Meet Darren
Darren shares about the heartbreaking loss of losing his wife to Cancer.
Hello. Tell us a little bit about yourself. We would like to get to know you.
Hello. I’m Darren and I’m 55 years old. I lived in London for nearly 40 years and moved to Basingstoke to live with my wife, Christine. Before the story I’ll share with you shortly, I lost my grandfather to Alzheimer’s Disease in 1994, my stepfather to prostate cancer in 1999 and my mother to vascular dementia in 2014. The experiences I shared with my loved ones made me think that I understood grief and loss (as much as anyone can understand this complex emotion.) I first met Christine in June of 2008. She is 15 years older than me and she has a daughter who is 3 years younger than me. She also had a son who was killed in a car crash in 2001, due to a drunk driver. When I met Christine, she had 4 grandchildren, aged 3-15 who all adopted me as their granddad. During our time together another grandson came along, as did 4 great-grandsons and a great-granddaughter. As you might imagine, this meant that life was very busy.
Tell me about Christine and what happened:
When I met her she was a cleaning supervisor in a local college in the morning and a local primary school in the afternoon. Christine was one of the most positive people I have ever met or known. In all the time I knew her, I never saw her down, moody or miserable. She never complained about anything and always saw the bright side of things, no matter how difficult it may have been. She loved unconditionally, which is something I’d never experienced before. We all know that no family is perfect and Christine was quick to acknowledge that hers was no different and there was a lot of stress at times, Christine was always quick to help family members in any way she could, whenever she could – even if the problem had been self-inflicted.
Although we were fortunate enough to attend one of the Queens garden parties at Buckingham Palace in 2019, we lived a normal, undramatic life. While we were waiting to go in, some tourists asked if they could take our photo – I joked with Christine they must have believed she was a famous film star and I was her attendant, which she found hilarious!
Around the beginning of February of 2023, Christine started experiencing lower back pain, which also made her right leg painful. She already had osteoarthritis of her left knee and, initially, she assumed it was just part of getting older. She tried to manage the symptoms with over-the-counter painkillers but that didn’t help. Eventually, the pain started to disrupt her sleep and severely affect how far she was able to walk. Although Christine wasn’t keen to visit our GP, it became clear Christine needed more help with her pain management. Around the middle of April, we visited our local medical center and, after a lot of pulling and bending of Christine’s leg and testing her mobility, the GP suggested the pain was being caused by Christine’s lumber muscles seizing up, due to a lack of exercise. At this time, she had retired from work due to pain in her knee and she was given a list of exercises to try. She tried the recommended exercises as soon as we got home but, as hard as she tried, she couldn’t complete them due to the pain. This continued for several weeks and Christine’s pain was getting worse. Eventually, we returned to the GP who briefly examined Christine and said the pain would persist unless she did more exercise. When we got home Christine ordered a treadmill, which she walked on for 5 minutes each day.
At the time, I thought the GP’s diagnosis made sense - I have an arthritic back and have been advised several times to try to stay as active as possible to prevent the muscles from locking up. In any event, the GP didn’t seem particularly concerned and if it was something serious, he’d know – wouldn’t he? Despite Christine diligently persisting with the treadmill, the pain in her leg continued to get worse. By the end of May, she was no longer able to lift her leg high enough to get into our bed and was sleeping in an armchair in our living room while I slept on a sofa beside her. Her mobility was also declining. What should have been a 1-minute walk from our bungalow to the car park now took ten minutes or more. In mid-June, she could no longer get into her car without agonizing pain. I contacted our GP to make another appointment with the hope of arranging a scan or x-ray. When I described Christine’s symptoms, once again the GP didn’t seem particularly worried and an appointment toward the end of June was scheduled.
