Hamish’s Story
Antonya’s son, Hamish, was five years old when he was diagnosed with Stage 4 Neuroblastoma in 1979 and died in December 1981 at the age of seven. Following his death, Antonya, along with other bereaved parents, helped set up the Neuroblastoma Society, now Neuroblastoma UK. Over 40 years on, and now facing her own battle with terminal cancer, Antonya shares Hamish’s story…
“The fight for a diagnosis was left to me”
Hamish started commenting on pain in different parts of his body. He was losing weight and his appetite was reducing. He was clearly unwell and my instinct was telling me something serious was wrong. But it took 13 weeks of visits to seven different GPs before I finally chose to take Hamish to see a private paediatrician. At that time, we had no paediatric oncology centre locally, nor access to an appropriate oncologist. The fight for a diagnosis was left to me.
The paediatrician could not find anything wrong, even though I later discovered that the primary tumour was the size of a grapefruit, but I insisted on blood tests and an X-ray at the very least. I ache for those less assertive than me. The blood tests showed there was significant inflammation in Hamish’s body and the X-ray revealed that his heart was on the right side of his chest which, while not of great significance, was news to me.
Hamish spent about 10 days in hospital going through multiple tests and scans. It was almost as if they had a list from a common cold to cancer. We eventually got to the bottom and a diagnosis of Stage 4 Neuroblastoma was made. 16 months of treatment followed.
“Without any treatment, Hamish’s prognosis was about three months”
There were many discussions about Hamish’s treatment. Without anything being done, his prognosis was about three months. The suggested plan of chemotherapy, a bone marrow autograft, radiotherapy and surgery would buy him an extra year. We then had to make the appalling decision about whether to proceed. Our son was facing the sort of treatment you probably would not put your dog through.
We even discussed this all with Hamish. Even though he was only five years old at the time, we had always been totally honest with him about everything. He was amazingly brave, stoic and accepting throughout the next many months. He suffered a great deal, but also seemed to have some lust for life, so there were many days filled with laughter.
Initially, Hamish received a chemotherapy protocol. This was followed by the bone marrow autograft which required him to be in isolation for four weeks. Then came radiotherapy and finally surgery on his tumour, which was situated next to his left kidney. The treatment was brutal and the reactions to it were brutal too. The chemo caused sickness and hair loss. We had to make multiple journeys over that time from our home in Oxfordshire to a hospital in London. But despite all the tests, the treatments, the travelling, Hamish lived for the day and never worried about tomorrow.
In all this time, his younger sister, Tabitha, spent many nights staying with the loving family of her best friend, while we were in London with our sick son. There is no doubt that she lost a chunk of her childhood thanks to Hamish’s illness, and the death of her beloved brother left a lasting impact.
“After his treatments all ended, we awaited the possibility of a better stage”
I have a very sensitive antenna when it comes to health issues and I never really felt truly hopeful that Hamish would be fully cured. But after his treatments all ended, we awaited the possibility of a better stage. He could return to school, his hair started to regrow, and in the summer of 1981, we were able to enjoy holidays by the sea. Everything seemed to be going swimmingly.
Then Hamish took a knock on one of his ankles and developed septic arthritis. This required regular samples to be taken from his ankle and in the autumn, just after he had started at his new school, the sample revealed that his cancer had returned with a vengeance. He enjoyed going to school, but not for long, as he soon became too ill to attend. From then on, he was at home, and it was just a question of managing his pain and ensuring he had palliative care.
Hamish died on 1st December 1981, the same date that I also lost my father many years later. He was in a lot of pain that night and I asked him if he wanted me to take his pain away. He responded ‘yes’, and so I gave him a dose of morphine through his Hickman catheter. He was soon no longer in pain and died peacefully.
At the time, I was heavily pregnant with our third child which was extremely bittersweet. And after Cassandra was born, three days away from what would have been Hamish’s eighth birthday, I was thrown into a deep depression, no doubt brought on partly as I was post-natal, but also postmortal.
The whole family unit was affected by Hamish’s death and as a family, we have always talked about him. Tabitha, in particular, had a rough ride and carried a heavy load. She and Hamish had been thick as thieves and losing him was extremely painful for her. But even his four other siblings, born after his death, speak of him as part of the family and we all think of him on the anniversary of his death.
“After Hamish’s death, we helped initiate the setting up of the Neuroblastoma Society (now Neuroblastoma UK)…”
In the years following Hamish’s death, we helped initiate the setting up of the Neuroblastoma Society (now Neuroblastoma UK), along with the Oldridge family who had lost their son, Matthew, to neuroblastoma too. We wanted to see funds ploughed into research to find better treatments and hopefully a cure for this cruel disease.
“A tiny voice inside me believes it would be wonderful if I could cuddle Hamish again…”
I now face my own battle with mortality, having been diagnosed with breast cancer and more recently, pancreatic cancer which has spread to my liver. Hamish’s suffering and my own diagnosis have cemented my feelings about assisted death. Human death should not be so intolerably inhumane. My children are unbelievably supportive, while my husband of 54 years, having had debilitating strokes, feels utterly helpless. I am not a religious person, but there is a tiny voice inside me that believes it would be wonderful if I could cuddle Hamish again…
A huge thank you to Antonya for sharing Hamish’s story.
Neuroblastoma UK funds vital research in a bid to develop new, less toxic and more effective treatment for children with neuroblastoma. But we need your help. Please donate today and join the fight against childhood cancer.
