Together with Rebecca, this October, we are driving forward research into new treatments. Pancreatic cancer is the deadliest cancer. Our researchers are working to find out how to uncover it, outpace it, and stop it.
This October, every pound you donate towards groundbreaking research will be matched by generous philanthropists The Freddie Green and Family Charitable Foundation.
When I raised the similarities and symptoms were presenting, it took many appointments and two trips to A&E, before my dad, Timothy, was sent for a scan. He was initially told it was duodenum cancer, but pancreatic cancer was eventually confirmed. He died in April 2025, aged 65, just six weeks after diagnosis. My dad was unable to have treatment, unlike my mum, Beverley.
She lived in Australia and died in September 2021, aged 60. She was diagnosed in late 2016, surviving almost five years thanks to treatment. Mum was initially told her diagnosis had come too late for lifesaving surgery, but she quickly found out she was eligible to join a clinical trial for Oncosil [an implanted device that releases radiation directly into tissue]. When used in combination with chemotherapy and radiotherapy, the tumour shrank enough for surgery. Although grateful for the extra time, she found the treatment gruelling.
In summer 2016, mum began to mention backpain. She went to the doctor who said it could be her gallbladder. They performed a few tests, and she was diagnosed with Type 2 diabetes. While waiting on other test results, the back pain started radiating into her front. Mum was in agony. My stepdad took her to A&E where they urgently sent her for a scan. It revealed she had a tumour on the head of her pancreas.
He started to cry, “Bec, they can’t operate.” The tumour was positioned too close to a main artery. Palliative treatment was all she had. As I digested the news, panic set in. I needed to fly there immediately but it’s incredibly expensive, I work fulltime and have children of my own. It wasn’t as easy as jumping on the next plane.
My mums husband works in Australia’s healthcare system and had started looking into clinical trials. He spoke to mum’s doctor who managed to find a clinical trial for OncoSil. The trial would use OncoSil alongside radiotherapy and chemotherapy in the hopes it would shrink the tumour enough to operate.
Things then moved incredibly fast and mum had started treatment by the end of October 2016. Everything became more positive. We were given some hope that she might survive…until the chemotherapy became too harsh for mum to tolerate. She had a few rounds of chemotherapy, but each one was a nightmare. It made her very unwell. In December, she became so ill that she told her doctor she couldn’t continue.
She understood stopping chemo may have impacted her eligibility for surgery, but the chemotherapy was so punishing, she felt it was worth the risk.
Recovery from surgery was tough but my brothers supported mum through it. Eventually, she even felt well enough to return to work parttime – they couldn’t keep her away! She never felt as good as before her diagnosis but for a couple of years, she was able to go out, make plans and see the people she loved. She even managed to move into her beautiful newly built home. She was still with us, feeling well and making memories. Her check-ups were regular too, every three months, which helped keep our minds at ease.
Her appointments kept being rescheduled or cancelled but mum didn’t tell us. She didn’t want us to worry. When she finally had a scan, they had found something in her liver. They wanted her to come in for further investigations. She didn’t go and she didn’t tell us.
It was the 31st of August, the bank holiday when I got the phone call. Sean was in tears. Mum was making no sense, and they’d rushed her to the hospital. She died just four days later, on the 4th of September 2021, aged 60. She died so quickly, there was no chance I would have got there in time. Due to COVID restrictions – Australia had some of the strictest in the world – I’d be quarantined for weeks in a hotel upon arrival. If I wanted to leave the hotel, I had to get permission from the Australian Embassy. With how ill mum was with pancreatic cancer, I knew she wouldn’t be able to wait that long.
I was initially quite angry she hadn’t told us about the scan. However, I knew she didn’t want more treatment. While she was incredibly grateful that treatment had given her two amazing years to make memories and live life to the fullest, it had also given her over two years of being in pain and feeling like rubbish.
I cannot put into words how negatively chemo affected her. It’s horrific that it’s one of the only treatments available.
My dad was a memorable character. When my daughters were born, he embodied a crazy grandad very well! He loved us to bits and showed it in his own unique way.
In 2022, he fell out of his lorry and hurt his back. Over the next two years, the pain in his back slowly worsened and his diabetes became harder to manage. When he was struggling to eat, I really started to worry. He was following his doctor’s guidance, but nothing was improving. Instead, his pain worsened and weight was falling off him. By the summer of 2024, I was incredibly frustrated. The back pain, which had begun to radiate to his stomach, reminded me of mum. I mentioned my concerns, but no one involved in his care took me seriously.
Dad was tinged yellow [a condition called jaundice], he was struggling to go to the toilet, and his stomach started to swell. The pain was also unbearable. Early in December, he went back to the doctor who prescribed him Oramorph [very strong pain relief] and sent him home. He should have been sent for an urgent scan. On the second week of January, he was throwing up fluid constantly. I took him to A&E and begged them to do a scan. They said he was severely constipated and sent him home with laxatives. Three days later, he was making a cup of tea when he felt dizzy and fell. When I took him back to A&E, he lay on the floor in agony and started vomiting again.
I didn’t leave his side and kept mentioning my mum to anyone who would listen. Luckily, a doctor and consultant finally took me seriously and sent him for tests. They initially told us it was likely duodenum cancer. The day after my birthday, on the 21st of February, a consultant and palliative nurse told me, very clinically, that there was a mass on dad’s pancreas.
Dad was so unwell, I knew treatment was unlikely. I doubt he’d even want to try it after hearing about mum’s experience. But I didn’t want to lose him. I wanted him to have more time with us. I asked about his options, but we were given very little information. They needed to perform more tests.
I hadn’t been told what stage dad was, so I kept asking if they’d found out whether it was operable. I never got a clear answer. I wish they’d been honest with me, so I could have put end-of-life care in place for dad faster. As it was, he was sent home when he was clearly dying, with little support in place. I was expected to care for him, practically alone, when I have a fulltime job and family of my own.
He lived six weeks. I looked up the clinical trial my mum had in Australia but it’s only available privately in the UK. Dad had no options. I was just waiting for him to die as he slowly lost his mind.
I am so grateful that a hospice charity managed to find a bed for dad, just in time. He was admitted on his 65th birthday and died a week later. I wasn’t even there when he passed. I was so exhausted, I had gone home to rest when the hospice called. He died when I was 10 minutes away.
I would have done anything for more time when dad was still mentally with me, so I could’ve enjoyed his company, helped him navigate the end of his life and held his hand through it.
It would have meant everything to me if dad had the choice to join a clinical trial like mum.
However gruelling mum’s treatment was, she at least had more time to spend with her loved ones, time in the job she adored, time to put her affairs in order and ensure she went out on her own terms.
I was initially furious when he died, knowing how his story unfolded in comparison to mum’s. Not only was he denied treatment due to a late diagnosis and lack of options, but he also died in pain. When my fury started to subside as time passed, I felt compelled to tell both my parents’ story to raise awareness of this destructive disease. I had to lend my voice to shout for better awareness, earlier diagnosis, more effective, kinder treatments, and far better support for the people this disease leaves bereaved and traumatised.
This October, every pound you donate towards groundbreaking research will be matched by generous philanthropists.
Double your donation. Double your impact on life-saving research.
