Lost Friends

The day after my initial diagnosis I went to Hull Royal, for further scans to see where my cancer had spread to. All I knew at this point was that I had a type of bone tumour. The orthopaedic surgeon at Hull told me and my parents that my cancer had spread to my lungs. It felt like I'd been given a death sentence. My Dad passed out and my Mum burst into tears.

I'm just going to warn anyone about to read the rest of this that it's going to be pretty morbid and heavy. I'm going to write about death. There's a general consensus not to really talk about death as a cancer patient, it's a bit of an elephant in the room at times, but it's my blog and I'll talk about what I damn well please!

 No one really likes talking about it (I imagine because you inevitably end up thinking about your own), yet it's one of the only true guarantees in life. Every single person alive has a certain number of days, hours, minutes and seconds left. I imagine a lot of people would act differently if they knew how much time they had left, if everyone had a little ticker over their head saying how long they had. A lot less time would be wasted on meaningless rubbish!

I probably spend more time than I should thinking about my own mortality. One of my first questions for my consultant in Leeds was what are the chances that I survive. He never gave me an answer to it, saying that it was too individual to give me a fair estimate, but I tried to find out online and all I could find was that metastatic Ewing's Sarcoma has a 10% five year survival rate. Not exactly the reassuring news I was looking for! 5% is better than nothing though! I'm nearly two years clear of treatment now, so only three more to go until I'm in the magical 10%.

Having cancer means you will inevitably meet other cancer patients and sadly some of these will die. I've met countless people along my journey but there are ten or so who I know who've passed away and are important enough to me to think about every day. It doesn't get any easier when someone dies, no matter how many times it happens. When a person is gone they leave a hole which can't be filled be anything and the saddest thing for me is that too many people wait until someone has passed away to tell them how much they meant to them. Of the friends I've lost it's only a few who I have properly had the chance to say goodbye and there are a lot of things I regret not saying when I had the chance. I'd rather tell people while I have the chance, and do things that I've wanted to do rather than wait until I get some bad scans and do it then. Death isn't something to be scared of, it's going to happen to us all eventually, just nobody knows when. Whenever I try and get travel insurance they'll ask me if I'm terminal. I say no but in all honesty I don't know. Terminal means you're going to die, and the implication is that it will happen soon, but no one can honestly know when they're going to die. It could be tomorrow or in a hundred years.

I received a letter in the post from the orthopaedic surgeon, who had told me my cancer had spread to my lungs, yesterday. She said she was glad I was in good health at the moment and that she'd heard I was going to read History at King's College London in September. I don't think she'd expected me to make it this far when she told me my cancer had spread.

Last One for March

Today is sadly the last day or March and therefore the last blog entry I'll be making.

For March at least! I will continue to blog but not every single day. I'd like to say a massive thank you to everyone who has been reading and sharing and I'm truly grateful to all of you. The amount of messages I've had from people who I've never really spoken to has been amazing and I'm love hearing from you. In many ways it has been inspirational to me to have everyone's support.

I'm not well at the moment and I won't officially be cancer free for five years. I will continue having scans every few months to ensure that my tumours haven't started growing again. They tumours are still there but fingers crossed they're dead!

I've learnt a lot from having cancer as a young person. I've learnt the names of drugs and about types of cancers which I don't think anyone should have to find out about until their about 90! It is often seen as an old persons' disease but it can affect every single one of us. It's always something that a elderly relative has, or some distant acquaintance. That is, until you get it yourself. I sincerely hope that I have encouraged at least one person to go the doctors to get something checked out. It'll have made it worth it all worth it. A few weeks or days can make the difference between life or death.

I've also learnt about what is important in life (to me anyway) and I believe (or hope) that it has made me a better person. I value things differently and I doubt an exam will ever stress me out again! It has definitely make me appreciate my family and friends more. It has made me more outgoing as a person and I'm less likely to judge someone before speaking to them. After being stuck on a ward with a bunch of strangers for a few days I suppose you have to get used to talking to people you haven't met before! The people I have met along the way have been some of the most amazing and awe-inspiring people I could ever have the good fortune to meet, and I hope I'll carry on being friends with them.

My experience has also encouraged me to start fundraising, with my current figure raised/helped to raise being around £30000. I have had so many amazing opportunities given to me. On Monday the 2nd of April 2012, I will be going on stage at the Royal Albert Hall to speak about Teenage Cancer Trust. I will be on my own in front of roughly 5000 people. Before having cancer I would've been too nervous to do it. Now, it doesn't even phase me!

I've only got one chance at life. One opportunity to live it to the full. To cram in as much as possible. To sing, dance, shout, talk, learn, laugh, love and live. I've learnt to seize every opportunity.

Many people find cancer scary and at first it is. But you learn to deal with it, to live with it. I've lost many friends along the way and not a day goes by where I don't think about them. I think about the lives they won't get to live and it pushes me to live mine to the full. Cancer isn't something to be scared of and it's that affects everyone.

