The bravest mum of all
THERE will be countless stories of love and courage among runners in today’s London Marathon. But perhaps none to compare with the heartbreaking reality behind Angela Field’s participation.
Until a year ago, life for Angela was good. She was dedicated to caring for her husband and two young sons. Then came the devastating news: though she’d never smoked, she had inoperable lung cancer. Since then, there have been moments of despair but Angela, 40, is determined to live as normally as possible for the time she has left.
She has completed the London Marathon before. Today, dressed as Superwoman, she will walk the course, hoping to complete it in under eight hours while her proud sons and husband Elliot, 41, cheer her on. She will be raising money for the Cancer Treatment and Research Trust, and already friends and well-wishers have sponsored her for more than £12,500.
Here, in her own words, is Angela’s unforgettable story. GAZING at the faces of my two young sons sitting beside us on our sofa in the living room, my hearth was breaking. I knew that whatw I was about to tell them wouldld change their lives forever.
My boys Aaron, nine, and James, six, are both sports-mad, each a whirlwind of energy and full of life, the very heart of our family. But now they sat quietly, waiting for what I had to say.
‘Do you remember when I was in hospital a few months ago, when I missed the rugby match for Aaron’s birthday?’ I asked, gently. They nod- ded. ‘Well, I’ve got cancer. It’s in my lungs and in other places too. But I’ve been taking medicines and they seem to be working.’
Naturally, I didn’t discuss the statistics associated with lung cancer, which are horrible – less than 15 per cent survive beyond five years.
And I’ve already had one of those years. But I didn’t want to think about it, let alone say it.
James asked if he could go and playy football. If I wasn’t in danger of f dying immediately, then football was s more important. But Aaron asked the e question no parent wants to answer r – the question that will always hauntt me. ‘When are you going to die, , Mummy?’ he said. ‘I don’t want you to o die, Mummy.’
‘Everybody dies,’ I explained, holding back my tears. ‘But I can’t answer that question because I just don’t know. But I’m doing everything I can to be normal and the diagnosis doesn’t need to change how our lives are.’
It is a determination I’ve felt ever since learning I had cancer in April last year. I have Stage Four incurable lung cancer, with secondary tumours in my liver, adrenal glands and lymph nodes. The unfairness of it has floored me. I don’t smoke, eat healthily and exercise regularly.
Yes, I’ve been curled up on the sofa in a blubbering mess. But I don’t want to do that when the boys are around. It’s a difficult enough situation for them to deal with.
Because, when you’re told that you’re dying, everything changes. I didn’t want to put together a bucket list. What mattered was being able to take the boys to school and pick them up. To regain a sense of normality. To chat with friends in the playground, to meet friends for coffee, to get back to the gym and out running. Hell, I just really wanted to make it to my 40th birthday.
In those first few days and weeks, it felt like nothing would ever be the same. I closed bank accounts, updated my will, wrote down funeral wishes.
One of the hardest things I did was to write my ‘last letters’; the letters your family read when you’re never coming home.
How do you write down all the things you want to say over a lifetime to your children and husband? About how proud you are of all the things they’ve not yet achieved, how the world is full of amazing opportunities to go out and grab with both hands. And how much I
STRONG: Angela will be dressed as Superwoman in today’s Marathon really, really love all of them and am just so sorry I can’t be there in person to share these memories, but that I’ll always be with them in their hearts.
I read them often to make sure what I’ve said is still valid. I cry every time. I may write more when the cancer gets worse – which it will.
Quite frankly, it’s all a bit nuts. For about six months after my diagnosis, ‘ridiculous’ was my favourite word.
I’d run the London Marathon in 2013 in a very respectable four hours, 18 minutes, ticked it off my to-do list and vowed never to do it again. A friend and I decided instead to run a half marathon every month for a year.
Life was good. I’d met Elliot when we were 18 and we have now been married for nearly 15 years. I had (and still have) a good job as a project manager for Vodafone. Our lives with the boys were a whirlwind of activity – every evening and weekend was football training or Beavers or Cubs or kickboxing.
We’d just bought a run-down bungalow in Windsor and completely gutted it to turn into our ‘forever home’. At the time, I didn’t realise forever might not be as long as I thought.
In December 2013, I developed a cough. I dismissed it as the start of a cold. But antibiotics and steroids couldn’t shift it and eventually I had a chest X-ray which showed fluid on my lungs. Everyone was blasé, and said it was unlikely to be lung cancer because I was young, healthy and didn’t smoke. But a scan showed fluid around my heart and I was packed off to hospital. They thought it was a virus. Being a mum, you go into auto-pilot. I thought, who’s going to collect the boys from school? What about Aaron’s birthday treat on Saturday? We had rugby tickets, with the boys’ best buddies, to see Wasps v Saracens at High Wycombe and were planning to eat at TGI Friday afterwards. The nurse must have thought I was mad. I was sobbing because I couldn’t go to the rugby. It was, genuinely, that I was going to miss Aaron’s birthday. At that age, their world is the day-to-day and I wasn’t going to be there for him. It was the most devastating thing I could imagine – I
How do you write down the emotions of a lifetime?
hadn’t even considered something serious might be wrong with me.
