6 - Margaret’s Back Story Part 1: 8 September 2024

As the cancer ate away at Margret’s life, we both knew her remaining days were very few.  The day we both thought would be her final day in our home was Friday 7 July 2024.  Margaret said she thought this was the end and calmly gave me a list of chores that I had to carry out to make things happen as smoothly as possible.

This is the list of instructions I was given.

1               Go to the bakery and pick up some bread.

2               Call in at the local café where Margaret was a much loved customer and tell them she would not be able to go there anymore.

3               Go to the barber and get my hair cut.

4               Go to the supermarket and buy the groceries she had written on the list she gave me

I carried out most of my list of chores, but I did not get my hair cut that day.

I bought the bread knowing I would be the only one who would be eating it.

I stopped at the local café and tearfully told them Margaret would not be able to ever call in there again.  She never did call in there again.

I got to the supermarket and purchased the short list of groceries.

I was driving home again when I got a call from Margaret’s nephew.  He was ringing to say he would be a little early in arriving at our place.  Was that okay?  Margaret had not told me she had intended to tell anyone this was the end, but I knew what she had done.  She had told close family to come to our place so she could say goodbye.

When I got home, Margaret’s brother, sister and nephew had already arrived and Margaret ordered her brother to ring for an ambulance.  The day rapidly deteriorated from that point.

We finally got to Accident & Emergency at about 6.30 pm that evening.  The Royal Adelaide Hospital was – as usual – full up and unable to accept any new customers.  The ambulance entrance was crowded with ambulances which could not find a way to have their patients admitted to the hospital.  The senior crew member of our ambulance said he would speak to the triage nurse on duty and left me with Margaret in the back of the ambulance.  Miraculously, Margaret was wheeled into an A & E treatment bay about 10 minutes later.  Within an hour, a doctor appeared, ordered an X ray and said the obvious.  Margaret needed to be admitted to the hospital.

It was just after 12.30 am on Saturday 8 July 2023 before Margaret was wheeled up into a hospital room in the Cancer ward.  Everybody including Margaret knew she was dying that that her death would be sooner rather than later.

I do not remember when I got home, but I was back so early that I did the impossible.  I managed to park the car in the hospital car park.  I spent most of the weekend in the hospital. I brought a small backpack of extra clothes so I could catnap on the small sofa in her room.

If I thought Friday and the weekend were brutally hard, things got worse on Monday 10 July.

Shortly after 12.00 noon, Margaret’s pain level increased dramatically.  On Friday evening in A & E she had assessed her pain level at 20 out of a possible 10.  Just after noon on that Monday, her whole body shriveled up as a massive wave of pain washed over her.  When the doctors asked for a level out of 10, she told them it was 50.  I held her hand helplessly as she gasped in the most awful pain.  They gave her Fentanyl, the strongest pain killer they had.  For an agonizing hour I held her hand waiting for her to die.  Surely, no one could endure this vile pain for much longer.

But Margaret did not die that day.  By about 1.30 pm the pain had moderated to a mere 30 out of 10.  I had been given the blessing of a little more time.  At some point late in the afternoon, the senior cancer doctor arrived to see us.  Margaret told him she knew she was dying and that she wanted to die in the hospital where she had trained to be a nurse when she was so very much younger.  The doctor said he would try and arrange for Margaret to be admitted to Mary Potter Hospice, which is a dedicated unit at Calvary Hospital North Adelaide.  Margaret trained at Calvary.

I had been present on 10 July 2020 when we were told that Margaret had ampullar cancer and that she would probably be dead by Christmas 2020.  We were told that the only treatment available was an operation called a Whipple’s Procedure.  If Margaret had the operation and if she survived the operation, she would on average live for 3 years.  The best result from the Whipple’s Operation was survival until 10 July 2023.

The Monday when Margaret’s pain increased so dramatically was precisely 3 years from the date when we had been given the diagnosis.  Margaret got her 3 years even though she refused to have the operation.  She preferred a shorter live with better quality rather than have a slightly longer life with low quality.

Tuesday 11 July 2023 was our anniversary.  I had met Margaret for the first time on Saturday 11 July 1998.  I had known Margaret for exactly 25 years on that Tuesday.  And now I had to watch her die.  I spen.t most of my days in the hospital, returning briefly in the afternoon to clean up and eat before returning to hospital

Margaret was ambulanced to Mary Potter Hospice on Wednesday 12 July 2023.  She had arranged for the transfer to take place while I was still at home having my shower and clothes change.

We both thought the end would be – at best – only a few days away.

We were both wrong.  My extraordinarily wonderful wife Margaret was not ready to die just yet.