These are Geoff’s words as he describes how life was for Gill during the last few years, and have been adapted from those spoken on his behalf at her funeral. ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++ In 2003 Gill and I decide to move house and downsize - or perhaps on this occasion it was just me who decided. We would pay off the rest of the mortgage and put some money in the bank for our retirement. Education costs had not left much to spare for retirement planning – but they were part of the life choices which we made and we never regretted it. We have two wonderful children of whom we are both very proud – people who, as they say, we could take anywhere – and as they have made their own way in life many of their closest friendships were first made at school and university, and there are a good number of them here today to support Ian & Helen. In this regard I think they very much take after their mother. We moved house in August 2003, but for Gill it was just not the right time in her life – she felt that she had lost not only her family, as the children moved on with their own lives, but the family home as well, with all its memories. As a result soon afterwards she became very depressed and was far from happy in our new home. She was clearly not well during the last few months of 2003, and at first it was thought that she might have diabetes. However, between Christmas and New Year she had what we now know to be the classic symptoms of ovarian cancer (we didn’t then of course). The emergency doctor diagnosed a gastric problem – water and paracetamol for a few days – and it seemed to clear up. At the end of January 2004 she had similar symptoms and our doctor also diagnosed a gastric problem. When at the end of February the symptoms returned – bloated, rock hard abdomen – Gill decided to go to see the specialist who she had consulted on previous occasions about ‘woman’s problems’. Finally in March 2004 she was diagnosed with a malignant ovarian cyst, ‘like a football, just about the size of your head’. Whether earlier diagnosis would have made any difference in the long run we will never know, but she and I were often angry that her symptoms had been missed. Within days of diagnosis she had a full hysterectomy to remove everything, and the consultant referred her to the Christie hospital. Her first course of chemotherapy followed, then a scan, which showed there were a couple of ‘hotspots’ and so she had a 20 day course of radiotherapy finishing a couple of days before Christmas 2004. She went back to work in early 2005, and life then began to be a series of first 6 week periods and then 12 week periods, as we went back to The Christie for regular reviews. Until it happens to you it is hard to understand how difficult it is to live your life in 3 month periods, not daring to make any major plans beyond the next review date because more treatment might be called for and a much anticipated holiday having to be cancelled. And as each date approached tensions rose, anxiety increased, fear grew. Fortunately, 2005, 6 and early 2007 brought no further recurrence, and life returned to a semblance of normality, with some lovely times enjoyed together including a Mediterranean cruise, a trip on the Orient Express and a few days in Prague. I suspect that for all but our closest friends Gill seemed her old fun loving self, but like the swan she was paddling hard when out of sight, and our tears were kept for home. However, in mid 2007 her CA125 level, the blood marker by which they monitor the cancer, had started to rise again, and a scan showed that whilst it had not spread the areas already affected had started to grow, and more chemo therapy was required. This was monthly and the last treatment was on Christmas Eve 2007. Another scan – ‘looks good, come back in March 2008’ and so we went to Malta for a week. Another review, ‘still ok, come back in June’, but long before June Gill knew that all was not well and she went earlier. Yes, it was back again and more chemotherapy was required, which this time would result in her losing her hair, which brought an entirely new problem “to wig or not to wig”. Blonde was chosen and I found myself at Ladies Nights with a new woman! So, every month again to Christies, and after the first 2 sessions she decided to tell her mother, who was 91 at that time and from whom we had kept the fact that Gill had cancer. One of the features of care at the Christie, and no doubt at all similar hospitals, is that every time you go a blood sample is required, and of course chemotherapy is administered by means of a drip, requiring the insertion of a canula. For Gill, this process became progressively more distressing, as blood tests regularly required 2 or 3 attempts to find a vein, and the canula on some occasions took 4 or 5 attempts, by which time she would be distraught. She then had some respite from October 2008 to April 2009, but just like the seasons, back it came, and more treatment was required from May to September 2009, every 3 weeks this time. And as if that was not sufficient she had a bout of the shingles on her forehead above her left eye and on