My name is Pamela, and I live in beautiful West Cork, Ireland. I’ve always loved the outdoors—long walks, coastal hikes, and the fresh Atlantic air. I’m hoping to walk the Camino de Santiago again in May 2025. Sport has always been a big part of my life too—Castlehaven GAA, Munster rugby, and Cork GAA are close to my heart. I also love to cook, knit, bake, play music, and learn Spanish. Sharing coffee and conversation with friends brings me real joy. But above all else, my family means everything to me.

On 7 December 2018, everything changed. I was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

That summer, I hadn’t felt right—tired, some stomach problems—but nothing conclusive. At first, doctors suspected a kidney stone. As the months passed, my energy dropped dramatically. Everyday tasks left me drained. My blood tests came back clear, and at one point, I was told it could be depression. But deep down, I knew something more was going on.

Then my skin began to turn yellow. That prompted a full set of tests. The tumour on my pancreas was found. The word “cancer” hit me like a wall. I thought, “That’s it—it’s over.” I’d only ever heard the worst about pancreatic cancer. I told my father first. I kept the news from my son initially—I didn’t want to ruin his New Year’s ski trip. Eventually, on my doctor’s advice, I told him. It was one of the hardest conversations I’ve ever had.

That Christmas, we all believed it might be our last together. Strangely, it was one of the most peaceful and meaningful times of my life. We laughed, talked, and treasured each other’s company. I slowed down. I listened more. I was present.

My mother had died from lung cancer a few years before. My aunt comforted me with the words: “She won’t let you go so fast.” In many ways, I believed she was right. I felt my mother with me.

Treatment was difficult. The first rounds of chemotherapy didn’t shrink the tumour. I started a more aggressive course—weekly chemo alongside daily radiotherapy. The travel alone was exhausting. But in June 2019, a breakthrough: the tumour had shrunk enough for surgery.

On 15 August 2019, I underwent an 11½-hour Whipple procedure. Surgeons removed parts of my pancreas, stomach, intestine, gall bladder, spleen, and surrounding lymph nodes. In September, I heard the words I never thought I’d hear: cancer-free.

Recovery, though, was slow and painful. I couldn’t walk far. I needed help with everything. I experienced cachexia and ascites. My surgeon had warned me it might take three years to feel anything like normal again. As someone who had always been active, I hadn’t expected the toll it would take.

The loneliness was hard. I missed being busy. I missed people. Stairs felt like mountains. Going into town took courage. Some friends stepped away. Others—people I hardly knew—showed incredible kindness. Survivor’s guilt crept in. Counselling helped me come to terms with the trauma. It helped me understand that it was okay to grieve what I’d been through.

Today, I’m about 85% back to my old self. I still live with fatigue and mobility challenges, but I’m thankful for every day I wake up. I volunteer with the RNLI, and together with Niall Rochford and Rachel Duquesnois, I’m co-founding Pancreatic Cancer Ireland—a new organisation to support and advocate for others facing this disease.

I don’t think of myself as a “survivor”—just someone who’s lived through it. Every day, I light a candle for those in treatment, those newly diagnosed, and those we’ve lost. If sharing my story brings comfort or hope to even one person, it’s worth telling.

If you’d like to connect with us at Pancreatic Cancer Ireland, here’s how:

🌐 www.pancreaticcancerireland.ie
📧 pancreaticcancerire@gmail.com
📞 +353 86 320 2073
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📸 Instagram: @pancreaticcancerireland
𝕏: @pancanireland