4th February is World Cancer Day – Bedfordshire Police Cultural Intelligence Lead & DPA Executive Committee member Samantha Alexander talks candidly about how the illness affected her family
The call came, that startling call – you know the one? It frightens you by its unexpectedness. Out of the blue, it turns your world upside down. “Daddy is not well, come home” – firm and loving, but no further details because Mummy knew that the long journey from University in Sheffield would feel like an eternity, in the full weight of what was happening.
A minor stroke, a TIA – transient ischemic attack – led to further tests, and it seemed that everything was going to be ‘okay’. Then the consultants met with us and let us know the full results. A small shadow detected. Giant in its attack. Cancer. Disbelief. “Say it again please!” he said. We echoed. Sound ringing in my ears so loud, like an explosion that would not end. And then the look on Daddy’s face brought me back into some type of normalcy. Hot with internal fear, sadness, and anger too. Dad’s was visibly magnified. We held hands – Mummy, siblings & Daddy. We prayed for peace of mind for this fight.
This invader had made its way to our family again. You see, in 1992, we were deeply impacted by the trauma of this disease in my niece, who was 13 years of age. Cancer. No respecter of persons – creed, colour, language, age, ability faith or none. Its commonality is the terror it brings.
My niece had a pain in her knee, very sore and more so when doing sports. Tests upon tests, resulted in a diagnosis of leukaemia. Shocked beyond measure, because no one had ever had cancer in our whole family before, let alone a child. We remember hearing the crying as the news was told to the family. We needed to know how? What’s going to happen? She’s gonna live, right? But my niece was more concerned about the family. Then the treatment plan. Will it hurt? What about the changes in appearance. Is it different for Black skin? Do other children have this type of cancer? So many questions. She was exposed to a different, difficult world and we were too. Then ‘remission’- as it was called back then. She was home.
However, this disease was relentless in its pursuit. Vehement. Ugly. In the end, she courageously decided ‘no more’. She won the battle on her terms and would not let cancer steal her joy. Doctors respected her choice. More cancer research was needed. She was so beautiful and funny. She loved to see others happy. “I’m going to a better place, Mum” she said; ‘no more pain’. 15. Gone. Sleep on until we meet again.
That intruder had returned. Changed address. Daddy had treatment later and he believed in natural medicine, mental wellbeing and walking daily with his grandchildren. He kept up his appointments, and he did well in the fight. Courageously humble, he never complained. He was this way in life generally. No fuss, no pity – only we knew, he did not want it shared with anyone. He took cancer on in his way. He had utter respect for doctors, nurses, and the Macmillan team helping us. Walking me down the aisle so strong, in my heart and to us all – he had won this fight. His stature never changed, he did not lose his hair. But then he began to cough, and it got worse. Wedding Number Two was heading for 1997. It was a year of highs and lows. As the cough worsened and the wedding date loomed, Dad agreed to try new treatment. Bloods, sickness, tiredness, short staffed, long waits, but never a defeatist spirit from him or the amazing oncology team, nurses, porters, and GP (General Practice). So many questions were answered, especially from a cultural perspective. He was treated royally. He was positive throughout, even when our frustration at this plight rose; his positive outlook helped us to be. It helped my Mum keep going in strength.
Walking my sister down the aisle was such an important and powerful achievement, above the wonderful, amazing wedding experience. Not a dry eye was seen. My Dad rejoiced magnificently. We noticed he was susceptible after treatment though, and he caught pneumonia. These are the things no one talks about. The ‘additional’ fight cancer brings – infections, swelling, adding insult to injury. Dad called it ‘cancer’s-wingman’! He laughed that hearty, chesty Dad laugh. I hear it now.
In 1997, after the death of Princess Diana, we grieved with him, refusing to accept that she had gone. Funny isn’t it? A month later, we grieved in immeasurable disbelief, when he suddenly passed. The pain ripped through us because no one expected him to be snatched away like that, but he was preparing us in his special way. “Cancer has not won”, he would say, “victors never give up.” Since then, cancer has gatecrashed many of my relatives, friends and colleagues lives: young & not so young; bowel, breast, stomach, liver, pancreatic, brain. My sister-in-law, three times, but she now lives a full life. It has a tremendous impact on us. I miss my Dad and niece with enormous pain but they showed us how to fight by getting involved in changing tomorrows. We are blessed in the UK to have the NHS because in the USA, cancer care is costly without insurance.
We must never give up the commitment to aid research and development, fund, and provide wellbeing and support for cancer patients and families; for each one of us will be affected by cancer in our lifetime.
Thank you to all who work in the field, if this is ever enough.
#WorldCancerDay #KeepGiving ∎
