Smile For Her
Joanne Margret Sanderson, mother of two, was diagnosed with breast cancer at the early age of thirty three. This beautiful woman is my mum, and I am her youngest daughter. I was five years old when mum was told she has this disease that needed to be taken care of, with chemotherapy and radiotherapy. Me being so young, I didn’t know what those two things were, and I didn’t quite understand that mum wasn’t healthy like she had been the previous four years.
Our lives quickly took a change in direction as mum started to have treatment. My childhood went from playing with mum and doing the normal things a five year old would do, to playing quietly in my room, alone, making sure that I didn’t make any noise as mum would often fall asleep on the sofa. I would run to the living room to see if she was awake to play, but nine times out of ten I would walk quietly back to my bedroom by myself.
Mum took me to hospital with her quite a lot. This helped me understand what was going on with my mum and it opened my little eyes to a whole new world that five year old's often don't get to see. The nurses were so lovely and protective of mum and I, and they gave me the opportunity to see what was happening to her. I still remember to this day so clearly being taken in to where mum was about to either have a scan or some type of treatment, and the nurses were letting me be the one to tell mum to keep still. Mum bought me a nurse’s outfit to wear each time I went with her to treatment, although it was fun to dress up as one of mums nurses, I think it was a disguise to hide the seriousness of it all for me. But now I look back, what is most important to me is to think that it also put mum at ease knowing I was there, as close as I could be behind that glass, to support her through it.
During all of this, her hair started to fall out. Her eyebrows thinned, eyelashes disappeared one by one, and her skin became nothing but smooth. I don’t remember being scared by this. No one else’s mum had a bald head, but it didn’t make me question why mine was the only one, I guess maybe I understood to a certain extent what was going on. After back and forth treatment ‘day trips’ as mum would call them, she won the fight. A sigh of relief ran through the family. We were all so proud of her for dealing with that shock to her body, and I think after that we were more appreciative of life and each other because nothing like that had happened to our family before.
I’m unsure of how old I was, but mum was diagnosed with a second cancer a few years later. This time it came and sat in her shoulder. I was old enough to understand that the word cancer was a bad word, and a very bad disease. You could imagine how gutted we were to find out that mum had to go through that whole process again. The same routine followed, and symptoms repeated. This time I didn’t like mum losing her hair. Her being bald meant she was ill. Back then people would look at her, a woman with no hair meant only one thing. It’s socially accepted for a male to be with no hair as that’s deemed as normal for men, but when a woman walks the street with no hair she is known to be ill and I noticed that people couldn’t seem to keep their eyes to themselves. I often found myself feeling really uncomfortable being with mum in public when she was bald this second time. I felt bad for feeling that, I was still young but I was also old enough to understand the situation this time and know that things weren’t great. Mum didn’t care about showing off her beautiful bald head, and to watch her own it in such a confident way made me grow out of the hate I had for her having no hair after a while. We experimented with all kinds of scarves and wigs, but one wig especially is what shown mums personality off. First of all it was purple. It had a black headband, and a million tiny long braids – not your average wig. Everyone on oncology grew to love the new hair, and love mum for who she was. I still have this wig kept safe, it’s one of my favourite things of hers as I know how much mum adored it.
Boris was the name of mum’s second cancer. We’re not quite sure why and I don’t think she knew either, but Mum just really disliked the name. (I apologise to anyone who reads this who may be called Boris, don’t take it personally, you can blame mum). When mum fought the battle with cancer again, we threw a ‘bye bye Boris’ party to celebrate. It was another successful fight, and mum claimed champion again.
The journey so far definitely scarred us all a bit, both my sister (Danielle) and I became very protective over mum. It made us grow up much faster than most of our friends in school, it changed our thought process and our behaviour. This is where we started to bond more, as we had a common interest in loving, supporting and caring for our mum. There is an eight year gap between us, often siblings that far apart in age wouldn’t mingle as much but we had to for mum’s sake. And if it wasn’t for all of this I don’t think we would be as close as we are today, so this is one good thing that’s come out of our family going through all of this.
Another few years down the line, mum started to get headaches that turned into strong migraines. She went to the doctors, only to be sent home with some tablets for the migraines and that was that. A few days later we rushed mum into the hospital because we knew that it was more than just a headache. She couldn’t move properly and so we took it into our own hands to get some real information. Little did that doctor know she missed the huge fact that mum actually had a brain tumour. The cancer had moved and came back in a very serious and dangerous part of her body. The day mum went for surgery is a complete blur now. I think that was the most scared I had been throughout everything we had gone through so far, so my mind must have blocked out that whole day for my own safety. I had to go to school through this whole process and still to this day I’m so angry how I couldn’t be by her side like I used to when I was younger.
