What working with young cancer patients taught me about Christmas
This Christmas, I can’t help but think of a teenage girl I cared for a few years ago. She knew she didn’t have long left to live and I sat with her as she wrote cards for her siblings and family for 40 years to come – a different message for every year so that her family would feel close to her every year at Christmas time for the next four decades. It’s a moment that will stay with me forever – heartbreaking, yes, but also incredibly meaningful. She poured her heart into every word, and I knew that those cards would be the greatest gift her family would ever receive. It’s a stark reminder that Christmas is a gift we should never take for granted.
As Teenage Cancer Trust lead nurse for the North West, my team and I go above and beyond to make the season as special as possible for the young people we support. Cancer doesn’t stop for Christmas. It doesn’t care about the date, the traditions, or the dreams we have for the holiday season. Every day, seven young people aged 13 to 24 are diagnosed with cancer in the UK. For some, that devastating news comes just days before Christmas. Others are in the middle of gruelling treatment, and for a few, this Christmas may be their last. Our job is to make sure that, whatever their situation, these young people can still find some joy, connection, and magic during the festive season.
The reality is that Christmas for young people with cancer can look very different. Some may spend the day in hospital, hooked up to IVs instead of lounging in festive pyjamas. Others might get to go home for a few hours or days, but the uncertainty and exhaustion of treatment looms large. We also support young people who have children of their own. One young mother I cared for last year had two little ones aged one and four. She knew her treatment would leave her too unwell to celebrate on the 25th, so we worked together to plan Christmas early. Between chemotherapy sessions, she sat with her laptop, writing out shopping lists and ordering presents online.
For young people, the emotional challenges of Christmas can be as tough as the physical ones. Just like everyone else, they want to make plans. They want to know what the day will look like, to look forward to something. Where we can, we work with the medical teams to adjust treatments – maybe bringing chemotherapy forward a few days or delaying it slightly – so that young people can spend time at home with their families. Of course, this isn’t always possible, but we do everything we can.
And when young people can’t leave the hospital, we bring Christmas to them. It’s about the little things: advent calendars on December 1 and stockings filled with thoughtful gifts. A couple of years ago, we hosted a live performance – think nativity meets sketch comedy – led entirely by young people receiving treatment. One lad had 30 staples removed from his face after surgery just minutes before getting up on stage to host a Christmas quiz. He was extraordinary. It’s moments like that which take my breath away. These young people are so strong, so resilient. They never fail to amaze me.
For others, Christmas events outside of the hospital can feel daunting. A teenage boy I looked after once told me he didn’t want to go to a Christmas market because he was worried about how he looked – the hair loss, the scars, the weight changes from treatment. I completely understood. It’s not fair to ask a young person to hide or shrink themselves at such a vulnerable time. So, instead, we create opportunities where they feel safe and supported. Every year, we organise a trip to the pantomime, just for our young people. Youth support workers and nurses come along too, so they know they’re in good hands. It’s not just about the show – it’s about laughter, togetherness, and the chance to feel like themselves again, even if just for a few hours.
Working with young people with cancer has taught me so much about what really matters at Christmas. It’s not the big gestures, the perfect decorations, or the fancy dinners. It’s the small, meaningful moments – a hug, a card, a shared joke. Of course, not all stories have happy endings. One of the hardest moments of my career was when a young person passed away on Christmas morning. They had chosen to spend their final days at home, surrounded by family, and we worked to make that possible. I take comfort in knowing we helped honour their wishes.
As nurses, we carry those moments with us. I have two children – a 17-year-old and a 23-year-old – and it certainly makes you hug them tighter at Christmas. Seeing your child go through cancer at Christmas – there’s no way to make sense of it. But I’ve seen the incredible strength and love that can exist. For me, it’s an honour to be there. Christmas is a reminder that every day with the people we love is precious.
So this year, as you prepare for your own celebrations, take a moment to cherish it all: the chaos, the laughter, the full hearts and full bellies. Because even in the hardest moments, there’s hope, joy, and love to be found. Christmas truly is a gift, and for the young people I care for, every moment counts.
As told to Suzy Walker
Teenage Cancer Trust is one of four charities supported by this year’s Telegraph Christmas Charity Appeal. The others are Humanity & Inclusion, Alzheimer’s Research UK and Army Benevolent Fund. To make a donation, please visit telegraph.co.uk/2024appeal or call 0151 317 5247
