Fight for life at 14
The docs told me that my survival chances were slim
Lying in the hospital bed with my mum by my side, I wanted to burst into tears. ‘I’m afraid we found lots of tumours,’ a doctor said. It was April 2006 and I was only 14.
A few months earlier, I’d felt a deep, dull ache in my stomach.
Doctors had assumed it was a virus at first.
When the pain got worse, they suspected a cyst, agreed to operate to remove it.
Only, now I was being told that when they’d opened me up, they’d found something more sinister.
My uterus was riddled with cancerous tumours.
They’d taken out one of my ovaries there and then.
Two weeks later, a diagnosis confirmed it. Ovarian cancer.
I felt sick as the doctors said those words.
Two of my grandparents died with cancer.
I saw it as a death sentence. And doctors told us now that my chances weren’t good.
‘We need to start treatment immediately,’ one said.
I began an intense course of chemotherapy, followed by radiotherapy.
For a year, life was paused. The chemo exhausted me. I lost all my hair, too. Most the time, I was in Derriford Hospital, fighting infections. Couldn’t go to school. Despite doctors telling me I had a 20% chance of survival, I was determined. Put on a brave face. Refused to think about what’d happen if the treatment didn’t work.
One silver lining was the friends I made.
A lot of the time, when I was on the ward, other teenagers with cancer would be admitted, too. Like me, they all tried to stay positive.
We’d laugh together, play games.
Just like any normal kids. And when one of us was having a bad day, someone would be there to cheer you up, make you smile again. But despite having my friends to support me, when I got to the last round of chemo, I couldn’t take it any more. ‘Please, I can’t go through it again,’ I pleaded with doctors. Thankfully, after tests, they agreed that I didn’t have to.
And in March 2007, finally, the news I’d been waiting for.
‘There are no signs of cancer any more,’ my oncologist said.
‘We’re giving you the all-clear!’
After months of pain and suffering, thinking
I was facing certain death. It was over. I’d need to go back in for scans every few months.
But, otherwise, I could go back to living my life.
In April 2007, aged 15, I went back to school, part-time at first.
And while it was hard catching up, I was just so grateful that I’d lived to tell the tale.
Suddenly, I had a future again – and I could choose to do anything I wanted.
Only, despite my good news, death was still all around me...
My uterus was riddled with cancerous tumours
Ayear after my all-clear, I lost a close pal who’d been having treatment at the same time as me. I cried buckets. He’d been told he’d had a decent chance of survival, yet he’d lost his life to a rare form of tissue cancer.
Whereas
I was still alive, despite the odds being against me. I felt so guilty. ‘I need to know what happens when you die,’ I told Mum.
I needed to know they weren’t left in a morgue.
That they weren’t forgotten.
So I rang funeral directors. Explained my story. And Pengelly Funeral Service, a local company, agreed to help.
So, one morning in summer 2008, I went along to learn their processes.
Throughout the day,
I was talked through what initially happens when someone dies, and what plans need to be made for their funeral.
I saw them wash and dress the deceased.
My heart was in my mouth as I walked into that room.
But after a few moments, I felt strangely at ease.
It was calm, peaceful, and so respectful.
Exactly what I’d gone there to learn about.
‘Thank you so much,’ I said, shaking the funeral director’s hand.
In the months that followed, I thought about the funeral home a lot.
In early 2009, when
I was 18, I contacted Co-op Funeralcare to ask for a visit to their premises, too.
‘We might have a job going,’ one of the managers said as I was leaving.
It was the first time
I’d considered a career as a funeral director.
And I had to admit, the job appealed.
I started training in April 2012, aged 20.
I loved every second. At first, I mostly drove the hearse, taking care of the vehicles.
But as time went on, I gained experience in other areas.
Learnt how to care for a body after the person had passed away.
How to help bereaved families, offering them support or advice.
It was a tad strange at first.
Washing the deceased, combing their hair, dressing them.
But I took pride in my work.
And when the families came to pay their respects, I realised what an important part I played.
Then, in 2018, I lost Mum suddenly.
It was a terribly difficult time.
But arranging her funeral, I understood just how much families have to go through – all the admin, planning.
Being able to empathise made me better at my job.
Now, I’m a fully qualified funeral director.
I work mostly with families, helping them plan funerals for their loved ones.
It’s been particularly difficult during the pandemic, of course.
Sometimes, families won’t have seen the deceased for months.
But we do everything we can to make sure as many people as possible are involved in the send-off.
I’m desperately hoping that things will be back to normal soon.
Despite everything, I still love getting up for work.
Death is hard but it’s a part of life.
Being able to help people through that difficult time is a privilege.
I remain grateful that, unlike so many others,
I was given a second chance.
And I’m not wasting a moment of it.
I felt strangely at ease. It was calm, so respectful