Rebecca, in the middle, with her dad and sister (Picture: Rebecca Gossage)

I was sitting in the car with my children in the backseat about to take them swimming when I received a text message from my dad.

‘Gastro specialist has confirmed I have pancreatic cancer, which has spread to liver,’ it started. ‘Specialist and assistant think I’m strong enough for chemo, so just remains to KEEP RIGHT ON’ (a Birmingham City FC reference).

I immediately burst into tears, to which my children asked: ‘Mommy, why are you crying?’

Not one to be a big talker, Dad sent my sister and I the text instead of calling or telling us in person because I suspect he didn’t want to deal with the emotions of his daughters bursting into tears.

It turns out, he was on his own when he received his pancreatic cancer diagnosis on 30 December 2021. He wasn’t prepared for it and had expected to be told that everything was fine.

My 65-year-old dad Keith first started experiencing symptoms around October 2021, but didn’t really take an awful lot of notice until the next month.

He’d had constant stomach pain – particularly after eating – so cut down on alcohol, caffeine and any food that caused him inflammation.

Dad first mentioned his symptoms to me in November and was very matter-of-fact about them. Pancreatic cancer – or cancer at all – just wasn’t on my radar. 

He was a fit man who still worked and went to the gym. He thought moving over to a more plant-based diet would make a difference. And it did, temporarily.

By the beginning of December, his stomach pain was back with a vengeance and he had visited his GP who had previously prescribed antacids. That’s when his doctor referred him for blood tests to be completed on 21 December. 

Dad sent my sister and I the text instead of calling or telling us in person (Picture: Rebecca Gossage)

When he called me and asked whether I thought he should pay for a private referral, I told him he shouldn’t waste his money and that our NHS would have already got him in for more tests if they were that worried.

By this point, he had begun to sleep sitting upright as he was finding lying down too painful. He complained to his surgery regarding their delays.

As a result, Dad was finally seen by the surgical decision unit on 16 December and a scan indicated some ‘uncertain areas’ on his liver and pancreas. Again, he didn’t seem that phased by it so I was still feeling positive that he might just have a stomach ulcer or something less serious.

He then had an appointment with a gastro specialist at his local hospital on 30 December, which is when he was given the diagnosis. This news absolutely devastated us.

At this appointment, the specialist informed him that he was strong enough for chemo and was booked in for a biopsy on 4 January. They expected he would ‘be in front’ of the oncologist – a doctor who treats cancer – within one week of the biopsy.

But then things seemed to really go downhill. 

More than half of people with the disease die within three months – my dad was tragically one of these people (Picture: Rebecca Gossage)

By 12 January, Dad was in a lot of pain, but still hadn’t seen an oncologist. He went to his GP on 12 January where he was prescribed morphine patches, then told to expect an oncology appointment the following week.

He still hadn’t heard anything when he spoke to the hospital on 19 January – 15 days after his biopsy and 20 days after his diagnosis. After this conversation, he texted me to say he had been ‘discussed’ in an oncology team meeting, so ‘fingers crossed I will hear something’.

On 21 January, he was finally offered an appointment for 26 January. Unfortunately, just three days before that, he was struggling to mobilise and was in a lot of pain. 

I left work immediately and went to his home. By the time I got there, he had taken the advice from the oncology team and called for an ambulance. However, he was told there would be a three-hour wait for this. It ended up being four. 

Once at hospital, he was diagnosed with an infection and prescribed steroids to ensure he was ready to start chemotherapy before there was any further change or deterioration in the liver cancer.

He was discharged on 29 January, still not having seen his oncologist. This is because his appointment for 26 January was cancelled due to him being an in-patient.

Dad received a new appointment for 9 February. But just one day before this, things dramatically worsened.

He was really struggling with pain and wasn’t sure how he would see the oncologist the following day, so he was – unbelievably – told by the oncology ward to rearrange when he felt better.

On 9 February – following a deterioration in his symptoms – my dad was taken by ambulance to hospital. Once there, he remained in the ambulance for seven hours due to a backlog at A&E.

He was completely on his own because Covid restrictions were still loosely in place, but paramedics and nurses came out from time to time to ensure he was as comfortable as possible. By this point, Dad was in agony and had pressure sores on his back.

He was eventually transferred to the oncology ward, where he was admitted. 

We were robbed of opportunities as a family (Picture: Rebecca Gossage)

Unfortunately, on 10 February, we were advised that he was now at end-of-life and was considered the highest priority oncology patient in the hospital.

The palliative nursing team were remorseful and explained that, as a family, we had not been provided with the right support.

Dad was transferred to a hospice on the morning of 11 February. That night, I sat with him, but I couldn’t contain my anguish.

The next afternoon, he passed away. I was due to see him an hour after he passed.

When I got the call from the hospice to alert me, I was immediately violently sick. My children ran upstairs and screamed at my husband that ‘something’s wrong with Mommy!’

I had to call my sister to inform her and couldn’t get the words out from crying so hard. She knew instantly what had happened.

He was a delightfully sarcastic man with the driest sense of humour (Picture: Rebecca Gossage)

From diagnosis to him passing away – just 44 days – he never once had a completed or fulfilled appointment with his oncologist.

Dad was given assurances that, while his cancer was not curable, it was treatable – and that gave us hope. Nobody sat us down and explained that the cancer was terminal and that he would most likely die within three months. 

This is because it has the lowest survival rate of all common cancers, with five-year survival less than 7%.

As a result, we were robbed of opportunities as a family.

The Less Survivable Cancers Taskforce revealed that the UK – among 33 countries of comparable wealth and income levels – ranks one of the worst in the world for the deadliest cancers, including pancreatic. Each year, over 10,000 people are diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in the UK and seven in 10 of them will receive no treatment at all.

More than half of people with the disease die within three months – my dad was tragically one of these people.

Patients are often waiting too long for a confirmed diagnosis and for treatment to begin. But if my father was properly seen in time, maybe he’d still be around today.

He was a delightfully sarcastic man with the driest sense of humour. In fact, it was often joked that he probably preferred his son-in-laws to his two daughters! 

He was my hero and I will remain a Daddy’s Girl forever. But I never wanted his legacy to be his cancer diagnosis.

I have often questioned how the UK – with its world renowned health service – can offer such pitiful survival rates for pancreatic cancer. We almost have a superiority complex here that we are the best in the world.

The reality is that there are countries who are miles ahead in terms of treatment. It beggars belief. 

As the daughter of someone who has died from pancreatic cancer, it feels like your death certificate is signed as soon as you receive that diagnosis.

No one deserves to go through what Dad – or our family – did.

Pancreatic Cancer UK runs the only dedicated Support Line for patients and their loved ones, staffed by specialist nurses. They provide expert, confidential, personalised support and information. Freephone 0808 801 0707 or for more information visit their website here.

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From diagnosis to him passing away – just 44 days – he never once had a completed or fulfilled appointment with his oncologist.