Thank you for visiting my page.

I'm running the Race for Life in memory of my dad, Doug Briscoe.  Until July 2007 he was probably one of the fittest 55-year-olds in our home town of Dartmouth, Devon.  He sailed, he never smoked, he only drank a beer or two a couple of times a week, he'd chop a brownie in half and save the rest for later.  His was the voice in my head nagging me if I ate too many chips or had chocolate I didn't need (he still does!)

One day he got a headache.  The next it got worse.  Soon he had blind spots at the sides of and across his vision.  His optician told him to see a doctor, the doctor referred him to a neurologist.  Before he could make that appointment he became so ill at home that my mum, a nurse, had to rush him to A&E. 

On July 31, 2007, he was told that he had a very rare form of aggressive metastatic cancer, probably originating from a small tumour at the back of his lung, which had spread to his brain.  To this day we don't know what caused it - could have been radiation medication he received as a child in the 50s, could have been exposure to homemade anti-fouling substances he used on his boats. 

Despite assurances by a specialist at the London Royal Marsden hospital that he could live for another 10 years ('Is that all?' Dad replied, somewhat ironically as it turns out) his treating consultant told my mum he didn't think he'd make it another year. 

He started treatment.  Radiation made him forget who we were, a surgical shunt drained fluid from his brain, chemo over Christmas, steroids which blew him up beyond recognition and made his bones so brittle he shattered his verterbrae.  His consultant was amazing.  For every sceptical surgeon who asked what the point was, Dr Coghill would protest this man had been running around on his boat not two weeks before.  Later, he got Dad on a drug trial for a new type of chemotherapy. 

Dad collapsed at home on June 5, 2008.  He died the very moment his beloved yacht Grace was launched into the harbour for the summer season.  He never gave up hope he would live to sail again.

I'm not telling you my story to guilt you into donating money to Cancer Research.  I'm just telling you the truth.  This is what it is like to lose a parent at the age of 21.  Over the past three years the pain has dulled.  But there is another ache which only gets worse, and that's the inescapable reality that every single day I live is another day dragging me further from the memory of his voice, his dad-hugs, his laughter.  The thought of forgetting him a little more every day is the cruel legacy of this awful loss.  I hate it. 

If running this Race for Life can do anything to help prevent others going through the heart-savaging agony of losing a loved one to this vile disease, I will fight every step of the way. 

Please help.

Jenni x

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