top of her head, which delayed her treatments and left her with post herpetic pain which was ever present from then on. That really hit her morale and she was never really the same after the shingles. However, the fact that she lost her hair again seemed to bother her very little, and in the end she usually settled on a head scarf, which of course she always co-ordinated with her outfits, her lipstick and her nail polish! During 2009 we had several short holidays and weekend breaks, before in October her 92 year old mother had a fall and we had to involve Social Services for the first time, resulting in her having carers four times a day. However, we managed a short holiday in Spain but on our return the news was mixed – the scan at the beginning of October looked good with no spread, but the blood test at the end of October showed her CA125 had risen rapidly. Another scan would be required at Christmas, so in December Gill went to Madeira with her friend Pat, which despite her health worries and tropical storms and flooded ballrooms I think they both enjoyed. It was to be her last holiday. We got the results of this further scan just after Christmas 2009, which showed that things were getting worse, and had spread to her liver. Because she had generally coped well with previous treatments it was decided that an aggressive chemotherapy would be used (the Rotterdam Regimen), a combination of weekly drip and daily tablets, over a six week period. Her new chemotherapy started in January 2010, but the day before her third cycle was due she became unwell, or perhaps I should say specifically unwell as opposed to the general debilitating effects of the chemotherapy, and on 31st January 2010 Gill was admitted to the Royal Bolton Hospital with a major infection. After initial admission she was transferred to the Intensive Care unit, and we were told that she might not survive. But she did and about 10 days later was ready to come home when it all flared up again. She was finally discharged on 24th February, but on 13th March was readmitted with a similar problem. Again she recovered and came home, and after a further scan it was decided to delay any further I.V. treatment until she was stronger, but she was prescribed some chemotherapy tablets in an effort to keep the cancer under control – or maybe as a placebo. We spent the second week of April with her mother in Wetheral (Carlisle, Cumbria), and they would not see each other again. However in late April a further problem developed as pressure from the cancer was preventing her kidneys from draining properly, and in early May she was admitted to the Christie for a week and a drain was inserted. It was also confirmed that the chemo tablets had not worked, but it was planned that she would start a course of weekly Taxol on 1st June. Her goal now was to get the wedding of the son of a very close friend, which was to be in Kent during Bank Holiday weekend at the end of May, and she achieved it. She travelled there and back lying down in the back of the car, because she couldn’t get comfortable sitting in the front. We had a wonderful weekend and she looked beautiful, but it was to be her ‘last hurrah’ and I think it had taken everything she had left. We came home on the Sunday. On the Monday she wasn’t well and when we went the Christie on Tuesday 1st June they kept her in with yet another infection and chemo therapy was cancelled again. She was discharged on the 9th June and when we returned on 15th June it was to be told, very gently, that it would not be good for her to have more treatment as she was so weak. Being Gill, she had to ask ‘how long’ to which the answer was ‘not years – a small number of months’. At which point she said ‘well, we had better go to the Trafford Centre – there’s some perfume I promised to get for J……’! When we got home she was totally exhausted as she had been for weeks, and of course we had to tell the children, but she decided that she would initially tell other people that it was to be ‘no treatment for now, but going back in 3 weeks when I’m stronger’, because she didn’t want her closest friends to be upset. However she felt badly about deceiving them and within a couple of days she had told them the truth. Despite her condition she was still very focused on finding a suitable husband for our daughter Helen, and every male doctor was immediately asked about his availability! She was still checking on this during the last days at the Hospice, even asking one of the female doctors if she knew of any eligible candidates! We arranged for her to go to the Bolton Hospice on Thursday 24th June for a week or two to get her symptoms under control, in the hope that we might then get a couple of months of good quality life together, but it was not to be. In the early hours of the 24th she fell out of bed and sustained a huge gash in her forehead which required a 999 call and 14 stitches at A & E. Later that morning she was finally taken to the Hospice, but on Friday she developed an infection which made her confused – she was convinced that I had built the Hospice on the back of our house – ‘what do the neighbours think’ – and