In April 2015, I ran (jogged, walked, crawled) the London Marathon. It was one of those things that seemed like a great idea at the time. A challenge, a goal, a once in a lifetime opportunity, a chance to raise money for charity. Little did I know about what lay ahead, and I’m not even talking about the Marathon.
It all came about as my dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer in 2010. We were told that it was not curable as it was too advanced and so his options for treatment were limited. I still remember the appointment at the Princess Royal University Hospital in Bromley, the doctor at her desk turning to us and saying “look it’s not good news”. I’ll never forget it. We were told that he probably had around two years of life left. A life changing moment for all of us, and perhaps something we didn’t really ever talk about after that, but she offered some hope. Dad was generally speaking relatively fit, which meant that he may be able to take part in clinical drugs trials at Guys Hospital in London. These trials help to test the effectiveness of drugs that are used to treat other illnesses and cancers to see if they can have a positive effect in the treatment of prostate cancer. After much deliberation and research using the information we’d been given, dad decided to give it a go. The trials could give dad some extra time, prevent the cancer spreading further, but their main purpose was to help others in the future with the same condition. It also meant that dad would be visiting the hospital a lot more to undergo tests in order to evaluate the effectiveness of the drugs. This meant that he would be closely monitored so if there were changes in his condition, they could be picked up quickly and dealt with right away. As far as my dad was concerned, it was a no-brainer and to be under the care of Guys Hospital was a blessing.
Guys has a special place in my heart. My life was saved by the amazing staff there many, many moons ago and now we were back there with dad ultimately hoping for the same outcome. Dad took part in many drugs trials. Although he tried to continue life as normal, these were not easy times. He had bone treatments, hormone treatments, scans, blood tests, chemo, tablets, more tablets to counteract side effects from other tablets. We would laugh at the sacks of medication he would come home with but quietly hope that they were doing something good. His condition would be stable one week and on the rampage the next. Dad was up and down, often hiding the pain he was in by claiming it was due to getting old, or gardening or decorating. We both knew what the pain was, but it gave dad strength and hope to say otherwise.
The hospital visits gave him comfort. A safe place and environment to talk about his illness openly. At home he would try to protect everyone from what was happening, even asking that we don’t go to the hospital with him anymore. He made many friends there and felt very secure surrounded by medical professionals and other patients going through the same thing. Whenever there was a change in his condition, he was able to move on to a different drugs trial. His willingness to participate and his positive outlook, led to him being asked to join the clinical trials staff and patients group at the hospital, which aimed to make the patient experience better. I went along to the meetings with him a few times and we were involved in coming up with ideas for things that would help patients taking part in the drugs trials. At these meetings I found out that the hospital has it’s own charity, Together We Can. The charity supports many different things at the hospital, one of which was the building of a new cancer centre next to the hospital. This centre would provide all the services cancer patients need under one roof and also carry out research. Dad was very vocal in saying that I could help them with fundraising and that’s where the Marathon story begins.
It was a while after and dad told me he had read that the hospital charity was holding a running event at the Oval cricket ground and he suggested I might want to take part to raise a bit of cash for the hospital. I readily agreed and signed up. It was a 5k, so I was sure I’d be fine. At the same time, dad was also having a few visits from a Macmillan nurse who was able to advise on various things. At this point dad didn’t need huge amounts of support from Macmillan as he was still very able and mobile, however appreciated their hard work. I’d forgotten that I had already signed up for a 10K run for Macmillan and when I checked the dates, realised that the two running events were on consecutive days. I managed to do both and my mum and dad came along to the 5k for the hospital. It was a fantastic experience. Mum and dad cheered me on and were both so proud when I crossed the line. Dad jokingly said I should enter the London Marathon. The hospital charity were advertising that they had spaces and people could apply. So I did and I somehow managed to secure a place.
Now usually, dad would think this was a crazy, hair brained Maria idea, but this was really important to him. He wanted to help me raise money to give something back to the hospital that had treated him so well and had given him hope to go on beyond the predicted two years at that appointment that seemed almost a lifetime ago now. Hospital had become part of everyday life. The cancer was there, but we were all used to it. And now we could do something to give something back.