The day of Christine’s appointment finally arrived. When it was time to leave, Christine told me she wanted to have a freshen up before the taxi arrived. However, when she tried to stand up, she couldn’t – her leg was just too painful. I tried to help her and, in hindsight, we must have looked hilarious; we banged heads more than once and she stood on my hand. After around 30 minutes of trying, it became clear Christine wasn’t able to leave the bungalow. I rang our GP for advice and was told to dial 111 (a non-emergency medical helpline). Having described Christine’s symptoms to the operator, a paramedic crew visited during the afternoon and, a couple of hours later, two District Nurses arrived to take some blood samples. Still nothing seemed out of the ordinary. If I’m being totally honest, I was pleased something finally seemed to be happening.
Around 4:30 pm that afternoon, one of the Nurses who visited called and shared that Christine’s bloodwork showed some ‘irregularities’ with her liver function but it wasn’t clear what the issue was. She advised that Christine needed to go into hospital the following day for further tests.
Saturday morning came and Christine’s daughter went with us. When we arrived at the hospital, we were taken straight into a booth where a doctor joined us. She carried out some basic tests and we were then taken to a ward. Everything felt vaguely surreal, Christine seemed well enough and none of the nurses seemed unduly concerned. Saying goodbye to Christine and coming home by myself that evening was incredibly hard. We had never had a night apart since the day we were married.
Over the coming days, Christine had numerous blood tests in addition to a chest x-ray, MRI, and CT scan. Then everything went quiet for the next day and a half. I remember thinking that must be a good sign – if anything was seriously wrong, we’d be told ASAP and treatment would be discussed. On Thursday afternoon, a Dr arrived at Christine’s bed accompanied by a nurse. He pulled the curtain around the bed, gave us a big smile, and said “It’s not looking good. We’ve found a cancer in your liver that could have been there for 10-15 years. It’s spread to other parts of your body, including your spine. You need to know this type of cancer isn’t curable”. Not really understanding what was happening, I asked if it was manageable? His reply will stay with me forever, “it depends on what you mean by manageable. We can try radiotherapy to help with the pain but we need to consider how long you can expect to live with this condition. In my opinion, this will be 3-6 months.”
At that point, the world stood still. I have never felt more like running away in my life. I have no idea how long I would have run for or where I would go. Suddenly, I became aware that the Dr was still talking. I told myself I had to listen to what he was saying but as hard as I tried, it was all a jumble; palliative care, medication, radiotherapy. None of it made sense. Once the Dr left, Christine asked me to ‘phone our friends to give them the news. By the time I finished the final call, I felt like I’d been shoved into a spin dryer and spun around at high speed and I barely knew my name. Christine and I believed we had forever together and saying goodbye to her that evening was indescribably difficult and my first thought when I arrived home was “We haven’t got forever anymore”.
Christine was discharged with a bag full of medications a couple of days later; there was nothing more the hospital could do for her. The following Saturday was Christine’s 70th birthday. She said she’d like to have a party for family and friends in our bungalow. Luckily the day of her birthday was bright, warm, and sunny which meant people were able to sit in the garden when the indoor space became full. Everyone invited managed to come and see Christine, even if was only for a short time. Numerous photographs were taken and Christine smiled all day.
The next thing to consider was renewing our wedding vows – we were married in August 2015 and we’d spoken about renewing our vows a couple of times but never got around to making the arrangements. We realized this would be our last chance. We made a booking at the local registry office and arranged a reception at the same hotel where we held our original reception. While we still had the wedding dress from our wedding, Christine had lost so much weight, there was no way she could have worn it. After a couple of weeks of frantically searching for something suitable, we found a plain, beautiful white dress for her to wear. We also bought outfits for our eldest great-grandson and great-granddaughter, who were to be our ring bearer and flower girl. The dress was hung in the living room and Christine pointed it out to everyone who visited, including nurses and doctors.
