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The Doctor Told Me I Had Just Months To Live

by NATASHA COURTENAY, Daily Mail

What would your dying wish be? Maria Derosa, a 41-year-old hospital administrator from Enfield, London, has been diagnosed with terminal bowel cancer and has months left to live.

On Saturday, Maria married her partner of ten years, Jamie Nolan. All she wants now is to take her two sons, Jack, four, and Ben, 22 months, to Disneyworld in Florida.

She says: As I turned to Jamie and said 'I do', tears welled up in our eyes. In fact, most of the 200 friends and family who packed the church on Saturday afternoon couldn't help but shed a tear at the sight of Jamie and me tying the knot.

But they weren't tears of pure joy because, although my wedding day was one of the happiest of my life, it was tinged by a feeling of sadness. For I have terminal cancer, and have less than year to live.

We spent our honeymoon night in a plush suite at the Dorchester Hotel in London. It was absolutely fantastic and a real treat for me.

Jamie and I have promised ourselves that if I'm still here for our first wedding anniversary, we'll spend it at the Dorchester. But I'm all too aware of the fact that, unless a miracle happens, by this time next year Jamie will be a widower.

The nightmare had started three months earlier. I was chatting to my brother on the phone when I placed my hand on my hip and felt a lump the size of an egg. It wasn't painful but was fairly large and solid.

The possibility of cancer crossed my mind, but I was relieved when my GP said it was probably a cyst and booked me in for an ultrasound the following week. Then an appointment was made for me to have it removed.

But three days before the operation, I came home from a shopping trip and doubled over in agony. I was admitted to the North Middlesex Hospital as the doctors assumed the cyst had burst.

My operation took place the following morning. I spent a week recovering in hospital and the cyst was sent off for examination.

Within minutes of arriving home, I started vomiting and suffering from terrible stomach cramps. An hour later, I called for an ambulance. The doctors were sure I'd caught gastroenteritis and admitted me to an isolation ward.

Just before I was due to go home, the doctors suggested one final scan. I first had an inkling that something was seriously wrong when I jokingly asked the nurse doing the scan if she could see any buried treasure down there. She gave me a very strange look.

An hour later, my surgeon, came to see me with the results of the histology report - a microscopic study of the tissues - on the cyst and the results of the scan. She sat on my bedside, took my hand and said: 'I'm sorry, you have stage three ovarian cancer. And it has spread to your liver.'

All I could think about was seeing my family, but before I left hospital I was sent for a lumbar puncture, in which a large needle was pushed into my liver under local anaesthetic to collect fluid for diagnosis, and a full body CT scan to establish how far the cancer had spread.

Jamie rushed to the hospital to pick me up. I kept saying I'd fight it but we had no idea what 'stage three ovarian cancer' meant. Jamie looked it up on the internet and, afterwards, he looked terrible. He discovered that only one in four people survive for more than five years.

The next morning, the hospital told me the cancer had also spread to the lungs and the lymph glands, and I needed to start a 12-week chemotherapy course.

The treatment involved having chemotherapy drugs administered every three weeks for three months through a drip. The procedure didn't hurt but, afterwards, I suffered from terrible diarrhoea, cramps and nausea.

A couple of weeks later, my long hair started to fall out. I decided to shave it all off because I couldn't bear to see it gradually fall out. I told my son Jack I wanted a haircut-like Daddy's and he helped me shave it off using some clippers.

After six weeks of chemo, I was due to have a scan but two days before, I found another egg-sized lump on the other side of my waist. I panicked - did that mean the chemotherapy wasn't working? Jamie and I rushed to hospital and I was sent for more scans.

The doctor there wouldn't make eye contact with me. He put his head in his hands and told us I'd been misdiagnosed. I had bowel cancer, not ovarian cancer.

THE TUMOUR in my ovary was a secondary tumour of bowel cancer. Jamie and I both turned white. We had watched my father die of bowel cancer four years earlier at the age of 67. Now it was my turn.

Furthermore, I'd been having the wrong treatment, as each cancer requires a different mix and strength of drugs.

The doctor was quick to say the misdiagnosis may not have made much difference to how long I will live because the cancer had already spread all over my body, but that's something we'll never know.

Bowel cancer can be cured if it is caught early enough because surgeons are able to remove the affected part of the bowel. Although no one yet knows what causes this cancer, there does seem to be a strong hereditary link.

We later discovered my ' gastroenteritis' was a classic symptom of bowel cancer. Most people see blood in their stools or find their normal bowel habits very disrupted, or they have anaemia.

I've told my doctor I intend to fight until my dying breath and in return to use me as a guinea pig for every new treatment. I've opted to take part in trials of a new drug, which is meant to reduce sickness.

The strangest thing is that I am free of symptoms. Aside from the tiredness - a side-effect of chemo - and my stomach, which is swelling as the tumour grows ever larger, I don't feel ill at all.

I'd often wondered, while watching my father die, how I would cope should the same thing happen to me. I imagined I would feel desolate.

Yes, I'm livid I am now being taken away from my two young sons and frustrated that the wellbeing of my family after my death is out of my hands. Yet another part of me feels calm.

The video camera has become a permanent attachment because I'm making video diaries for the children. Jack might remember me, but when I think about what I can remember from when I was his age, it's not that much.

I'm not silly enough to think Ben, my younger son, will remember me. I know I'll always be in their hearts, but I want them to have an image of me on video that they can keep, too. We're still essentially a normal, happy family.

Jamie has told me he has cried when he's alone, but he has only done so in front of me once. That was when he came to see me in hospital a couple of weeks ago and found I'd vanished from my bed.

