Keith Harrison: Let's all do something to stop this wicked killer
My aunt didn't feel well. But she's a trooper, a salt-of-the-earth type who's worked all her life. So she got on with it.
After all, Christmas was coming up and she was looking forward to having her grown-up children around her at the family home again.
There'd be the dinner to prepare, presents to buy, the tree to sort out and the Rod Stewart tracks to dust off for the big day.
There would be happy memories of her son's big wedding in Cyprus last year and a sunshine break to Tenerife to look forward to in January.
And Christmas would be extra special this year as she was about to welcome her third grandchild within the next few weeks.
But this pain was niggling her, no matter how hard she tried to soldier on. So eventually, a couple of Mondays ago, she went to see her doctor, who took one look and agreed she was ill, but he couldn't properly diagnose what it was.
He took some blood tests and asked her to pop back on Thursday. She went back to work, battled through her 'bug' and duly returned to the GP at the appointed time for her results.
Things suddenly got very serious, very quickly.
She was ill – terribly ill and needed to go home, get some things then report to hospital straight away.
In shock, she gathered some essentials and within hours was on the ward, having more tests.
Amid a whirlwind of emotion, confusion and bewilderment, the results came like a hammer blow.
Cancer.
Inoperable.
Terminal.
How long?
They couldn't say, at first.
But then, in news almost too terrible to comprehend, it became a matter of weeks.
She wouldn't see Christmas.
She wouldn't see the birth of her new grandchild.
Christmas dinner with the family, the new year holiday, none of it was going to happen.
There was nothing that could be done.
As her loved ones rushed to her bedside and my brave aunt spoke of the flowers she wanted at her own funeral, things got even worse.
Suddenly, it was no longer weeks, but days.
She drifted in and out of consciousness as doctors tried to ease the pain, her huge character fighting against this wicked disease, trying to lift the spirits of her family – stunned by the speed of the tragic events.
On Saturday night, less than a week after first going to the doctor, cancer claimed my amazing Aunty Ann.
She was just 60.
At her packed funeral this week, everyone recalled a much-loved mum, wife, aunt and – back in the 1970s – a patient, brilliant babysitter to the unruly yours truly.
But cancer doesn't care.
It strikes with impunity, not just at my family but someday, probably, at yours too.
Ann was a 'life and soul of the party' character who lived a happy life to the full. She would want everyone to go out and have a good time this New Year.
But most of all, she'd want us to find a cure and stop other families going through the same suffering.
So at a time of new year's resolutions – and amid a sea of good causes – I'm asking everyone to do something, anything, to help in 2014.
It's not much, but I'm taking part in the January dryathlon for Cancer Research UK (www.justgiving.com/Keith-Harrison-dryathlete).
Together, let's beat this killer in 2014.