It was pretty scary. Twenty six miles is a long distance but dad was 100% behind me. He would encourage me to train, eat well, tell everyone I was doing it for his amazing hospital. He’d worry I wouldn’t make the £2000 target. I’d worry too, but would reassure him that we’d get there. I got my place in October 2014 and it was something we talked about over and over and we looked forward to the big day. There was going to be an after party, dad was going to wait on the line and we would celebrate. The aim was to complete it and to follow my training plan. The training was going well and after each run he would ask how many miles and how long and would sit to work out a predicted finish time. I loved my training. I have to admit, I’m not a natural runner and have never enjoyed running, but running outdoors on the cold evenings and visualising that finish line and my friends and family at the end kept me going. It kept dad going.
That Christmas, four months before the marathon, was a turning point. Dad’s condition was changing and he was becoming weaker, less able to do what he had previously been able to do. He got the flu and we ended up having to go to hospital for treatment. Christmas day was meant to be a big family get together in Birmingham but dad was too unwell. Instead we stayed at home, cobbled together a Christmas dinner of some sort and when he felt strong enough to get out of bed, we sat round the table and ate, played games and sang along to old records. It was sad and yet such a happy day. I had a feeling this was dad’s last Christmas with us and so we had to make it as special as possible. He was exhausted by the end of the day but happy. It was one of my favourite Christmases ever. He said he had a wonderful time.
After that things started to progress quickly. I had another running event and dad gave me a lift to the start. It was the London Winter Run. Dad was too weak to stay, so he went home to wait. That week he’d had an appointment at the hospital and the outlook wasn’t good, Treatment was going to stop as he had pretty much exhausted all avenues. They had suggested that there could be some other trials elsewhere, but the chances weren’t great of getting on to them as dad’s condition was spreading. I remember standing at the start line and someone I knew spotted me in the crowd and came over to say hi. She asked how I was and I started rambling about doing this run in prep for the marathon which I was running for my dads hospital but that he was very ill and I remember getting very tearful and couldn’t really talk much more. I stood waiting to start and felt like I had the world on my shoulders. All I wanted to do was turn back and go home. I knew things were turning for dad, but I also knew he took such pride in these events that I had to somehow do it and get it over to go home with my medal. He already said he wanted a picture for his Facebook page. The run was pretty bad. It was a freezing day and I hadn’t warmed up. I got cramp after a couple of kilometres and was tearful and emotional. I considered just slipping through the barriers and going home, but I stretched out a bit and carried on. It was painful and slow and eventually I finished in a very slow time. I went home and showed dad the medal. He was proud and happy and started expressing concern at me reaching my fundraising goal for the marathon, so we started to think of ways together to raise some money. It meant so much to him.
Later that month mum and dad went to Cyprus and Greece. Dad wanted to see all the family. He wasn’t well when he went and he spent most of his time in bed or in pain. However, he refused to cut the trip short and went on to Greece to see the rest of the family. It was the end of February when they returned and he came back in a wheelchair. Within days, dad’s ability to walk was deteriorating at a dramatic pace. He was admitted to hospital and then by March was bed ridden. Dad needed a lot of help but he kept his spirits up. We talked about him building up his strength, so that he could walk again. We talked about the Marathon a lot. Every time I’d get a donation, he would be so happy and couldn’t believe it when we flew past the target amount.
Soon being upstairs in bed was a problem for him, and he decided he wanted to move downstairs so he could be around people and we could all be together more. My marathon training had stopped. I just couldn’t get out to run anymore. There was no time. I was exhausted. Dad needed more and more help. He couldn’t bear the smell of food anymore, so even eating was a problem and I knew that things were headed a certain way, but still the marathon was something that was keeping him focused and excited.
A few days before the Marathon I held a bucket collection at a shopping centre close to the hospital. Myself and a friend managed to collect quite a bit of money. When I returned home, I sat and counted it out while dad watched. He was so happy as I shared the stories people had told me about their contact with the hospital. He was getting concerned I hadn’t been out running and was feeling guilty that it was his fault. I’d reassure him that it wasn’t a problem and I was sure I could always walk if necessary. I’d managed the odd run here and there, but I knew it wasn’t enough really. Yet I’d hit my fundraising target and that’s what mattered most at this point.