There are four things cancer can't do-

It can't stop the love I have for my friends and family

It can't stop me laughing

It can't get rid of my spirit

and it can never stop me smiling.

An unorthodox 18th

My 18th Birthday was on the 9th of December 2011, and I had a party with all my friends and went out for a meal. It was a fantastic birthday by all accounts because I ended it drunk as a skunk!

It wasn't until the next day that I found out that one of my friends, Ali, had passed away the day before. Ali Turner was 19 when he died. He had been diagnosed with a brain tumour in 2010 and after months of chemotherapy, radiotherapy and brain surgery, he was told that his tumour had gone and that he was in remission. It returned in early 2011 and he started chemotherapy and radiotherapy again. He was told that the chemotherapy had stopped working and there was nothing they could do for him in August 2011.

Ali was always an inspiration to me and someone to look up to. His type of cancer was also very rare and it made me realise that even when things looked bleak you could still fight on and make the best of things. Ali's parents and his sister were on the ward a lot and were the loveliest people you could imagine. I couldn't and still can't understand why bad things happen to the nicest people. Life truly is unfair sometimes. 

Ali's funeral was held on Thursday the 15th of December. Afterwards we went back to the golf club he played at it made me realise how many people just one person can affect. It was heart-wrenching to hear his friends speak about him, but also amazing because it made me realise what a great person he had been.   I think about him every single day without fail and I'll never forget him. 

Ali, his parents and his sister

RIP Ali Turner.

I had my scans in late January, following all my exams and they didn't show any new growth, luckily. This was the last proper scan that I had and so far I don't have any unusual pains or coughs, so hopefully nothing has started growing again. I have scans every few months to look for any sign of new cancer growth. I will have this for the next 5 years, at which point I will be a survivor. At the moment, I'm still classed as having cancer and although I sincerely hope it doesn't start growing there remains a risk that it may. I worry about what would happen if it does because it would most likely mean I would only have a while left. This thought is with me every day, every hour and every minute. Whenever I have scans coming up I worry so much about what could potentially happen.

I guess the only answer is to live each day as if it's your last. Take every opportunity given to me and try not to worry. We are all dying and it is the inevitable end to each and every single one of us. Don't waste a day because you'll never get it back. 

Live your life, it's the only one you get.

Goodbye Leeds!

I'd like to take to say a massive thank you to everyone who has been reading and sharing so far. It's been truly humbling to hear your thoughts about it and I'm grateful to all of you.

Fun on Ward 78!

I'll start where I left off last time with my bloods starting to go back up again. Slowly at first but within a few days they had started to go back up. I was still very ill though and my throat was unbearably sore.

After many days of watching food programmes on tv I decided the least I could do was try and eat something. I pressed the button on my morphine pump until I was absolutely out of it and then tried to sip some water. In hindsight it probably would've been wise to wait a while before attempting this. The sip was so horrendously painful the thought of it is making me shudder even now.

Over the next few hours and days I repeated this painful process, I worked out afterwards it took me approximately two days to drink half a glass of water a sip at a time. I can't say I didn't try!

I continued getting a shower everyday but because of the morphine I was beginning to hallucinate. You know something isn't quite right when people walk past you in the shower of your isolation room and greet you with good evening!

Slowly but truly I started to feel a bit better. I started to eat again slowly, one morning wake up and deciding toast would be what I would next conquer. It hurt so so much but I managed it and although it took my and hour and a half, it was the best piece of food I've ever eaten.

Beginning to eat and drink again was in many ways similar to getting a shower everyday. Whenever I'm stuck with something or annoyed I think, if I can go through high dose chemotherapy I can go through anything. It's all just small steps. These two things were my first goals and I've never looked back. I know I can do anything I put my mind to and so can anyone else. They seemed like two big tasks at the time and they were, but I did them both.

Nothing is impossible with determination and perseverance.

The days of this week seemed to blend into one because of how ill I was. I could still barely walk and I had lost a lot of weight. I could fit my hand around my legs at the widest point, but as I started to eat the nurses decided it would be okay for me to be taken off being fed through my portacath and they also decided I no longer required the morphine.

Everything seemed to be going well for me and I was so positive. That was until my Mum came in to wake me up on the Sunday morning. It was Sunday the 4th of April and my Mum came in crying. I asked why she was crying and she told me that Beth had passed away that morning. I cried so so much, I'd been looking forward to going to see her one last time but now I never would. More and more I wished I'd gone to see her when she left the ward. I'll never let an opportunity go again. If you love someone let them know while you can. It's the words you want to say but never do that you'll regret the most.

The doctors also said that if my bloods stayed up then I may be able to go home. They would check them on Monday and if they were fine I'd be able to go home. However if at home I'd be unable to go out with groups of more than ten for the first two months and no busy places for three months. This included Sixth Form, Hull or any form of public transport.

