Hospice care and LGBTQ+ inclusivity: How Sue Ryder supported Sal and Hiedi

We were told that the tumour was fast-growing but had been caught quickly. Sal still needed chemotherapy, radiotherapy, and an operation to remove the lump. The chemotherapy was aggressive and made her very ill, but Sal continued to work. She was an art therapist, working predominately with young people, and was adored by all the students and staff.

It was only when Sal lost her hair that the outside world could tell she was unwell. Mostly, she would smile and get on with it. Her family and I were the only ones who knew the pain she was truly going through. She would walk through the door after work and just go to bed. I knew she was struggling physically, but she was strong and went on to recover.

Then, in December 2020, Sal had severe pain in her shoulder. She went to the GP, and they were moving her arm, checking for a pulled muscle, but I knew something didn’t feel right. I took her to A&E (I couldn’t go in because of the Covid restrictions of that time), and within two hours, Sal called me to say they had done a scan, and the cancer had returned and spread. She apologised for her body letting us down.

In January 2021, Sal was told she had approximately six weeks to live. The next day, we went to the registry office, and the following day, we got married. At home, we held a Zoom wedding. Everyone said it was the best wedding they ‘hadn’t’ been to! We were lucky we lived in a converted church; it was like our own little chapel. We didn’t have time to order cakes, so we bought children’s cakes of all shapes, stacked them, and covered them in chocolate. It looked like a big chocolate log creation. My memories of the day were mixed; it was happiness that we were getting married, but getting Sal through the day was tough.

Despite being given just weeks to live, Sal started immunotherapy, and incredibly, it started to work straight away. It was like a new lease of life. It started to reduce the tumours, and we even managed a trip to New York. Sal didn’t have a bucket list. She said she just wanted to fall in love for the first time, real true love, and that’s what I felt we had. I could be completely myself with Sal.

Gradually, the immunotherapy stopped working, and Sal deteriorated quickly. The district nurses were fantastic, but it was hard without any medical background to fill the gaps, trying to make sure Sal had the right pain relief at the right time. That’s when it was suggested we have a look at Sue Ryder Manorlands Hospice.

The minute they said the word ‘hospice’, Sal said ‘that’s it, I am going to die’, but the nurses reassured her that hospices weren’t just a place you go to die and that they could help with her with her pain and all-around care.

From the minute we walked into the hospice that first time, I felt like I could breathe. I could be Sal’s wife again rather than her carer. Anything she wanted day or night – whether that was pain relief or her favourite food, it was there straight away. I remember her having a thing for Angel Delight, or she could be eating ice cream at 11 pm.

Sue Ryder didn’t just help with her physical health but her mental health too. Sal had quite a responsible job; she was head of a team, but the minute you become ill, you become just the person who has cancer. The staff at Sue Ryder didn’t make her feel like that, they were genuinely interested in her. We had an incredible Sue Ryder Nurse called Josie, and she would ask Sal about her role as an art therapist – it made her come alive again. That was lovely to see.

Sal had a single bed in the hospice, and I had a reclining chair so I could stay near to her, but when you are a married couple who are used to sleeping next to each other every night, it felt awful just hanging on the edge of the bed. Michele, the Ward Manager, insisted that they find a double bed, so a group of Sue Ryder Nurses, despite everyone else they had to care for too, set up a bed in the room so I could lie next to Sal and hold her hand. It meant everything to us.

At no point did I feel that just because we were a same sex couple that our relationship meant any less than any other; we couldn’t have been treated any better. It wasn’t made to be a big deal because it wasn’t we were just a married couple who happened to be two females.

Sal and I have two children, and they were able to visit Sal in an environment that felt private and special to you at that moment. A hospice isn’t always a sad place; you would hear laughter, too, and that’s important.

Sal and I had come across the Sue Ryder Memory Tree during our time together in the hospice gardens, and we both thought it was such a beautiful idea. During Sal’s time in the hospice, the gardens meant a lot to me, too. It can be frightening watching someone you love, knowing that they are going to die, not knowing what to do, so I would sometimes step away in the grounds. It was also an opportunity to connect with other families. The memory tree, set in such a peaceful and beautiful location, gives everyone a place to go to and remember Sal.

I have taken part in Starlight Hike two times, with friends and family, and it’s such a positive event which starts with live music and a journey on the Starlight Express train to the start line. I love speaking to people along the way and seeing the names of loved ones they are walking for upon their backs. You also get to pass through the hospice too, which is what a lot of people look forward to – it’s a way of helping to keep alive the memory of those who are important to you.