The day after her surgery it was like nothing had even happened. I remember being sat outside of mum’s recovery room with her and my sister, we just took a moment to feel the fresh air on our skin and we were so thankful that mum had made it through the operation safe and sound. After many more day trips to the hospital, sitting next to her multiple times whilst she was hooked up to a drip, mum won the fight for a third time.
Her skull dipped in at the back of her head with a scar running up the middle. The scar was so sensitive even after it was healed that mum would flinch if the shaver got too close. It was hard because even though she couldn’t see the scar herself, she couldn’t do much to forget it. Mum’s hair didn’t grow back all too great after all of the treatment she had been through over the years, so she had to keep it short. We tried to experiment with hair dye to see if we could disguise how thin it was on the top. After a few tries with blonde, she finished with brown hair. When I grew out of the phase of hating it, I wanted her to be bald forever. I look back now and she honestly looked so beautiful with her little head all bald and smooth, but because of the scar it was difficult to do so.
After this massive experience we valued life so much more, and valued each other incredible amounts. Life could carry on again.
And life did carry on. But in 2016, we came to understand that mum had lung cancer. This is the fourth cancer her body had developed. A fourth time that poor woman had to sit her two daughters down in the living room and break it to them that she had cancer again. All I can remember is crying my eyes out and not understanding how this had happened to her. We realised we had to go through all of the hospital appointments again, scans, chemo, radiotherapy, the risks and side effects etc. It was incredibly draining thinking about of all of that to come, but, our little family was full of hope. Mum was the champion the last three times, and with the strength and courage we had gained we were ready to fight again.
The first time I went back to hospital with mum, I found it so hard. I remember sitting next to her whilst she was hooked up to her chemo drip, I was looking around at every patient in the room and I suddenly felt so overwhelmed. So overwhelmed that I had to leave for five minutes, I didn’t want to cry in front of mum. The realisation hit me and I just felt so sad for everyone having to go through what mum was going through. Mum started to get nose bleeds, I got used to her being sick a lot from how often she threw up at home from the treatment over the years, but I didn’t like this part of the medication side effects. There was a time my sister took her into A&E because of how much she was bleeding. It was hard to rest when so much was going on with mum.
The doctors changed mums chemo from the drip to these tablets that she could take by herself at home every day. We tried this for a while but the symptoms became too unbearable for her. She lost her fingerprints, and the soles of her feet became so thin and sore to the point she struggled to walk. This took a massive effect on mum’s day to day living. She found it hard to go places because of her feet, and she wasn’t able to sew like she used to as the fingerprints being gone wouldn’t allow her to grip the needle. This was the hardest thing to watch mum be sad about as sewing is what kept her happy most days. She was so creative. She could make teddy bears, sofa tissue covers, patch work pillow cases, she even made Danielle this beautiful big blanket. We were so impressed. Every Christmas she made little angels for people to hang on their trees. Everything she made was sold and the money raised was given to oncology where she had treatment for all of those years. She was so dedicated to help oncology because oncology helped her.
I’m unsure if she went back to the chemo drip or not, but the 23rd of March 2018 mum finished radiotherapy. Patients ring a bell in the cancer department when they finish treatment, and the smile on mums face when she rang that bell was so powerful. She looked so proud of herself, although there was many tears throughout she was still so immensely strong during this journey. A little while after this Mums breathing started to deteriorate over time. Fluid started to fill up in her lung. On the 18th of June mum was taken into hospital for an X-ray, the pain from the fluid started to worsen so the doctors needed to see what the development was. She stayed in hospital overnight and the next day we were told we had to wait until the 28th for the results of a scan. This wasn’t soon enough for us, but there was nothing we could do other than wait.
We ended up reaching out to St Peters Hospice to get some advice. We spoke about a hospital bed being at home which would be better than the sofa bed mum kept sleeping on. We also spoke about a portable toilet to keep downstairs as mum struggled to breathe climbing the stupidly steep stairs we had. They were ideas to think about, but to get help straight away the lady prescribed mum oral morph and tramadol to calm the pain she was in. Mum had been taking tramadol for years since the brain tumor, she would often get migraines and end up fitting. Her fingers would go tingly, as well as her lip followed by loss of speech. I learned to notice the signs of when she was about to have a fit. She often wouldn’t tell me that it was developing, maybe because she didn’t want to worry me (I’m a worrier), but I knew by the way she would rub her fingers together or touch her lip with her tongue. Tramadol and sleep was the only way we could stop it from getting worse at that moment. I always confronted her about it, and made sure she took a tablet just in case. Most of the time I had to take charge as I was mums carer. My sister didn’t live with us and worked a full time job, where as I had finished college and only worked weekends. I was allowed carers allowance where I was given £62 a week, if I worked and my pay was more than £110 I wouldn’t be granted that money. I tried full time work during mum being ill before I started carers allowance, she was capable of being on her own however there was always that worry something might happen when I’m not there. So that’s why I got some help and stayed at home during the week.