He went round the corridors frantically looking for me and eventually found me in a waiting room. He said I looked so vulnerable in my hospital robes that he burst into tears when he saw me.

I worry every day about what he'll do, and my biggest fear is that he'll fall apart. He has told me he doesn't know how he'll manage - cook, clean, organise the boys - and that he's frightened he won't be able to cope.

He's also dreading when the boys will ask him where I am. All I can say is that when he's in that position, he'll find the strength to cope.

My last wish is to take my children to Disneyworld in Florida. Unfortunately, because I'm terminally ill, my holiday insurance is more than £4,000. We're desperately trying to save in the hope that we can go before I get too ill.

Having that last holiday together and capturing all the fun on video is the final thing I hope for in my life.

'There Were No Warning Signs Before Terminal Diagnosis'

Image caption,

Mark Butcher was diagnosed with stage four terminal bowel cancer

Chloe Harcombe

BBC News, West of England

A man who has been diagnosed with terminal bowel cancer has said there were "zero symptoms".

Mark Butcher, from Westbury, Wiltshire, is dedicating his last months to supporting other patients and raising awareness that the condition can affect anyone - no matter what age they are.

His friends are also embarking on a 15-hour workout challenge this month to raise money for St Peter's Hospice and Bowel Cancer UK.

"There's so many patients - even much younger than me - that are diagnosed and dealing with bowel cancer. I really want to support them," the 45-year-old said.

Mr Butcher was diagnosed with the condition "completely out of the blue" in November 2021. He started experiencing "sudden abdominal pains", which was initially thought to be appendicitis.

But a scan revealed that Mr Butcher's bowel was "completely blocked" by a cancerous tumour.

Last June, he underwent a gruelling 15-hour operation to treat the disease.

Image source, David Champion Image caption,

David Champion (R) is organising a fundraiser to "honour" his best friend Mark Butcher (L)

Surgeons then discovered the cancer had spread to his liver.

In a bid to treat the condition, doctors performed cytoreductive surgery followed by heated chemotherapy - which is dubbed "the Mother of All Surgeries" by medical professionals.

Invasive and risky

It involves an incision from the sternum down to the pelvis, where medics physically remove all cancerous cells.

Chemotherapy is then heated up, and the liquid is poured into the body, with the aim of wiping out any remaining cells.

The 15-hour procedure is highly invasive and risky, and involves a "big recovery" afterwards.

"I've always tried to be true to my values," Mr Butcher said.

"What I've said to my daughter and my wife is at the end I want to be able to look them in the eye and know that I've done everything physically possible.

"It's given me at least another year which is all good."

Image source, David Champion Image caption,

Best friend, David Champion, is supporting Mark Butcher

His best friend, David Champion, is organising the fundraiser at Kokoro Fitness in Bristol on 22 June, with all the money going towards St Peter's Hospice and Bowel Cancer UK.

"Mark didn't take a break during his operation, so we're going to try and keep moving that whole time," Mr Champion said.

They also want to highlight the "amazing work" of St Peter's Hospice, which is already supporting Mr Butcher and his family.

So far, they have raised more than £5,000 for the charities.

'An inspiration'

On the day of the fundraiser, Mr Champion will be joined by about 12 others who are committing to the full 15 hours, from 04:00 BST to 19:00.

Throughout the day, others will join for shorter periods.

"Everyone wanted to do something," he said.

"You feel helpless in these situations and Mark has been such an inspiration."

During the final hours, Mr Butcher and his family will be there to support the participants.

His 14-year-old daughter also hopes to take part.

Image source, Family handout Image caption,

The pair have enjoyed a "lifelong friendship"

"It will be emotional and bittersweet," Mr Butcher said.

"There will be numerous tears shed and lots of happy memories."

He said the amount of "messages, love and support" has been "overwhelming".

"There's people I probably haven't interacted with in 30-plus years who are sending money and messages of support," he added.

"It makes me realise how much of an impact we have unconsciously on other people's lives.

"It shows what lifelong friendship actually means - when you need that love and support, it's there."

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I Was 45 And Completely Unaware I Had Stage Three Bowel Cancer

Families pull together at this time but the impact on those who have to do the day-to-day tasks like the school run is huge. My siblings Pip and James were suddenly facing the loss of a parent and the fear of losing a sibling.

The hardest period was undoubtedly Dad's final days. My chemotherapy started on August 8, and I stayed with him in Wales until two or three days before, when he was rapidly going downhill.

Dad died on August 9, aged 76, with Pip and Mum by his side. In his final moments, Pip told him I was through my first round of chemo, and he visibly acknowledged this news. I like to think it was a relief for him to hear that.

I was gutted not to be there at his side too but I had to view it in a positive way. If I hadn't had cancer, I would have been at work and not been able to be with him for two weeks before his death or to support Mum afterwards. At times like this you have to look for every silver lining.

I finished treatment in November 2022. I'm now cancer-free and hope I will stay that way, but you'll always be someone who's had cancer.

It's a catalyst to make you stop and think about your purpose in life. You have a different perspective and I felt compelled to talk about so I could raise awareness and help other people get diagnosed earlier. Cancer can happen to anyone at any point. To that end, I decided to leave the corporate world and become a speaker. I've survived, and I want to pay that forward.

Now I work with organisations sharing my experiences, demonstrating how we can all become more resilient through facing challenges – whether we have chosen to do them, like the Atlantic, or they are forced upon us, like cancer.

As told to Lebby Eyres

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