“Ali wanted to be a nurse because she loved helping people. She started out in Hemel hospital before becoming a community school nurse for 15 years.
We never guessed that some of the people Ali cared for would be the ones caring for her at the end of her life.
We met in 1989. I’m a very shy person, but on the day that I met Ali it was the most forward I’d ever been, and I asked her for a date. We were both quiet people. Ali started singing in a local choir, and if there was a newcomer, she gravitated towards them and made them welcome. She was just that warm, friendly, welcoming character and people loved her for it.
Ali was born and bred in Harpenden and had a big, close family. We had two daughters of our own – Emily and Megan – and Ali was completely devoted to them, as they were to her.
Not long after her fiftieth birthday, Ali started losing sensation in her right hand. In April 2022, she had a brain scan and was diagnosed with brain tumours. This was a huge shock. Megan was living in Devon and Emily was just finishing university in Cornwall. Once we told them about the diagnosis, they dropped everything, came home and became Ali’s primary carers. Ali was their mum, their be-all and end-all; they would do anything for her. I tried to keep my job going, to keep money coming in for the family, while spending as much time as possible with Ali.
Ali struggled with her treatments, and any change in her medication really affected her. Although the girls gave Ali brilliant care, she started to need professional support. Ali was finding it increasingly difficult to move from chairs and I was concerned about her getting bed sores.
Ali ended up in big hospital wards where some of the care wasn’t the best. There was too much going on, and the poor nurses – there just weren’t enough of them. A consultant told Ali: We’re not happy that you’re living like this and explained that Ali’s symptoms could be better managed at a hospice. I knew of the Hospice – I’d once driven a tractor at a local steam fayre to raise funds for their care – but, like most people, I didn’t think we’d need it ourselves.
We arrived at the Hospice in February 2023. Straightaway everything felt different from hospital. The staff and volunteers treated us like family, and it was very warm and heartfelt. They were not just looking after Ali; they were caring for all of us. There was an extendable cuddle bed in the room which meant the girls could stay overnight with their mum. We were also allowed to bring in our dog to visit which helped Ali.
It was so nice to be able to come to the Hospice and have family time. In the early days, we’d have a good joke and a giggle together. Ali had everything from emotional support to music therapy, and she used to have little private conversations with her favourite nurses and health care assistants (some of whom she’d helped with their children in her role as the community nurse).
The girls began talking about bringing Ali home, but I was concerned about her quality of life away from the Hospice. I told my daughter, ‘I’m not sure if Mummy should come home or not.’ She responded: ‘I don’t think she should.’ I didn’t expect that; it was a complete shock. We asked Ali if she wanted to stay at the Hospice and she did, which was the right decision.
Dr Katy told the girls, ‘Let us care for her and you just love your mum.’ So our daughters were able to spend time, detached from her care, just having Ali as their mum.
For Mother’s Day, the girls secretly arranged an afternoon tea in one of the huts in the Hospice garden. They prepared platters of sandwiches and sausage rolls, cakes and scones. Ali loved it.
I was at the Hospice every single day and I was just happy to be there with Ali. Towards the end, there were hard decisions. But I wasn’t rushed at all and the staff handled it so well. Dr Katy sat with me in a nice, warm space and she was so helpful. We could just be there with Ali, spending time, holding her hand.
After Ali died, we were able to stay with her and say goodbye. Nurse Helen was so professional, calm and warm, and offered so much guidance.
When I left the Hospice on the day Ali died, they said, ‘You don’t have to just leave. We’ll always be here for you.’
They helped me afterwards and I come for counselling still. I’m old-fashioned, stiff upper lip and everything, but you realise just how fragile you actually are. The bereavement counselling made a huge difference for me. I’ve coped better just from having those little chats. When I did feel a bit overwhelmed, I contacted the Hospice again and straightaway, the next morning, they were back in touch and got me set up.
The Hospice is a place where you can feel warm and valued. It’s a place where you can ask questions and people will give you honest answers. It’s an essential place for families, and for everyone in our community. You might not expect to need it, but when you support it and keep its beds open, you’re ensuring that families like mine – and like yours – can have extraordinary care and support when they need it the most.
Spending time just loving Ali meant so much to our family.
The Hospice got me in a better place. I wonder what state I would be in now without it.
A donation of £34 could fund an Inpatient Unit bed for an hour, giving a patient direct access to the care they need
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