Rachel Corbett’s daughter, Suki, was diagnosed with acute lymphoblastic leukaemia (ALL) in January 2017, aged four. Rachel writes about spending Christmas in hospital and how the experience has changed how her and her family think of it.
Christmas is usually seen as a magical time and one that often carries so many special memories, particularly of happy childhood days. But it can also be strange and difficult, full of such mixed emotions. On Christmas Eve 2016, we returned from another inconclusive GP appointment. Sick with worry, knowing there was something so wrong with our daughter, my husband Pete and I quietly uttered the words “leukaemia” to each other, a moment I’ll never forget. Suki spent that Christmas desperately poorly, too ill to get involved with the festivities. It was to be another few weeks before we got confirmation of the diagnosis we’d been dreading.
The following year Suki had already been admitted to hospital, having picked up a virus and with her temperature soaring. As the Salvation Army band played carols in the corridor outside our room, our daughter looked on, hooked up to drips and machines. Tears quietly rolled down my cheeks. It felt like a dream. She bedded herself down for yet another night in isolation, and sobbed when she soon realised we’d be in hospital on Christmas Day.
Having a two-year-old daughter and husband at home, we had to come up with a manic plan of action as to how best to work through the logistics of the next few days, and still in some way make sure Christmas was special for our girls. Laying out stockings at home on Christmas Eve, the reality really sunk in, knowing Suki was lying in a hospital bed nearly an hour’s drive away.
Spending Christmas in hospital isn’t something anyone ever wishes for, but all four of us had such a truly special day. Suki herself was starting to respond well to treatment, which gave everyone a boost. The staff were simply amazing, going above and beyond in all that they did. So much thought was put into everything. Christmas dinner, eaten in shifts, balanced on laps, crackers, and donated gifts.
A senior doctor dressed up as Father Christmas and was grilled by our youngest, Betsie… questioning his choice of footwear, where he’d parked his sleigh, and even his beard! Another doctor performed a hilarious routine with his pet (puppet) singing turkey on his shoulder, apparently something of legend on the paediatric ward! Knowing so many special people were giving up time with their own families to look after our poorly daughter made it an incredibly emotional and heart-warming time, and one we now look back on with such fond memories.
For three years our lives were dominated by childhood cancer.
We lived on tenterhooks, fully aware of how quickly things could change. To live with the constant worry of a possible hospital admission hanging over us for years on end, it’s hard to put into words just how draining that becomes. Last year, with all the restrictions in place across the country, we spent Christmas at home, just the four of us - quiet and simple. To have no real worries, no anticipated hospital trips, or temperature spikes, made us appreciate the simplicity so much more.
Our lives are far richer from the experiences of recent years. Knowing others facing so much more uncertainty, pain, hardship, and heartache, it’s certainly made us look at Christmas - and life - in a very different way. It’s truly made us realise how lucky we are to have each other and really that’s all that matters.
From Contact magazine issue 93 - December 2021
