never see her again has destroyed me.
That night at our flat was the most lonely I have ever felt in my life. I started talking to Laura in hope she would respond, and it was futile.
I genuinely don’t know how I will get through, but I will because that is what Laura would have wanted me to do. She never gave up and neither will I. Never.
Laura has joined her mother and they are having a long overdue hug and kiss. I have to believe that or there is no point to this whole fight. She’s looking at me right now, wherever she is, telling me to man up and stop crying. That is how she was. Inappropriate, loved to laugh and wanted me to be happy.
She will forever be the light in my life and I will keep her with me every step of the way.
Laura, if you are reading this, know that you made me so happy.
I love you my beautiful, brown-eyed girl. You’ve gone too soon and I will hold you in my heart until the day I lose my own fight. I will never forget our engagement on Christmas Day. Our trips to the theatre where you would get so into it that you were singing louder than the people on stage. How we laughed at the same stupid and inappropriate stuff. Our strength in the face of adversity. Going to pick our darling puppy. The homes we shared. The gifts we shared. The life we shared. The friends we shared. The family we shared. Our wedding, which was the best day of our lives. But most of all I will just cherish you and your spirit forever. You showed me what it was to be really strong and you always believed in me. I hope I make you proud. Good night, Belle, I love you and I will see you in the morning. BRAVE Laura spoke of battle
She’ll be looking down at me right now, telling me to man up SAM VICKERY HUSBAND OF CANCER VICTIM LAURA