Both I and the doctors were amazed at how I'd done. I'd been told that I would be in for four weeks at least. I'd ask my consultant, Bob, had anyone done it in under four weeks. He laughed at the suggestion I'd do it in under four weeks and said he had only seen it happen once in the last ten years.

On Monday the 4th of April they checked my bloods and they were all okay. They told me I was allowed to go home and after staying on the ward for pizza (Monday is always pizza night on the ward!), I finally left Ward 78 at Leeds General Infirmary.

I completed my high dose chemotherapy in three weeks and five days.

Always With Me

This is probably going to be the hardest thing I'll ever had to write. Today is going to be about one of my friends I met on Ward 78. I know words or pictures could never do her justice but I'll give it my best.

Beth Fitzpatrick loved to sing, dance and act. She loved Wicked!, Legally Blonde and any other musical you could think of! By the age of 14 she had performed on stage numerous times, had performed in the West End. She was 14 when she was diagnosed with a very rare form of cancer called Neurodocrine carcinoma which is normally only found in adults. It was in her pancreas, stomach lymph nodes and liver. She began her chemotherapy on Christmas Eve 2010.

Beth Fitzpatrick
October 2010.

I first heard of Beth when I was in for my chemotherapy on the 27th of December 2010. She was a new name on the board with all the patients in at the time on and I wondered who she was. Over the next few months she was to become my closest friend on the ward. I taught her and her Mum, Alison, as much as I could about being stuck on the ward. I let them know that you feel a lot better if you get up and get showered when you can and that getting into the dayroom was the best way to pass the time.

Because of where Beth's tumours where she was always a lot sicker than me, often throwing up and being unable to eat. I have to say I often felt sorry for her because she was younger than me and I wish it had been me that had been throwing up and unable to eat rather than her.

Beth's first scan results in January revealed that her tumours had stayed the same and the chemotherapy hadn't shrunk them, but they hadn't grown at all and the sickness which was being caused by the tumours in her stomach had lessened slightly.

She continued with chemotherapy and was very ill. She got many infections and needed blood transfusions. I helped as best I could, telling Beth and her Mum to ask the nurses to start them as early in the morning as possible so they can get home quicker, and showing them how to work out how much longer the blood would take to infuse. Waiting for blood or hydration to finish is the most boring waiting game you can imagine.

Beth's Mum, Alison (Left), Beth (Centre) and Beth's Dad, Ed (Right)

We also had many laughs on the ward, watching Big Fat Gypsy Wedding and laughing at some of their names! My Mum and Beth's Mum supported each other and me and Beth both knew when they'd been for a cry because they'd come back with red eyes and they would both still deny it! Our chemotherapy always seemed to be on at the same time every few weeks so she became one of my closest friends on the ward.

She was in with an infection when I started my high dose chemotherapy (at the beginning of March 2011) and she was very ill, being confined to an isolation room. She had scans on all her tumours in mid March.

Beth Fitzpatrick and Angela Griffin at the Ward 78 Official Opening
19th March 2011.

The ward was officially opened on Friday the 19th of March 2011. It had already been running for about 8 months but this was the official opening attended by the press. Both Beth and I got interviewed by the press and we both got our photos taken with Angela Griffin, who was opening the ward.

On Monday the 21st of March Beth received her scan results. They showed that her tumours had spread and her liver was starting to fail, causing her body to stop draining fluid. She was told that there was nothing they could do and that she was dying. They offered her surgery on her liver but there was a chance she would die during the operation and they also offered her more chemotherapy but she refused both. She'd had enough of hospitals and of being ill and decided to go home. 

Sometime the bravest thing to do isn't to fight on. Sometimes the bravest thing is knowing when to stop.

I remember sitting in room 8 and my Mum coming in crying. She told me that Beth was going home. I wasn't allowed out of my room because I had no defence against infections and Beth decided not to come see me because she was worried about upsetting me. I tried to get out my room to see her but I wasn't allowed because if I got an infection I would most likely die. Not leaving my isolation room to see Beth one last time will always be the biggest regret of my life.

Beth spent the next two weeks with her parents, listening to her favourite music and just being with her family. She slept a lot, but she wasn't in any pain.

On the evening of the 2nd of April, Beth said goodnight to her parents and told her she loved them, before going to sleep.

On Sunday the 3rd of April, Beth gave her Mum her card she had spent three hours making for her. She passed away that morning.

It was Mother's Day. 

Beth Fitzpatrick on Ward 78.
March 2011.

Not a day goes by where I don't think about you Beth. You've taught me to make the most of my life, to dance and sing as much as I can and to enjoy whatever I do. You've inspired me in everything I do and you've showed me the true meaning of bravery. You've taught me never to waste an opportunity and made me appreciate everything I have so much more. You'll always be in my heart.

RIP Beth Fitzpatrick.