Orla Freeman: Hospice care gave me the headspace to be there for Shane as his wife

For the last 11 weeks of his life, Orla Freeman’s husband, Shane, was under palliative care at Mayo Hospice in Castlebar. A year on, Orla tells Helen O’Callaghan how those weeks gave Shane quality time and how she realised palliative care is not about keeping you alive but about keeping you living

Orla Freeman: 'Hospice guided us as to when we should say certain things. Neither the boys nor I have any regrets.'

My husband Shane lived so well with cancer for six years. He had chemo every two weeks; he’d have bad days, but they’d come to an end. There’d be good days too; there was nothing he couldn’t do on those days.

He never felt he was battling cancer; he said he was living with it and he called cancer his travelling companion, until the beginning of the last six months of his life — April 2025. He started experiencing very severe pain. Between April and June we had to cancel family occasions and a holiday. Shane was spending more time in bed, something he hadn’t done before.

For the first time he felt cancer was winning because he wasn’t in control — there was no pattern to the pain. The community palliative care team visited from April. They could see he was in more pain than he was letting on. He was a very resilient man; he had wonderful grit and he didn’t give in easily. They could see he had a lot more living to do and his frustration at being unable to enjoy quality time with me and our three boys.

Orla Freeman: 'On September 2, Shane passed away. During those months in hospice, I got to be his wife. With the responsibility of all the medical care taken from me, I got to give him the emotional medicine.'

Hospice was recommended as the best place for symptom and pain management. Hearing hospice, many of us assume it’s the end; we’re going there to die — Shane was no different. He felt defeated, like everybody’d given up, but once settled into Mayo Hospice in Castlebar in June, he saw how much everybody — consultants, nurses, social workers — wanted to see him living: get out of bed when he could, go out on day trips, go home for a night or two.

He realised how much the hospice was there, not to keep him alive, but to keep him living. He was very determined he’d come back to Kiltimagh for Coillte Come Home Festival in July. Everyone in Kiltimagh comes out for it; everyone returns home, it’s a wonderful week. And he was able to — and to stay at home for a whole weekend.

It meant everything to him. He got to see everyone for the last time; all his old friends came out. There’s a big endurance race — 42km between cycling and running. Shane had participated over the years; in later years he volunteered at it. He was determined to get to each stage, to see everybody start and to sit on the wall at the finish line and see everyone go past him.

At the different stages, he’d cheer them on: “You’re doing great!” Afterwards, people said seeing him gave them the drive to finish the race. People had heard he was in hospice; their preconception was he must be really ill, but when they saw him out and about living as his usual positive, joyful self, they were so happy — and he was too, to be in town with our family of five, enjoying this amazing day.

If you were ever to say goodbye to your town, to your people, you couldn’t have picked a better day.

Orla Freeman: 'Shane never felt he was battling cancer; he said he was living with it and he called cancer his travelling companion, until the beginning of the last six months of his life – April 2025.'

And if it weren’t for hospice, he wouldn’t have been able to have that day. I didn’t feel nervous about his coming out of hospice then, and the different times he did, because the care he was receiving was the best of the best. He and I were always on the same page, and Shane was sensible — he knew his limits but also grabbed every opportunity he could. I never wanted to dampen that with any negativity.

I wanted him to be at peace with everything he was doing. He wanted to keep going as much as he could. It was all the time he was ever going to get again.

Hospice allowed me to stay 24/7 with him. Those moments I had with him were beautiful; the conversations we were able to have — reminiscing about the 23 years we’d had together, talking about the future we wouldn’t get together but that he’d still be part of because of our children. 

He didn’t leave it all to me to break the devastating news to our boys. He was so brave, so honest, very open with them. He spoke so warmly to them about his 50 wonderful years: he had no regrets and was grateful for everyone in his life. The words he gave them, they’re long-lasting — they’ll forever be with them.

Hospice guided us as to when we should say certain things. Neither the boys nor I have any regrets. There was nothing left unsaid. He came home the evening before and the night of our wedding anniversary, July 25. I got to wake up with him on our anniversary.

On September 2, Shane passed away. During those months in hospice, I got to be his wife. With the responsibility of all the medical care taken from me, I got to give him the emotional medicine. I had the time to talk to him, soothe him, bring him back to his peace.

All he cared about was that we’d be ok. He needed to see me calm, that I could manage.

When that medical responsibility was taken away, I was calm and patient. I had the headspace, the heart space to be all his.

• Palliative Care Week 2026 will run from September 6 to 12 and is dedicated to raising public awareness and increasing understanding of palliative care and its benefits. This year’s theme is ‘It’s Not What You Think.’ Visit www.hospice.ie.