Sandra's Story

Sandra hadn’t been feeling well, and after one long day at the JR Hospital, our world was turned upside down. Test after test, hours of waiting, and then that moment that splits your life in two. The consultant delivered the news – cancer – and the young doctor beside him said, “we just weren’t looking for this, because you’re so fit”. Sandra, always composed and kind, put her hand on his arm and said, “Don’t worry, it’s not your fault, lovey”.

From then on, it was a battle – rounds of chemotherapy, thirty bouts of radiotherapy. Sandra became withdrawn, understandably. She’d lost the parts of her life she loved most. She didn’t want to talk about it, and she certainly didn’t want sympathy. Some days she didn’t even want to see close friends. It was isolating for both of us. I remember climbing into bed at night and thinking to myself, “this is the best part of the day – because it isn’t real in here”.

Then something remarkable happened. After her treatment, the cancer was stable. One day, she just clicked back into life. Back on the bike. Back to the gym. No build-up, no hesitation – just full-on Sandra again. It was like watching someone switch the lights back on.

We didn’t ask many questions. It was stage four from the start, but Sandra didn’t want statistics or internet searches clouding her mind. Despite my engineering instincts, I respected that and I let go of needing to know everything, because protecting her peace mattered more.

We had milestones, too – beautiful, bittersweet ones. Three weddings, including our daughter’s. Sandra’s biggest worry wasn’t the pain or fatigue, it was her hair. She didn’t want people to know, and she just wanted to feel normal. Ever determined, and not someone to ever give up, we found a wig specialist, but Sandra showed strength once more and went to the weddings without a wig.

As time went on, the disease spread. Around Christmas 2020, it was clear: things were progressing, and they wouldn’t improve. That’s when Sobell House came into our lives.

Sandra didn’t go into the hospice itself, but from the moment they became involved, there was a shift. Things become calmer, clearer; we felt supported. A nurse, Lisa, visited once a week. I’ll never forget how she saw Sandra, saw me, really saw us. When Sandra needed a hospital bed at home, I didn’t know what to do. “Upstairs or down?”, Lisa had said, “Why not try one? That’s what we’re here for”. The bed arrived three hours later.

I became Sandra’s husband and carer. I managed, as I’m a resilient person, but Sobell House always made sure I knew I didn’t have to do it alone. They offered night nurses, emotional support, and practical help. Even when we didn’t need it, just knowing it was there made all the difference.

Sandra died, nearly four years to the day from her diagnosis. The house feels different without her. It’s empty, in a way that’s difficult to explain. Life felt like it went from 3D to 2D. You keep going, of course you do, but something – in this case someone – is missing from the picture.

These days, I find connections to Sandra through the bike. On certain rides, I find myself reminiscing about her and it makes me feel closer to her. So, I decided to take on the challenge again and cycle from London to Paris with friends to raise as much money as I can for the place that helped us so much.

People ask if a challenge like this helps me. Truthfully, I don’t know. But it keeps me connected to my wife and honours a woman who never stopped fighting and never stopped caring or being kind.

Sandra wasn’t just my wife. She was my best friend, my partner in crime and my cycling buddy. She lived with grace and died with courage. I’ll keep riding for her, and for Sobell House for as long as I can.

Thank you so much to John for kindly sharing his family’s experience of Sobell House.