There is no comfort in knowing when we will die | Letters

Simon Jenkins’ article about Chris Hoy was disturbing (Can we all be so positive as Chris Hoy faces death? Maybe everything will change when we know when we’ll go, October 21). As someone who has experienced the emotional devastation of a terminal diagnosis for our little girl, I can assure Jenkins that there is no comfort in “knowing when.” We had six months.

What a terminal diagnosis does is destroy hope, and the sadness begins before the end. Yes, as the shock wears off we realize we have no choice but to choose to make the most of the time available, but if Jenkins can’t imagine the anger, the depression, the sadness and the dishonesty of being too is told how much time you have left, or whether your loved one’s time has been cut short, he should not write about this. Hoy refers to “real moments of joy” through this lens: that joy is amplified every time you feel it, because you cherish it more than you could have. That reinforcement is offset by equal or greater pain – don’t doubt that.

As grief counselors will tell you, when a terminal diagnosis comes, there is always someone who is the “hope bearer.” I imagine this is Chris, given his mental strength in other areas of his life. Maybe it’s his wife too. In the face of devastation you have to find positivity and hope somewhere, for children, for family, friends. Something to help everyone cope during and after times.
Cerys Hutton
Forncett St Peter, Norfolk

My husband, who was already forty years old, died on June 17 this year, after being diagnosed with terminal bowel cancer in May 2023. All his life he had been terrified of dying – his father had died suddenly, at the age of 33 , when he was seven, and he was teased about it.

The terminal diagnosis was made almost immediately; they said six to ten months. He received some chemo, but it quickly did more harm than good and was stopped. He refused to let the disease define him and continued much as usual until two days before he died.

Knowing the likely timescale gave him the control over his end of life that he longed for. It allowed him to calmly face his death and almost welcome it. He clearly stated what he was willing to accept in terms of medical intervention and, more importantly, what he was not. He arranged to donate his body to medical science.

His pain was perfectly controlled by the palliative care team, and when he died it was quiet and peaceful, without any sign of pain or struggle, and with me by his side.
Deborah Huddle
Walthamstow, London

Like Chris Hoy, I received the news that I have terminal cancer. I probably have twelve to eighteen months to live and have been living with this information for three years. Unlike Simon Jenkins’ fantasy world, this time is not spent checking off a bucket list full of unfulfilled wishes and ambitions. The time has been spent undergoing chemotherapy, failed surgeries, radiotherapy and more chemotherapy.

In between, I have seen more of my children and grandchildren than before, as well as old friends, and I have appreciated and cherished this. I just want to point out that you get a terminal diagnosis because you are sick, and the time for making hay may be over.
Mark Smith
Worchester