Column: My personal experience of why Daffodil Day matters so much

My first experience of the wonderful support offered by the Irish Cancer Society’s Daffodil Centre in Donegal was somewhat accidental. But I knew that should the need ever arise, I would be assured of understanding and compassion.

I just didn’t expect it to happen so quickly.

The Daffodil Centre opened in Donegal in 2013. It was due to open in Letterkenny University Hospital but the major flooding incident at the hospital put those plans on hold. Rather than wait, the centre opened in Letterkenny Shopping Centre in a unit near the entrance to Penney’s. I believe this helped to create awareness of the service for people who might not otherwise have been aware of it. 

I was working in Letterkenny at the time, and had popped into the shopping centre on my lunch-break. When I saw the newly opened Daffodil Centre, I called in to see if I could do a story on it.

As soon as I entered, two women came over to welcome me. They introduced themselves, told me they were volunteers, and sat me down. Their gentle reassurance was like a comforting arm around my shoulders.

I must admit that I felt like an imposter, as if I had somehow used up a portion of some kindness to which I was not entitled. I know that sounds ridiculous, and it was very short lived.

The centre’s cancer nurse joined the conversation, and my article for the paper started to come together. The nurse explained that the purpose of Daffodil Centres was to provide support and information in a less formal and more welcoming setting than the various clinics that people needed to attend.

They were places that people could go and ask questions and have a chat, where there was the medical expertise of the cancer nurse and the peer support of the volunteers. 

There were loads of information booklets which people could take home and read in their own time. 

Most of all, there was a feeling that you were not alone in the frightening new world into which you had been thrown.

Two years later, at the age of 49, my husband Eamon was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer.

His immediate reaction was denial, particularly in terms of the bleak prognosis. This is not unusual. Despite everything that he was being gently told, he believed that he was going to be cured. And of course, there wasn’t anything to be gained by arguing the point with him. 

As far as Eamon was concerned, he was going to get through his illness with a few chemotherapy sessions, and he was convinced that he could do so without anyone else needing to know that he had cancer. 

This was one of a few issues - the others being too personal to share - that left me struggling to see how I could balance the reality of what was happening with being sensitive to what Eamon was feeling, and respectful of how he was coping with a major trauma in his own way. 

One thing I knew for certain was that we needed help from the people around us to get Eamon through the intensive chemotherapy and the associated side effects. We had been told that if the chemo was successful (unfortunately it wasn’t), it would be followed immediately by a course of radiotherapy in Dublin. 

How could we possibly go through that, and be parents to our children, and keep some form of income to the household, without anyone knowing?

On one of our early visits to the consultant, I remembered the Daffodil Centre which had since relocated to the hospital. That feeling that I had experienced on my first visit was exactly what I needed at that moment in time. And I knew there was a good chance that it would also be what Eamon needed. 

After the appointment, I suggested that we get coffee in the hospital shop which is near the Daffodil Centre. Once we had our coffees in hand, I just sort of wandered into the Daffodil Centre, and received that same welcome. 

It seemed to take just a flicker of eye contact for me to communicate something that I couldn’t say out loud, and for the volunteer to indicate that she understood.

She steered the conversation and then did a lot of listening. The conversation is not mine to share. But when we came out, Eamon asked if I would mind letting people know that he had ‘a little bit of cancer.’

A tough two months followed, stretching out forever in some ways, all too short in others.

Throughout his diagnosis, his consultations, his treatment, the stays in ICU and in the oncology ward, the Irish Cancer Society’s liaison nurse was a constant and comforting presence. 

She met Eamon where he was in his own mind, totally accepting his perspective. She chatted to him and gave support. She helped me with practical things like getting forms signed, and she had lots of words of encouragement. 

When it became obvious that the treatment wasn’t working, the inevitable decision was taken to move to palliative care. From a clinical point of view, Eamon needed continuing medical care and so taking him home wasn’t an option for us.

We were fortunate to be able to get him one of two hospice beds in Donegal Town Community Hospital where the care was exceptional.

While they didn’t fit our particular circumstances, I am aware of other services being offered - and deeply appreciated by those who need them - by the Irish Cancer Society. 

These include driving people to chemotherapy appointments, and providing night nurse services in the home. 

My contact with the Irish Cancer Society’s services was brief, but it removed a huge amount of stress in a very difficult time. 

I’ve held fundraising events to help raise money for Daffodil Day, and it has been very moving to see people supporting them because of Eamon.

This year, I will be supporting others, and I will wear my daffodil pin in a show of solidarity with everyone who is going through cancer, who has lost a loved one, everyone who is caring for cancer patients, and those who are living life after cancer. 

The daffodil is a beautiful sign of spring, of growth as we leave behind the darkness of winter. 

The Irish Cancer Society’s website cancer.ie has information on the charity’s support services and on how to get involved in Daffodil Day 2023.

Every few Euros spent on pins or donated via text messages add up to night nurses, to Daffodil Centres, to information leaflets, to awareness campaigns, to knowing that while the road is hard, you don’t have to walk it alone.