The news came a week later. I clutched Elliot’s hand as the doctors said things like, ‘it’s incurable’ and ‘there’s no “do nothing” option’.
We were dazed. We walked home and I sobbed. Fortunately, the boys were out and I pulled myself together and went into auto-pilot.
I was determined that everything should stay the same. The tears were always in private – never when the boys were around.
I’m just a wife and a mum and I want to see our sons reach their teenage years. I want to see them grow up, leave home, go to college, get married. Most of all, I want to live long enough so they remember me and the fun times we had. I know some of this is not going to be possible, but for now, I was determined to do my best to get as far as I could.
Within a week of diagnosis, I began taking crizotinib, a drug not available on the NHS but which my private health insurance paid for. At my three-month CT scan, the news was amazing. The secondary tumours were no longer detectable, and the primary tumours in my lung had shrunk considerably.
Our new ‘normal’ became a tablet twice a day, blood tests every month, and a CT scan every three months.
Life went on. Seventy-five per cent of the time, I felt fine. I could do nearly everything I used to do, so I had to live like I was fine.
Some days I think: ‘Actually, it’s not fine. It’s really just crap.’ But if that happens before the school run, I have to just pick myself up. Little for the kids has changed. I take them to school, I pick them up. I love them as I’ve always done.
Elliot’s initial reaction was that he had to prepare for me not being there. It was all about how the washing machine worked and where the household documents were kept. I think about what he will have to do once I’m gone. Phoning to say, ‘I know this account’s in my wife’s name but she’s not here any more.’
We went on holiday to Cyprus, to get some sunshine and be together as a family. I tried not to think it could be our last holiday.
Then, I started running again in Windsor Great Park. The tablets were working, the CT scans were good – I felt normal. Why not? Then I thought about registering for this year’s London Marathon.
It felt like one in the eye for cancer. If I could do it, with Stage Four lung cancer, what was anyone else’s excuse? Everyone thought I was insane. I’m sure part of it was denial – if I could run a marathon I must be completely fine. Sometimes, I wonder if there was another Angela Field in the hospital and our results had been mixed up. Deep down, I know it’s not true.
I celebrated my 40th birthday in November by hosting a huge party at our house for over 100 friends and their children. It was very messy, with lots of dancing, music and prosecco. Everyone brought a dish for the hot plate, and we started at 3pm so the children could enjoy it too. It lasted 12 and a half hours.
Then, in December, I developed two blood clots on my lungs. A scan revealed the tumours had started to grow. The drugs had stopped working. I started having chemotherapy every three weeks and CT scans every couple of months so our lives revolved around whether it was going to be a good week for me or a bad one. The scan cycles are the toughest – I have several days before each one when I think, what if the cancer’s grown?
I had to accept I wouldn’t be able to run the marathon. But walking it still felt possible, something to aim for. Initially, I set a sponsorship target of £1,500 which was smashed as soon as I sent round an email to my Vodafone colleagues. I’ve now raised £12,500.
People say I’m inspirational, a ‘superwoman’, and although their words have inspired my Marathon outfit, I defy people to say that in the same situation they wouldn’t be the same. I’m a grown woman, I can look after myself. My children can’t and I need to be there for them every second I have left. I hope they’ll look back and be proud of me. There will be plenty of time when it gets worse and things won’t be normal. I know I’ll struggle to protect them as my tumours progress.
I hear of people who go downhill fast and at some point that may happen to me. That scares me. I haven’t prepared the boys for life without me because I can’t predict when it will happen and my preparations will be different depending on how old they’ll be. It’s unlikely to be when they’re going to university – realistically, I don’t have that long.
At some point I’ll stop responding to the chemo; hopefully by then there will be other drugs I can go on to. There may be drug trials. Everything’s changing with cancer and as long as there’s the next treatment I’m not going to dwell on it. The reality is I don’t know what will happen.
On Marathon day, I’m looking for- ward to enjoying the atmosphere. I’ll take photos all the way round of the landmarks you miss when you’re running. As long as I can finish by 6.10pm I’ll get my T-shirt and medal.
Then, next, there are no grand plans. I want to get through the marathon with my children and husband watching from the grandstand on Pall Mall.
And then we will just see what happens. justgiving.com/ angelafieldmarathon