Jo Beecham

Thursday

Jo Beecham

Till death do I part

From our UK edition

For my sister, who always shows me so much love and keeps my fridge filled with food. Recurrence: October 2012 The very sweet 12-year old looking registrar explains somewhat nervously that the CT scan repeated from six weeks earlier shows the cancer is moving aggressively and ominously towards my internal organs and that I need more chemo immediately. ‘What if I don’t want more chemo……?’. ‘Ermm, mmm’! ‘How long have I got, with or without more chemo?’ ‘Ermm, mmm, I don’t know, ermm, I have to ask the consultant and get back to you’. ‘No offence, and you seem very nice and everything,’ I say ‘but shouldn’t you be able to discuss these things with me?

Jo Beecham

I am ready to talk about my death. Is anyone else?

From our UK edition

It is October 2012 and my ovarian cancer is back. As we wait to see the consultant I say to my best friend, ‘We are going to Mexico this weekend to get that stuff so I can kill myself. We’ll probably get killed by drug barons.’ My consultant says I have three years. I agree to more chemo and ask: ‘Can I go to Mexico?’ She looks baffled. It is February 2013 and the consultant is discussing hospices. She is eight months pregnant. I don’t tell her about the Mexican barbiturate in the fridge. I do tell the nice hospice counsellor, though. She goes white. ‘The drug dealers seem to have a good reputation.’ She isn’t reassured. ‘It works on large animals and I’m no bigger than a small donkey or a big dog.