A couple of days before we were due to renew our vows I woke Christine to have her breakfast as usual – it took a long time for her to wake up and she was leaning heavily to the left. Although she was awake, she was totally vacant and wouldn’t speak to me. I kept trying to help her sit straight in her chair but she kept leaning to the left. All I could think was she’d had a stroke. In a state of total panic, I phoned for an ambulance. The paramedics arrived quickly and after examining her, I was told that the cancer was affecting the way her body was processing sugar and she had been on the verge of a diabetic coma. Luckily enough, the paramedics were able to regulate her symptoms and she was soon laughing and joking. We were told to purchase a blood sugar monitoring kit and to call if her blood sugars dropped below 3.
The following morning, Christine was very lethargic and the reading showed 1.8. I phoned an ambulance right away and luckily, she was soon ok again. I started to worry that we might not be able to renew our wedding vows as planned and my heart sank. How could I tell Christine? Later that day, nurses from hospice arrived and gave me medications to help prevent Christine from having “hypos” again. The following morning, Christine woke up looking far more cheerful and with a reading of 6.5, the medicine had worked!
The following day was our renewal and it was everything we’d hoped for and more. The ceremony went beautifully. We had a room full of guests and Christine looked radiant – my princess. At the end of the ceremony, I looked at Christine and said “This means you’re stuck with me now.” I wished I could have stayed in that moment forever. By 5 pm Christine was getting really tired and we went home. If it was possible to have a perfect day under the circumstances, this had been it.
Over the next few weeks, Christine became frail and while I had been helping her to wash each day, it was becoming more difficult. She was struggling to stand up and get to the commode. The hospice team suggested it would be helpful to have home health care come in 4 times each day to help. A hospital bed was also delivered and a catheter was inserted. I had mixed feelings about having others care for her but Christine didn’t seem to mind and told everyone about our vow renewals.
Sadly, as time progressed, Christine couldn’t hold a cup safely anymore. On several occasions, she lost her grip and spilled drinks on herself. She also struggled to hold her phone or use a knife and fork to eat. I reluctantly bought her a baby cup to use and when I tried to help her, she told me she wasn’t a baby. I felt lost and I couldn’t help but think, “how did we get here?”
On Saturday, October 21 st , I went to wake Christine up for breakfast like I did every morning but it took a long time for her to respond. When she woke up she was shaking and I quickly checked her blood sugar. It was too low and I tried to get her to take some glucose gel or have a drink, but she wouldn’t. In a panic, I called an ambulance. Within 5 minutes, paramedics arrived. Christine was agitated and confused. Initially, she wouldn’t let them help her but after around 20 minutes she was calm again. Christine’s daughter had arrived with our youngest grandson and when the paramedics left Christine asked me to take him into town and buy him a toy. As things seemed to have settled down, we headed into town thinking the earlier episode was just a ‘blip’. When we arrived back around 2 hours later, Christine’s daughter told me the care team had visited to wash Christine and she hadn’t moved or made a sound. This wasn’t usual and dread crawled over my body. Once again, her blood sugars had plummeted to a dangerously low level.
An ambulance was called two more times that day due to rock-bottom blood sugar levels. A nurse from hospice arrived and after telling her about all of the episodes that day, she consulted with a doctor. She talked to me about three options at this point: Have Christine taken to the hospital where she would be given medication intravenously for 24-48 hours. This was her best chance of survival. Give Christine additional medication orally to try and stabilize her condition. Give her a calming injection and let her peacefully drift away. Initially, if the first option would give me more time with Christin that would be my choice. The nurse from the hospice told me I should take some time to think about it and let her know the final decision. By this time Christine’s niece, sister, and some close family friends had arrived. Once people left the room, I clung to Christine’s hand and begged her to tell me what to do. My head felt like it was going to explode. Thinking through the options offered, the second was not realistic as Christine was in a deep sleep. As I considered the first option, her loathing of hospitals loomed large in my mind. Each time a Dr or nurse had visited previously she had made me promise they wouldn’t take her to hospital. This left me with the last option.