Mums body wasn’t used to the amount of medicine that they prescribed her. This is where things started to go downhill. This is where the worst week of my life started.
Monday 25th of June is the day mum began to hallucinate. Luckily Danielle was sleeping at ours that night so I wasn’t alone for this. I think we were just watching television, spending some time together. In the evening mum mentioned she started to feel a bit weird, so she thought it was best that she went to bed. Danielle and I stayed up, just to make sure mum would settle. Mum didn’t settle. She came downstairs talking about this game she played on her phone, saying she needs to finish it. She was asking me if I needed to finish my game, but I was never playing a game. Mum just started to get so confused and we couldn’t figure out why she was talking about the game so much. Danielle put her back to sleep but a little while after, she came back downstairs. This time she was talking about the people in her room. The hallucinations started to turn nasty, and these people that mum was seeing weren’t friendly at all. Mum said at one point someone was trying to listen to her music with her, and they put their head between mums head and the headphones. There was a moment where mum thought I was one of these nasty people she’s been seeing, and screamed at me. I have never experienced something like that in my life. I can’t even imagine what mum was going through at this point but I felt so sorry for her. We called the ambulance because neither of us knew how to handle it. I think we stayed in hospital until 6am in the morning, until mum was fit enough to come back home with us.
That day mum was scheduled to go into St Peters Hospice to get help with her breathing. She hallucinated a few times in there, she thought music was playing loudly in one of the other rooms. She also thought Danielle had painted pictures on the wall, these hallucinations were so much easier to deal with, she didn’t feel threatened by them. The next two days she settled into the hospice, her gas was turned up every now and then to help her breathe easier but other than that things were steady. It then got to the 28th, mums scan results. She went in for an X-ray at the BRI, so that the doctor could compare it to the one taken ten days before. The doctor sat us down and explained that she has a collapsed lung, and that it is filling up with a substantial amount of fluid. This fluid also spread to around her heart. We were shown the two X-rays and it was crazy to see the difference and what had happened within the space of ten days. They told us mum needed draining of the fluid in her lung. If that was to be successful we would be able to start chemotherapy again, and it if was unsuccessful they were unsure if there was any other treatment they could give her. They made an appointment for the draining to take place that following Monday.
Friday 29th of June mum was rushed into Southmead hospital for emergency draining, she couldn’t wait any longer. After we left her on Thursday night her breathing worsened and they admitted her straight to hospital. Mum was hallucinating throughout the day, thinking there were ants crawling on her hospital bed and cupcakes dancing on the beds opposite. A doctor took me and my sister into a quiet room, and basically told us there was nothing more they could do for mum as the draining wasn’t working. I can’t even remember what was going through my head at this point. We rang our family to come in to see her, and I rang my friends to get comfort. By the end of the night she got really agitated and tried to pull out the tubes that were put into her body for the draining. A nurse comforted us and said that she was assigned to look after mum throughout the night, we didn’t want to leave her but we knew she was in good hands.
Danielle received a phone call the next morning by the doctor telling us that we needed to go in. Mum took a turn for the worse during the night. When we walked in, we saw her on the bed sleeping. She looked so lifeless, I think at this point we knew today would be the day we lose our beautiful mum. Danielle started speaking to her, and managed to get mum to smile but unfortunately I missed it. Danielle told mum that I wasn’t looking and asked her to smile one more time so that I could see. She smiled. Underneath all of that illness my mum was still there. All of the family came in again, to be there by her side and to support me and my sister. A few hours later the doctor asked if everyone but Danielle and I could leave the room, so that he could talk to us in private. He told us that they’ve ran out of options and he didn’t think it would be much longer. He left us alone and we just sat there looking at her. Once it was just us three her breathing started to slow down, to the point where she would stop breathing for a few seconds and then breathe again. I thought I experienced the worst already but watching that was the hardest thing I have ever had to do. Every time she stopped breathing I prayed to see her inhale again.
Approximately 11:40am on the 30th June 2018, she took her last breath whilst holding my hand. The battle was lost and heaven gained the most beautiful champion.
The reason I am sharing my mums story is to show people how insanely strong she was, I don’t think people quite understand and appreciate how much she went through, both mind and body. I hope that when I start posting blogs about the way I have dealt with all of this that it helps at least one person out there. People may relate to things I write, and realise that it is okay to not be okay. Grieving affects the human body in so many ways, I have experienced quite a few so far, and I want to show how I have coped with them. I haven’t seen the light yet, but I know it is there waiting for me to find it. This blog is my healing process, and I hope people will support me through this.