Simon Jenkins’ article about Chris Hoy was upsetting (Could we all be as positive as Chris Hoy facing death? Perhaps knowing when we will go changes everything, 21 October). As someone who has experienced the emotional devastation of being given a terminal diagnosis for our little girl, I can assure Jenkins that there is no comfort in “knowing when”. We had six months.
What a terminal diagnosis does is destroy hope, and grief starts before the end. Yes, when the shock subsides, we realise we have no option but to choose to make the best of the available time, but if Jenkins can’t imagine the rage, depression, grief, unfairness of being told your remaining time, or loved one’s time, has been cut short, he shouldn’t be writing about this. Hoy referencing “genuine moments of joy” is through this lens: that joy is amplified every time you feel it, because you cherish it more than you might have. That amplification is balanced by equal or greater pain – do not doubt it.
As grief counsellors will tell you, when a terminal diagnosis comes, there is always someone who is the “hope carrier”. I imagine this may be Chris, given his mental strength in other areas of his life. Maybe it’s also his wife. In devastation you have to find positivity and hope somewhere, for children, for family, friends. Something to help everyone cope during, and in the after times.
Cerys Hutton
Forncett St Peter, Norfolk
• My husband of 40 years died on 17 June this year, after a diagnosis of terminal bowel cancer in May 2023. All his life, he had been terrified of dying – his father had died suddenly, aged 33, when he was seven, and he was haunted by this.
The terminal diagnosis was given almost immediately; they said six to 10 months. He had some chemo, but it fairly quickly did more harm than good and was stopped. He refused to let the illness define him and carried on pretty much as usual until two days before he died.
Knowing the likely timescale gave him the control over his end of life that he craved. It allowed him to face his death calmly and to almost welcome it. He clearly stated what he was prepared to accept in terms of medical intervention and, more importantly, what he wasn’t. He arranged to donate his body to medical science.
His pain was perfectly managed by the palliative care team, and when he died, it was quietly, peacefully, with no sign of pain or struggle and with me by his side.
Deborah Huddle
Walthamstow, London
• Like Chris Hoy, I have received the news that I have terminal cancer. I probably have 12 to 18 months to live and have been living with this information for three years. Unlike in Simon Jenkins’ fantasy world, this time has not been spent gadding about ticking off a bucket list of unfulfilled wishes and ambitions. The time has been occupied undergoing chemotherapy, unsuccessful surgery, radiotherapy and more chemotherapy.
In between, I have seen more of my children and grandchildren than previously and also old friends, and I have valued and cherished this. I would just like to make the point that one receives a terminal diagnosis because one is ill, and the time for making hay may well be past.
Mark Smith
Worcester
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