that our daughter had 3 jobs in the evening as well as her day job! This resulted in more days in the Royal Bolton before she returned to the hospice. There was an upside however, in that whilst she was confused she regained her strength and seemed unconcerned about the gash on her forehead. Over the next few days she seemed a little better and talked about coming home, but on 9th July she passed away. It had been only three weeks and three days since we were told ‘no further treatment’. *************************************************** I have a number of vivid memories of these last few years; Firstly, the fear: The sort of fear which blasts into your head when you wake up at 2 in the morning and grips the pit of your stomach in a vice, so that you feel physically sick. I know that fear was always there at the back of her mind. How Gill coped with it for 6 years I will never understand, because it was as much as I could bear and it wasn’t me who feared dying. Our togetherness: Those who have known us for a long time will know that we often had ‘minor disagreements’ which could result in us not speaking for a while – these little arguments never lasted long – 2 or 3 days or a week at the most! – and then normal relations would be resumed! Yet despite the tensions and stresses caused by her condition we had far fewer domestics during the last six years and when we did they were over almost instantly. Paradoxically in some ways they were some of our happiest years, with many holidays and weekends away, which helped to take her mind off her condition, and which we both enjoyed, experiencing a warm togetherness. Her courage: Gill was so very brave, but she could not see it. Because she became upset when yet another needle was mentioned she thought she was a coward, and it didn’t matter how often I told her otherwise. If I am ever struck by this dreadful disease I pray that I will be able to handle it as well as she did. Her attitude was to ignore it as much as possible – ‘I just want to live a normal life’. So she would put on her pink lipstick and her even pinker nail polish and get out there. And finally my last big memory, Gill’s friendships: Although she wouldn’t have acknowledged it, Gill had an ability not only to make friends but to bring other people together in new friendships. Yes, she could be a bit ‘nowtie’ at times, but there was no malice in her, and so many people have spoken to me since she died about how she was not only their best friend but how she was the glue that held together their group of friends, and that has been such a comfort to Ian and Helen and me. She rarely missed sending a card and a gift for a friend’s birthday and even while in hospital and the Hospice would instruct me to check the calendar and on which card to send. Sometimes after she died I found myself asking ‘what was all that for, all that caring’ and then I would remember the almost 300 people at the church for her funeral, who wanted to take that last walk with her, and realise that she had touched all those lives. I am so proud of my darling, beautiful Gilly and of the way she faced her demons. It was typical that on that last Thursday morning, when asked if she would like the hospice staff to telephone us to be with her she asked ‘what time is it?’ ‘6.30’ was the reply. ‘Oh no, she said, it’s too early to get them up’. And by the time we got there she was no longer aware. We spent the day and evening with her and I held her hand through the night until she passed way on Friday morning. Added on 30th July 2010. How do I feel now? I am full of regrets. Why did I ever persuade her to move house? Why didn’t I get to the hospice earlier on Thursday, to be with her as she passed from life to the in-between? It all happened so quickly at the end that we never really talked together; I feel cheated that her visitors had more of her time than the children and me, and when they had gone she had to rest. I wish I had told her even more often how much I loved her. I feel as though the world and our lives are moving on so quickly and that we are leaving her behind. It is as though we are on a ship and we have dropped Gill off on an island and we are now sailing away and she is disappearing in the distance, left standing alone on the beach. But I am grateful for the last six years and for the love that we shared during those years. One of the unhappiness’s of Gill’s life was that she felt that she had ‘lost’ the children, as they got on with their own lives. Perhaps she didn’t realise that it was because of the way we had brought them up that they were able to be independent adults, and that she had given them that strength. But in a strange way it seems as though during the last six months our family has come back together, and we were able to share the joys and love again. A few days ago I was talking on the telephone to one of Gill’s closest friends, who, when I remarked that I felt as though we were leaving her behind, said ‘Don’t worry, she’s living in everyone’s house – we are all talking to her all the time’, which I thought was a lovely way to think of her. I will never forget my beautiful, darling Gilly.