I am running the Great North Run this year to raise money
for St Oswald’s Hospice in Gosforth. 

As many of you know, my sister Emily spent the last 7 weeks of her life at the Hospice and passed away on 15^th February
from Stomach Cancer at the age of 37.

I know many of you have already donated money to the hospice in
Emily’s memory, for which we’re very grateful. 

My plan is to make fundraising for the hospice a lifelong endeavor, in memory of Emily (this was actually her idea), to show our deep gratitude to the hospice staff. I might even try to run the GNR for the Hospice every year, so this won’t be the last time you’ll see a
fundraiser from me for the hospice.

It is hard to put into words what this place means to our family.

But this is our St Oswald’s story…

After enduring 12 months of stomach cancer, over Xmas 2020,
Emily started suffering. We had hoped to care for her at home, with nurses called out at all hours, repeat visits to hospitals. However, no one seemed able to get on top of her pain. After a few days at Hexham Hospital and discussions with the consultant, Emily made the decision that, despite our reservations,
she wanted to try some time at the hospice – as always through her illness, as through her life, she was in the driving seat.

We felt devastated. That we’d failed Emily somehow. We had hoped for her to return home to live out her days surrounded by us in her old bedroom (well, my old bedroom actually).  Also, this was in the middle of the Covid pandemic and we were fearful about visitation access.

After about 24 hours of being in the hospice, our perspective
changed completely and our fears dissolved. We were still able to care for Emily, but now we had a team of doctors and nurses available day and night, helping us – at least, that is how the staff made us feel. The doctors quickly resolved Emily’s pain and with the right combinations of drugs, and years of experience,
were able to carefully balance and monitor the need for pain relief with the parallel need to stay alert and make the most of this important family time.

Emily was the centre of everything. Staff at the hospice were
deeply respectful. Sometimes I’d call a nurse when Emily had asked for something, and relate to the nurse what she needed, and the nurse would smile and thank me, and then go to Emily and ask her directly what she wanted, always making sure Emily remained in control of her own care. Even towards the end,
when Emily was in the deepest of sleeps, doctors would sit patiently for the longest time by her bed, watching, listening, for the smallest response to their questions. The fact that they still asked her questions speaks for itself. On the odd occasion, she responded, she could still hear, and appreciated being included.

The surroundings of the hospice made us feel like were on holiday – the building is styled like a Japanese pagoda, with gardens and water features. House plants and fish tanks. It was a calm place to spend time together as a family.

The hospice remit is not only to care for patient health, but
they equally pay attention to that person’s entire wellbeing, enabling resolution of family issues so that the patient can be at peace when they die. 

I can tell you, when someone is dying, things can and do fall
apart, in even the more robust of families and people. The social workers at the hospice quickly established family dynamics and helped Emily resolve her worries so that when she died, she was truly at peace. Without the hospice’s help, she would not have achieved that.

The staff go so far beyond their job remit. I had showed some of the staff pictures of Emily in the woods doing forest school activities. So, they arranged a fire pit and the children roasted marshmallows outside Emily’s room, where Emily was able to watch from her bed, and redirect our inadequate fire management
through the patio doors.  We had pizza and movie nights in the family room.

As Emily’s health slipped away, she asked if we could stay
with her constantly, so the hospice found a spare room and my parents and I moved in for the last 3 weeks, so that one of us could be at her bedside day and night. Sometimes nurses would appear in the late evening with a glass of wine (the quickest of routes to my heart) and would counsel us long into the
night, preparing us for what we knew was coming, trying to ease our suffering too.

Emily stopped breathing at 6.15am on 15^th Feb. Of course, my mum, who just somehow knew it was time, had taken over from me at 5.30am to read to her. The nurses came and awoke me and dad, who were sleeping next door, and we were there in minutes. Emily died in our arms, and we were able to witness that most enormous and unbelievable of moments together, as a
family. We stayed with Emily all that morning, and when the nurses from the day shift came in at 8 o'clock, they felt like family walking through the door and shared in our sadness.  They just carried us through the hardest of times.

So, how on earth do you thank a group of people who did all
this. Running 13 miles seems somewhat inadequate. But at least it is something I can do, having faced a year of not being able to do anything.

It's so very important that enterprises like this, which rely entirely on donations, remain able to do their work. Most people don't give much thought to palliative care, until they have to, and only then does the importance of dying peacefully, surrounded by care and respect become apparent. Death is something we all must face. and if I'm ever faced with the end, I want to be able to go to this hospice.  

Any donations gratefully received,

With love