When Emma’s mum got ill, one delay after another proved detrimental…

When there was a knock at the door, my kids Amber, seven, and Oliver, four, came running down the stairs.
With my one-year-old Sophie on my hip, I opened the door.
‘Nanny!’ shouted the kids as they barrelled up to her.
‘Oh, wow, what a welcome,’ Mum laughed, hugging them.
‘Hi Mum,’ I chuckled. ‘I’ll
get the dogs and we can go
for a walk.’
As we wandered around the park, she told me all about her new job.
She was a beauty therapist and had just landed a role at a new company.
Mum loved bringing a smile
to people’s faces with massages and Reiki.
A few months later, she told me she wasn’t feeling well.
Mum was rarely ill, and even when she was, she would just get on with it.
‘You should call your GP, Mum,’ I told her.
‘No, no, I don’t want to waste their time,’ she replied.
But when she wasn’t getting better, I kept pestering her to call, as did my siblings Brandon, Eleanor and Andrew.
Eventually she relented, but it took six weeks to get an appointment.
In the meantime, she’d started vomiting, lost weight and had diarrhoea too.
‘It’s probably just norovirus,’ she told me. ‘It’s going round
at the moment.’
Eventually, she went for her GP appointment.
They’ve told me to go to A&E, she messaged me.
There, they told her she had gastroenteritis.

I was angry that she’d been given some medications and sent away without having any scans.
The next day, Mum was still in agony, so she went back to A&E.
Four hours later, she was back home again.
She’d had a blood test, but still no scans were done because the hospital insisted that she had gastroenteritis.
She was crying in pain.
‘She can’t eat anything because she vomits it back up,’ my stepdad told me.
‘This isn’t right,’ I said. ‘I’m going to ask the GP to refer her for a private MRI scan.’
Five days later, I took Mum to her appointment.
The day after, Mum was back in A&E vomiting green liquid.
I rushed up to the hospital, and the next day we were given the results of the MRI.
‘There’s a 40mm blockage in her colon,’ the doctor said. ‘We need to remove it now and then we’ll send it for biopsy.’
‘I just want the pain to go away,’ Mum said.
Once they get this blockage out, Mum can get better, I thought.
While she was having surgery, I researched online about colon blockages. One particular word popped up, and I panicked.
Cancer.
But I knew I had to try to stay calm until we had some more answers.
Mum recovered well, and before long she seemed back to normal.
Six weeks later, I was shocked that she still hadn’t been given the biopsy results.
Then she received
a letter from the consultant.
‘The biopsy showed
it’s cancer,’ Mum said, matter-of-factly.
‘Oh, God!’ I cried.
The blockage had been a tumour, just as I’d feared.
Although as much as possible was removed, there were still cancerous lymph nodes in Mum’s body.
‘They’re offering me chemo
as a preventative measure,’ she said. ‘But the side effects are horrendous and there’s only a small chance of it working, so
I don’t want to do it.’
It was hard to accept her decision, but I had to respect it.

Because Mum seemed OK,
I assumed she’d still be able to live a normal life for years to come.
But seven months later, her symptoms were getting worse, so she went to her GP. And it wasn’t good news…
‘The cancer has spread,’ Mum told me.
I broke down sobbing as she explained it had spread to her bowel and one of her ovaries.
Now, Mum felt she had to do the chemo.
The consultant hoped it would shrink the cancer enough for them to operate.
Frustratingly, there was a three month wait to start her treatment.
And then, it was gut-wrenching to see how much chemotherapy changed her.
Her hair became thinner and she lost so much weight.
As always, Mum put a brave face on and stayed positive.
After three rounds of chemo, her consultant asked to
speak with her.
I went along and we were hopeful for good news.
‘I’m afraid the chemotherapy hasn’t worked,’ he said. ‘Your only option now is palliative care.’
I burst into
tears.
With Mum’s permission, I asked him how long she had left.
‘Nine to 12 months,’ he said.
All the way
home, we were
too shocked to
say a word.
But as was
typical of her, she soon went into action mode, and we found a pioneering treatment in Germany which would involve injecting chemotherapy directly into the tumour.

We fundraised the
£4,000 needed, and
Eleanor and Brandon
flew out with Mum.
Each round of treatment only took a day, and after
the third one, the doctor
was hopeful.
A week after Mum got home, my stepdad told me he’d called an ambulance
as she’d been up all night vomiting.
At hospital, it was discovered she had sepsis.
And the next day, my stepdad messaged me with devastating news.
The tumour is growing and there’s nothing they can do,
it read. It’s end of life care now. She has two weeks to live.
I couldn’t believe it and I broke down.
But Mum was determined to
defy the prognosis.
Two weeks
later, she was transferred to Springhill Hospice
in Rochdale. The staff there were incredible, and we took it in turns to visit Mum.
‘I’m going to keep fighting,’ she told me. ‘I’m not going to die.’
Some days she was her normal bubbly self, but I knew I had to come to terms with what was happening.
I tearfully told the kids and then took them to visit her.
‘Nanny, Mummy says you’re going to be an angel soon,’ Oliver told her.
I went red with embarrassment but Mum just burst out laughing.
Two weeks later, she was allowed to go home.
I was astounded.
She really is fighting, I thought.
Shoving her wheelchair and Zimmer frame into my car, I drove her home.
We stopped for a McDonald’s and had a giggle like old times.
Later, I helped Mum up to bed before heading home.
'She went into action mode'
Then at midnight, Eleanor messaged to say Mum was screaming in pain and vomiting.
I rushed over and nurses soon followed.
‘Mum, I’m here,’ I said, taking her hand.
Minutes later, an ambulance arrived.
Paramedics found her blood pressure had dropped dangerously low.
‘If we take her to hospital she could die in transit,’ one said.
This is it, I thought.
We quickly got Andrew to come over, but sadly Brandon was too far away.
With us by her bedside, Mum closed her eyes
and took her last breath aged 55.
It felt surreal.
The day before, she’d been her chirpy self and now she was gone.
The grief was overwhelming.
As the weeks went on, I kept thinking back to those first two A&E visits.
If a scan had been done then, Mum’s tumour could have been spotted much earlier.
Maybe she’d still be here.
It’s been four months, and I’m still angry that she was fobbed off for so long.
That’s why I’m fighting her corner now and sharing her
story to raise awareness.
Mum always put a brave face on things, and never gave up hope.
She was a true warrior
and that’s how I’ll always remember her.
Emma Revell, 32, Greater Manchester