Our girl’s dying gasp

...and then our beautiful, brave girl slipped away

Ever asked yourself where the time went?

Hearing about the holiday of a lifetime my daughter Linzi and her fella Darren Reid, both 21, had planned – to Egypt’s Sharm El Sheikh – I certainly did.

It seemed like only yesterday she’d brought him home to meet me, her dad Colin, 55, and brother Jamie, now 30, for the first time. Linzi was just 15 then. ‘Be nice!’ she’d pleaded. See, in September 2010, she’d had a cancerous mole removed from her left temple, and the experience had made us over-protective of her.

Knowing she had typically fair, Scottish skin, Linzi had never been a sun worshipper – she’d just been unlucky.

But now, as she and Darren discussed holiday plans, my initial misgivings and her cancer were distant memories.

In June 2015, they jetted off on an all-inclusive break, posting countless pictures online. Sooo jealous! I commented. Stuck in rainy old Fife, working as a disability and mental-health support worker, life seemed dull by comparison.

Then, on her last day, Linzi texted, Think I’ve eaten a dodgy curry!

Getting a gyppy tummy on holiday was just typical!

When they arrived back, she looked pale and washed out after 24 hours of sickness, diarrhoea and achy muscles.

‘Get to bed and drink lots of water,’ I told Linzi, sure she’d soon be fine.

But, after four weeks of struggling to walk, and in a lot of pain, she saw the GP. Linzi was referred to Ninewells Hospital in Dundee, where she was kept in for two weeks, given antibiotics and anti-sickness tablets. We just assumed it’d been a bad infection. Only, a few days after coming home, Linzi couldn’t eat or even walk. She was in agony. Over the next two months, we were back and forth to A&E, but they couldn’t treat her. Finally, a GP admitted her to hospital, where she stayed for two weeks before being discharged. But, after a few days, Linzi was readmitted, and had a CT scan. Next day, our worst nightmare was confirmed. Cancer.

‘It’s spread to her spleen, stomach, lungs, spine and liver,’ the doctor said.

Bursting into tears, I held Linzi close before ringing Colin and Darren and telling them to come to the hospital.

‘We just need to get on with my treatment to get me better!’ Linzi insisted as they sobbed.

Doctors started her on oral chemotherapy. In and out of hospital, despite being crippled with pain, Linzi stayed positive.

But, by November 2015, she started losing feeling in her legs.

‘Mum!’ she screamed one night, and I found her in a heap on the bathroom floor. ‘My legs gave way,’ she sobbed. ‘Let’s get you back to bed, love,’ Colin said, carrying her to her bedroom.

Next day, when I called the hospital, they told me to bring Linzi straight in.

CT and MRI scans revealed more bad news…

‘I’m afraid Linzi has a large tumour on her spine that’s

Next day, our worst nightmare was confirmed

putting pressure on her spinal cord and affecting her ability to walk,’ the doctor said.

Heartbroken, Darren broke down when I told him. But Linzi simply accepted it, determined not to let the cancer define her.

Despite the chemo and radiotherapy, however, she deteriorated.

Living at home, she needed nursing round the clock because she was so weak.

But she still managed to order us all Christmas presents online, and had even wrapped them.

But, by 21 December, things were worse. Linzi was swollen and hot, so I called the palliativecare nurse, who told us to take her back to the hospital.

‘She’s desperate to have a family Christmas at home,’ I pleaded.

So a consultant made a home visit. ‘Am I dying?’ Linzi asked. ‘Yes,’ the consultant replied sadly. ‘You need to be in hospital.’

After more tests, on Christmas Eve we were told there was nothing more doctors could do.

Devastated, Colin and I didn’t tell anyone else. We were just desperate to let Linzi enjoy her last Christmas with us at home.

So, that day, Darren, Jamie, Colin, his mum Norma and her partner Andy gathered. Linzi was drifting in and out of consciousness as we sat with her, eating and opening presents. In the evening, worried, I rang for an ambulance.

Linzi was kept in hospital overnight with me and Colin at her bedside. Darren returned in the afternoon.

I plaited Linzi’s hair, painted her nails – did all the things she loved. ‘I think she’s close to the end,’ I told Darren.

By 27 December, she was asleep most of the time. But, at 8.30am, as Darren leant in to kiss her, the most magical thing happened… She puckered up! And then slipped away...

Linzi’s funeral was held at Dundee Crematorium on 7 January last year, with the wake at Dundee United Football Club, where she’d been a season-ticket holder.

It was just six months after returning from Egypt.

People think you only get skin cancer from going on sunbeds, but Linzi never used them, nor sunbathed. She was too fair-skinned to risk it.

Now, I’m determined to raise awareness of the disease in my precious girl’s memory.

People think that you only get skin cancer from sunbeds