Sophie Butler, Salford
My mother Rita Oxman passed away from stage 4 bowel cancer on Friday 29 January 2021 aged 71, just one month after she was diagnosed on Monday 14 December 2020.
Mam was a mother of four, married to her childhood sweetheart, my dad Keith. She worked for him looking after the accounts as they ran their own car business in Sunderland. She was fiercely independent, organised and an all-round positive person. She came from a working-class background and she and my dad worked hard to make a successful business, but her background kept her humble and she never forgot where she came from. She would do anything for anyone, but when it came to her health or her needs, she would say she was fine or put it to one side.
It was 2020, the year of COVID-19 and lockdowns. I’m from Sunderland but I live in Salford so I didn’t see my mam as much as I usually did due to restrictions. Between September and December, she started getting tired, sleeping in more than usual and full of cold. She looked grey and had lost weight, but not enough to worry about. We put it down to her staying in more and not drinking due to lockdown. I never saw her face to face, so I often wonder if I’d seen her if I’d have noticed. My sister had moved back in with my parents to keep an eye on Mam.
In November, I got some freelance work and usually my mam would come down and look after my three children. However, on this occasion she couldn’t as she wasn’t feeling right still. She had felt off and kept getting told by the GP to take a COVID test and every time it was negative. My lovely sister came down to help. I hadn’t worked since March, so they were all supportive and knew I needed the money.
Whilst my sister was at my house, my dad rang to say my mam was so out of breath she couldn’t walk around the supermarket. He then said she couldn’t walk up the stairs, so he took her back to the GP. Thankfully my job had finished and my sister was able to go back up, but everyone assumed that she might have long COVID. In the hospital she had an X-ray and there was shadowing on her lungs. She needed more tests to determine what it was.
I remember pacing up and down my bedroom feeling helpless. This didn’t feel right. My dad knew something was up, as he had been there when my mam took her own mother in and her lungs had shadowing, which turned out to be cancer. I knew if my dad was worried, I should be. It felt like an eternity waiting to find out the results. They discovered she was anaemic, so she had a blood transfusion. Nobody was allowed to go in with her and I remember the photo she sent me of her arm. I felt so bad for her.
I remember her saying the blood transfusion had made her feel a bit better, but not a lot. Me and my husband moved house on 10 December. It was awful because again my mam loved stuff like that. She was gutted she couldn’t come down and help. She never got to see my new house. Four days later, my husband got a call. He pretended it was work, but I could tell something wasn’t right. I ran straight to the bathroom and was sick. I came down and quizzed him. He played it out for five minutes but then sat me down. He confessed it was my sister Amy explaining that Mam had been diagnosed with bowel cancer.
It was a total shock. I remember locking myself away in the bathroom having a shower and just crying, animal cries that were painful. After my husband told me, I couldn’t bring myself to ring my mam. I was embarrassed, scared, guilty: so many emotions. I rang her eventually at 8.30pm that night and we just talked for hours. She was being strong for me, I could tell. I felt pathetic.
My children didn’t really understand as they were eight, four and two at the time, but I was honest and told them I was sad because their Nana was poorly. I had to be strong for them. After the initial shock, the next day, my brother drove down to pick me up and take me home. I remember seeing my mam for the first time since September 2020. She looked frail, week and scared. She was scared to hug because of COVID. She wanted to be strong for chemo. Our hugs were half hugs for that reason. It’s something I have to live with. I wish I’d just squeezed her so tight. She was in shock. We all were. My mam, the matriarch of the family, was the one who now needed looking after.
Mam went to meet the oncologist on Wednesday 16 December to be told her outlook. It was incurable but treatable. She sadly didn’t get to start any treatment. She developed an ulcer in her stomach, it burst and she was rushed into hospital in mid-January. She sadly passed away Friday morning on 29 January aged 71. I will always be grateful to Sunderland Hospital for allowing us to stay with her in the side room despite restrictions and visitation rules.
It was mainly after her death that I started using Bowel Cancer UK. I wanted to learn more about the cancer, why it had taken my mam, what we could have done and I also found it very comforting to hear other people’s stories. I didn’t feel alone in our experience. Cancer can floor you and leave you feeling isolated in your thoughts.
I found out through the website that bowel cancer can be hereditary and we looked into our family history. After 18 months of testing, we discovered there was a high chance it was genetic. Now my siblings, my mam’s siblings and I are offered five-year colonoscopies. I turned 40 in 2024 and was therefore able to have my first one last year. They discovered an adenoid polyp which was high grade, so now I have to be seen every three years.
The only good that has come from this is that I’m aware of the signs and symptoms of bowel cancer and have screening done so that I don’t let history repeat itself again for my children, something I know my Mam would want.
My Mam was so lovely. She wasn’t your usual 70-year-old. She looked about 55. She was so youthful, glamorous and just bloody good fun. I miss her immensely.