Reluctantly, I told everyone my choice and asked if anyone felt differently. No one answered. I called the nurse in and asked if a trip to the hospital would guarantee Christine would improve, She said she couldn’t. I asked if I chose the last option, could she guarantee Christine wouldn’t experience pain or distress. She said she could. At that point, the choice was made. The paramedics, who had been waiting to hear my decision, shook my hand and left. The nurse gave Christine an injection in her leg. I asked the nurse how long we had left with Christine. She said that bearing in mind how low Christine’s blood sugar was, we had a few hours.
I sat beside Christine holding her hand, hoping that somehow this was all a terrible mistake. At 1:40 am on October 22, Christine’s hand suddenly felt ‘different’. I looked over at Carl, a friend who had been holding Christine’s other hand. He looked back at me and said “I can’t feel her pulse”. I looked at Christine and saw she was no longer breathing.
At that point, the world I had known, exploded. All I can remember from that point on is the funeral director arriving to collect Christine and I begged him to look after her. Watching her leave the bungalow for the final time felt like part of me was being torn away.
What’s been the hardest for you since Christine died?
It’s the small things. Christine loved Christmas. She loved putting the decorations up and was meticulous about where to put things. I tried to write Christmas cards but, for the last sixteen years the cards were from ‘Darren and Christine’, ‘Mum and Darren’ or , ‘Grandma and Granddad’. It felt surreal to try to send cards just from me. I was able to send two cards and it was too painful. I just couldn’t do it.
How has grief changed life and you?
We did everything together and now I can’t help but think, what’s the point? Nothing is ever going to feel the same. Now, each day is just going through the motions. I also now hate the silence. If I leave the bungalow, I leave the TV on so there’s noise when I come home.
At night time, I can’t sleep in the silence. I was so used to hearing her breathing or feeling her move in bed next to me. I use a ‘street noise’ app on my phone to help me sleep. Most of the time I feel like I’m on auto-pilot and just going through the motions.
Did losing Christine change you as a person?
I’m not the same person as before. I lost half of myself when Christine died. I’m less social now. I struggle to find things to enjoy or look forward to.
Where do you find joy?
To be honest, not very much. It’s not that I don’t try, I’m just struggling with this new reality.
What would you like people to know about grief?
It’s important to understand that you have to do what’s best for you. People will offer opinions and unwanted advice. For example, during the Christmas holiday, people expect you to be happy. It’s supposed to be a wonderful time of year but if I really struggled to get in the spirit, people would ask, what’s wrong with you? You feel pressured to go to gatherings but then you feel ten times worse and honestly, I just wanted to leave.
Don’t let people pressure you. Do what feels right for you. And then there are the platitudes. ‘People would tell me that Christine wouldn’t want me to be sad. How does anyone know what Christine would want? Or, people would say they know how I feel. But that’s impossible. Everyone grieves in their own unique way. So much of what people say is less than helpful.
How can people better help someone grieving?
Don’t offer opinions or make a griever feel guilty. Just listen without giving advice. Honor what a griever needs and wants. Talk to them but also leave them alone if they just want to sit by themselves.
If you could have one more day, what would you want to say to Christine?
You can never say ‘I love you’ to someone too much. In hindsight, I could’ve told her more. It’s easy to become complacent and lazy in relationships. You think you have forever but how do any of us know? Don’t take life or the people you love for granted. Christine wasn’t into big gestures so I would just love her more.
What have you learned through this difficult experience?
Don’t take anyone or anything or granted. Spend as much quality time as you can with them. Say I love you more often because you don’t know what will happen the next day. Live every day as it comes. You can’t change what happens in life or go back in time. Make the most of what you have every single day.
Have you found any resources that are helpful for you?
Counselling didn’t work for me. It is too soon and I don’t like being in the spotlight. Grief cafes are good. I like the open structure and the relaxing environment to share stories. It feels more comfortable to me and is more my vibe.
If anyone wants to reach out or follow my journey, please connect with me via email chola1@hotmail.co.uk
or on X (twitter) @dazzaman79.