“I never thought that at the age of 25 I would have lost both parents to cancer”

The earliest memory I have of cancer is standing on my stairs and hearing my mum crying to my dad because she didn’t like the way she looked. She was going bald from her treatment and she felt ugly. My dad consoled her and swore to her that she looked beautiful. 

For the last number of years cancer has consumed my life and has been at the centre of my family. I think it’s important that I share my story because I feel that in a way I have a unique point of view, yet it’s a way of living that so many of us have to go through. A lot of people talk about the sufferers and the survivors but I think it’s important to also discuss the impact that cancer can have on the families of those battling this horrible disease.

My name is Lauren, I’m in my mid twenties and I have recently lost my mam to breast cancer in January 2022. I never thought that at the age of 25 I would have lost not only one parent, but two to this disease. 

Losing a father

When I was 15, and my siblings were just six and 12, we lost my dad to male breast cancer. At the time, I remember it being an undiscussed issue in my house. We all knew my dad was sick, but nobody used the “C” word. My parents were trying to protect us from the terrible things to come, but I was old enough to figure out for myself what was going on. 

In 2010 my dad had been given a terminal Stage 4 diagnosis, and given between two and five years to live. He lived for two years after this – my parents creating more memories than ever with us, that I will cherish forever. At 15, I was curious, I remember my dad going for treatment. There were days he was too sick to leave the bed, which was strange to me as he was such an active man. Right up until the end he had a smile on his face and tried his best to make light of the situation, shaving his head to get ahead of the cancer, wanting to get a shark bite tattoo on his scar from the operation, continuing with his Taekwon-Do right up until two days before he died. 

The dad I remember will always be this big, brave figure in my life that would have done anything to get more time with us. My only regret when I look back at this time is not being open and honest and talking about what was going on. I know that my parents were trying to protect me, but I have vivid memories of them whispering around us, fake smiles and tears behind closed doors that I have to live with forever. When you’re not the one fighting the battle and you have no real way to help, you feel powerless.

My mother’s diagnosis

Not long after my dad’s initial diagnosis came another blow. My mam found a lump and soon later was diagnosed with breast cancer herself. She started treatment soon after with chemo and radiotherapy. 

Both my parents were under the care of the Beacon Hospital for the entire length of their illnesses. I remember feeling so safe and looked after under their care and it never really felt like a hospital, but became a second home with friendly faces. The staff doted on my big smiley dad who would go to treatment and then head straight back to work. My parents were a unique and memorable case for the Beacon, as it’s not often you get a husband and wife attending chemo together, both receiving treatment and sitting side by side through it all – in sickness and in health. 

My mam went into remission, which was bittersweet as my dad was coming to his final battle. I was 16 when he died. Even though my family helped in every way they could, I was forced to grow up quickly and take on responsibilities that nobody should have to at that age. My mam had just lost the love of her life and I knew she couldn’t continue on if I didn’t step up. My sister was only 6 and I remember taking her under my wing and helping to raise her to this day. Even though nobody would admit it, a piece of my mam died with my dad that day. She was the best role model that any of us could have asked for. Not many people would have been able to look after three children after all that life had thrown at her in a short space of time; but she did it for us. Life was never normal again after my dad died, always feeling that missing piece when we were spending time together, that laugh missing at family events, that empty chair around the table.

We got some good years back and my mam gave us the world and more as a business owner, a mam and a widow. But in October of 2017 the dark cloud came over us again. She got the terrible news after she received her results from her yearly scan that she had at the Beacon as a routine check up post diagnosis and remission. The cancer was back, she was diagnosed with metastasis breast cancer to the bones, spine and liver. 

This time there was no cure. The only thing that could be done was to start treatment immediately to ensure that she could have as much time as possible. Time was all we had left and her wish was to see me through college, which she did. For four and a half years she fought this disease, and tried every option available to her.

The hidden impact

The part that people don’t talk about as often with this illness is the mental toll that it can take on the family of the patient. I can’t tell you the amount of sleepless nights I’ve had waiting for results, the nights I’ve stayed awake while mam was in hospital, the anxious feeling in my stomach when I was sitting in a college classroom waiting for her doctor‘s appointment to be over that day. She didn’t fight this alone, I was with her every single step of the way.

The toughest time in my mam’s life carried with it the biggest test that I’ve ever faced myself. My mum fought until the very end, but so did I. My mum was a proud woman: she was independent, she was smart, and she hated showing how much pain she was in. My mam went from cooking my meals and driving me around to the roles being reversed.

In the months before she died I was her primary carer. The deterioration was fast and she started to slowly become less and less of my mam that I knew and loved. She spoke less, she was less happy, she became physically weak. Christmas 2021 is one that I’ll never forget. She fought so hard to make it to Christmas and it’s one that we will never forget because it was our last with her. After Christmas was over I could see the relief wash over her face and she began to relax. No longer able to walk, I had to wheel her around, wash her, dress her, and change her bed every day. I looked after her every need.

The day before New Year’s Eve we had a visit from the home help nurses. This was the first time that my mum had accepted this outside help and I had been doing everything up until this point. I’ll never forget the conversation that I had with my mam that evening after the nurse had told us that it may be better for her to be in a hospice at this time. That night, I held her hand, I sat on her bed and I looked into her eyes as she told me “I’m tired, Lauren, I’m ready to go”. I reassured her that everything was going to be okay and that I had everything under control. I told her that her time had come to rest and relax and just take a deep breath, when she was ready she could go to my dad. 

I cried myself hard to sleep that night, behind closed doors. The next day, New Year’s Eve of 2021, my mum was brought to Wicklow Hospice. The nurses and doctors at the hospice were amazed that I was able to take care of her so well while she was at such an advanced stage. In the early hours of the 2nd of January 2022, mam had passed away. That night is one that I will never forget. I stayed with my mum and my two siblings for over 12 hours in that room with her until she took her final breath. I can hear the tears from my brother, the gurgling noise from my mam as she couldn’t swallow any more. I held my little sister’s hand and we waited for her to die. This wasn’t something that we had to do but it was something that I will never regret doing. Right there until the very end by her side, just the way she would’ve wanted. 

I still remember the months before when I wanted it all to end because I just couldn’t take care of her anymore and was getting weaker myself. I remember feeling like there was nobody to reach out to even though I had a crowd of people supporting me. Being the family member of someone fighting this disease is a mental struggle that isn’t talked about enough. Even to this day, I have battles as a result of this that I must carry into my future. Could this be me someday? Could I carry the gene? These are all questions that I could find answers to, but for right now I just want to live my life cancer-free.

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