Doctors gave mum the all-clear but two months later she was gone

Unless she immediately started chemotherapy, she would have less than a week left (Picture: Phil McCullough)

‘I’m sorry, but she only has a few days to live’.

My mum was my whole world, and hearing that news in February 2022 felt like the ground disappeared beneath me. 

It had all started in August 2021, when mum was diagnosed with small cell lung cancer when she was just 68. She’d had increasingly frequent loss of balance caused by dangerously low salt levels. 

We were told that unless she immediately started chemotherapy, she would have less than a week left.

The chemo was aggressive and awful. Over the next few months, our lives became an exhausting cycle of hospital visits, fear, and waiting.

But Mum made it through, and after two rounds of aggressive chemotherapy, her lungs were completely clear.

It was called miraculous by the consultant, who said that patients usually needed 4-6 rounds for small cell lung cancer. She would need radiotherapy for a month, but everything was looking positive. 

But Mum made it through, and after two rounds of aggressive chemotherapy, her lungs were completely clear (Picture: Phil McCullough) The doctor told me first, so I could have the privilege of telling mum (Picture: Phil McCullough)

I was overcome with joy. 

The doctor told me first, so I could have the privilege of telling mum. I couldn’t wait to run to tell her the good news. She was frail and exhausted, but smiled wider than I had ever seen when she heard the news. 

It’s one of my most precious memories – but it didn’t last. 

During Mum’s treatment, we would visit our local Maggie’s centre for support, comfort and respite. Maggie’s is a charity that supports people with cancer and their families, and after we lost Mum I became determined to help them in any way I could. 

The centre felt like a sanctuary, somewhere we could escape the harsh reality of treatment, even if just for a cup of tea and a moment to breathe.

It became a lifeline for both of us.

I remember asking the doctor in November the chances of the cancer returning, or of mum being ill again. He couldn’t say for sure – it was clear nothing was certain. 

We had always taken a trip together each year, I loved taking her places and seeing her enjoy herself (Picture: Phil McCullough)

We had a huge welcome home party – our traditional family bonfire party with hot dogs and fireworks, went to bingo and had a magical Christmas.

By January 2022, the scans confirmed it: she was clear.

Mum was better and Covid restrictions finally seemed like a thing of the past, so I decided to take her to London for a fun weekend in February.

We had always taken a trip together each year, I loved taking her places and seeing her enjoy herself. 

She was a huge Elvis fan, so I had taken her to Graceland for her 60th a few years before she was diagnosed. We had also been to Venice, Rome and Paris – memories I now hold onto even tighter since she left. 

But we never made it to London that year. 

The day before we left, Mum’s salt levels went down, which was the same symptom that had been a red flag when she was first diagnosed. 

We rushed her to the hospital, and we were told the lung cancer had come back and spread (Picture: Phil McCullough)

She started seeming unsteady again and weak – even more warning signs that were the same as before.

We rushed her to the hospital, and we were told the lung cancer had come back and spread. She had days to live. This time there was no preventing it. No way to extend her life.

Mum died in the hospital in February 2022. Just six months after she started to feel ill.

I don’t think I would have survived my grief without Maggie’s. They were a godsend throughout it all. While Mum was in hospital, I could go there to sit somewhere warm and human, and gather myself. 

The bright, welcoming space was a stark contrast to the clinical, white hospital wards.

It was a safe haven – a place where cancer didn’t define every moment.

And the support didn’t stop just because mum had died. Afterwards, they offered me bereavement counselling. They didn’t just support patients, they supported the people left behind too.

Maggie’s helped me breathe again. I want to give back (Picture: Phil McCullough)

Shortly after Mum’s death I told Maggie’s I would one day run the London Marathon for them. I had only ever done one marathon before, in Brighton, a few years earlier. 

I hadn’t run much since and was a bit out of practice, but Maggie’s had helped me breathe again. I want to give back.

I applied for the London Marathon every year but never got a place.

Then this year, I got a phone call – someone had dropped out. I had to decide that same day, with less than 11 weeks to train. And there was one not-so-small catch: I needed to raise £3,000.

It felt like a sign. I had to cross the finish line in April for mum.

So I accepted. 

To raise money, I participated in a sing-a-thon at my local choir, charging £5 a song, and hosted a raffle. I also utilised social media, posting videos of me training, and my progress, on TikTok, Instagram and Facebook. 

I now run three to four times a week. It’s exhausting, but I keep going.

Because I know why I’m doing it.

Thinking back to four years ago, I still miss my mum every day. It had always been the two of us, especially after my parents divorced.

Running the London Marathon is one of the hardest things I’ve ever taken on, but it’s nothing compared to what my mum faced, with courage, humour and dignity.

If I can help even one other family going through the fear, heartbreak and uncertainty of cancer, then every step will be worth it.

As told to Maicey Navarro Griffiths

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