Marathon day came and dad sadly had to accept that he wasn’t able to come. He simply couldn’t stand for long enough to be able to manage it. He ran through my checklist of what I needed to take with me and off I went. He promised to watch on the TV and try and spot me. I was excited and fired up. I actually couldn’t believe I was there and about to run the London Marathon! The first few miles were fine, but it was really beginning to dawn on me how far 26 miles is. I managed to keep my pace until I got to the fourth mile when I took pity on a woman that was struggling, so I started to jog at a very slow pace while she walked alongside me. I learnt all about her life and charity and why she had decided to do the marathon. I was becoming aware that my times were slipping and whilst the woman was lovely, I was going to have to bid her farewell and try and get my times back in, but I’d really slipped back and chatting away to people I was meeting along the way wasn’t really helping. By mile 19 I thought I couldn’t do anymore. I considered just stopping and giving up. There were still 7 miles to go but I didn’t feel I could do another millimetre let alone 7 miles, but then I would think of everyone who had supported me and sponsored me and dad waiting back at home and I pressed on. I decided the easiest way to push on was by counting down the miles and singing to myself.
I’d long left behind the man who had run every single London Marathon, the two women who had decided to stop for a drink at a pub (yes, really) and my percy pig sweets for energy had melted in my waistband. I couldn’t drink anymore water or Lucozade as I needed the toilet but really couldn’t stop. All I wanted to do now was finish. When I passed the 25 mile marker I felt quite emotional, I couldn’t believe I was on the final mile. It felt like a very long mile, but as I approached the finish line I somehow found a bit of energy and ran over the line. I got my lovely big medal and then had a pretty long walk to leave the area.
When I got home I was really tired. I hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast other than a couple of sweets and didn’t have much appetite. Family had come to visit dad and I showed them all my medal. They couldn’t believe I did it with so little training. Many revealed they thought I wouldn’t manage. I eventually crawled to bed. I ached all over. Surprisingly, the next morning, I didn’t ache too much and made dad his daily bowl of porridge. It was the first time we were alone since the Marathon. He looked at me and said “well done. I knew you’d finish it. You can do anything you want if you put your mind to it.” It was a very special moment. He was doubly proud that we had managed to raise so much money for his beloved hospital too. I remember his Macmillan nurse visiting and him telling her all about it.
A week or so later, dad got admitted to St Christopher’s Hospice in Sydenham, South London. It was his first visit there and he was very dubious. We were told it would be a short stay to assess his needs and feel secure with the staff around him. He was beginning to get a little anxious as his illness was progressing, so this might help. When we arrived at the hospice he had to set some targets for what he wanted to get out of his visit there. He wanted to increase his appetite, be able to get up and start to walk a little. It was very different to the hospital. There were support workers, volunteers, nurses, carers, physio’s, massage therapists. It was a calm and very caring environment. Once dad got used to it, he enjoyed his stay and couldn’t praise them enough. He was able to have a proper wash and had new people to talk to. I enjoyed going there. There was a lovely garden, a nice café, and just generally an air of calm. When he returned from the hospice he told me that he wanted us to do something to raise money for the them. The bulk of their funding comes from public donations and so dad wanted to help. I said I was thinking of doing the Marathon again and he said I should do it for the hospice. I put my application in and I told him I’d find out in October. He said he had a feeling I’d get a place.
Dad’s condition then began to deteriorate very rapidly. He couldn’t move at all and had lost so much weight that he was now tiny. He needed to go back to the hospice as he would be able to have the care he needed there. So just a week or so after returning from the hospice, dad went back and spent his final weeks there. The patience and kindness of the staff helped both dad and all the family. They did everything they could to accommodate his needs and wishes. I still go back to the hospice now and then. There’s a memorial tree which is basically made up of little gold engraved leaves in memory of those that have passed away there. We had a little leaf made for dad and it’s quite comforting to go there and see it and light a candle in the chapel. The place is so welcoming and they support families with all sorts of events and services.
So now, when I am asked why I want to do the London Marathon again, I can say very proudly that it is to ensure that others in my dads position have the opportunity to go to the hospice and receive that incredible care and support that they give. This time, I have the time to train and hopefully enjoy the experience in a different way and as dad said, you can do anything you want if you put your mind to it.
To watch dad’s film about clinical drugs trials at Guy’s Hospital, please visit:
Update to story: Maria went on to run the London Marathon again 2016 as planned for St Christopher’s Hospice in memory of her father and completed a walking Marathon in January 2023 for Demelza Children’s Hospice in memory of her daughter. She says she will never do a Marathon distance again…but you never know!
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