There’s no perfect time to be told you have a terminal disease. For Marianne Allan, it wasn’t a single conversation or dramatic moment, it was a slow, persistent discomfort that refused to ease. Lower back pain, difficult to explain and hard to resolve.
She tried everything: scans, acupuncture, a colonoscopy, GP visits. There were symptoms, but no diagnosis. No clear pathway forward. Just uncertainty.
It wasn’t until a friend mentioned a pattern she’d seen, persistent back pain linked to ovarian cancer, that Marianne went back to the doctor. A CAT scan was ordered, and within hours the phone rang: bring someone with you.
They told me it was a tumour, stage four, and my first thought was: I’m not going to be here very long.
- Marianne
That was nearly six years ago.
Since then, Marianne and her husband Ross have been choosing how to spend their time. With each other and with people and places that matter most. Because while Marianne lives with terminal pancreatic cancer, what defines their life now is not fear, it’s an enduring sense of hope and presence.
"I live with it every single day, but I’m also still going. That has to count for something. So I wake up and try to be thankful. Every day is another one I get to tick off." - Marianne
Ross and Marianne in Singapore
“Let’s get on with it.”
In the weeks after the diagnosis, the grief came in waves.
"You don’t sleep and wake up thinking it’s all over. It took time, it was full-on emotion for weeks," said Ross.
But eventually, the fog lifted just enough for them to begin thinking forward. First came a bypass surgery. Then chemotherapy to shrink the tumour. A major operation followed, longer and more complex than a Whipple. In preparation, they made a pact to walk every day, to stay strong, to do what they could to meet this disease on their own terms.
"Even then, we thought, ‘let’s make the most of what we’ve got’. We’d walk new trails, drive out to new places. That focus on moving forward, it’s been everything," Ross expressed.
They still live that way now.
Living within the parameters of pancreatic cancer
After surgery, they were told Marianne likely had 6 to 12 months to live. They didn’t make a bucket list.
"We’ve done a lot in our lives. What I wanted was to create a few memories, just one-on-one. A trip with my granddaughter, one with my daughter and of course many more with Ross." - Marianne
It was about staying close to the people and places that mattered most. They stayed practical. Travel was local at first. Then, between chemo cycles, they went to Europe. Not to see everything. Just to be somewhere familiar, with people they love.
Marianne with a friend in the Netherlands
I knew I didn’t have the energy to be on the go all day. So we asked our friends to come to us. That trip, in the Netherlands, was so special. We knocked on our dear friend’s kitchen door. She didn’t even know we were coming.
- Marianne
Marianne and Ross with friends in Strasbourg
They’ve been to Arnhem Land, to Tasmania with their family, to Singapore, to see friends across Australia.
"And we just… go. We do our research. Find a local GP. Get everything sorted before we leave. People say we’re brave. But really, it’s just about being prepared." - Marianne
Marianne and Ross in Arnhem Land
“The best six years of our lives ”
There’s something about anticipation. For Ross and Marianne, planning is part of how they cope and they keep looking forward.
“Planning a trip gives you something else to think about, it keeps your brain active. Even if it’s just a weekend. It takes you out of the hospital mindset.”
Ross puts it openly:
It’s not just the travelling. It’s the planning, it gives you focus, takes you away from feeling sorry for yourself. We’ve had a limited time, but by keeping active and staying connected to something beyond the diagnosis, we’ve created something special. I think the last six years of our life, in a strange way, have been some of the best. We’ve been married 57 years, and we’re probably closer now than we’ve ever been.
- Ross
Ross and Marianne in Friesland
It doesn’t have to be Europe, it can be Geelong, or the Mornington Peninsula. Maybe a gallery, a play or simply a place to drink a cup of coffee outside of your local neighborhood.
“You don’t have to go far. But you do have to go. The trip is part of it, but the doing is everything.” - Marianne
“The diagnosis isn’t your whole life.”
Marianne receives palliative chemotherapy every fortnight. It takes up to ten days to recover. So now, they plan in short windows, a few days at a time. They arrange appointments carefully to create space for life in between.
“We make it work.”
Alongside the travel, there’s also movie nights, bowls, golf, reading, community. It’s how they’ve refused to let cancer define their life.
“Sometimes, of course, you wonder, is this new pain something more? Is this it? But nine times out of ten, it’s not. Not for me at least. So we keep going.”
“The diagnosis is part of your life. But it doesn’t have to be the whole thing.”
Marianne in Singapore
Advice? Don’t wait. Just do it.
Marianne and Ross have made it their philosophy to live fully, but not recklessly. Realistically, thoughtfully, but never passively.
Pick your priorities. Is it the trip? Is it time with your family? Then do that. Do that. Don’t wait.
- Marianne
Marianne and Ross at the Rhein River, Germany
Ross adds:
“People worry about money, and fair enough. But do something. Don’t wait. This time is so important.”
And Marianne’s message:
“I don’t shy away from telling people I have pancreatic cancer. It’s terminal. I have to live with that every day. But I also get to be thankful, because I’m still here. It’s not always doom and gloom. Every day I wake up is another good day. Don’t put off the things you want to do. If you’re thinking about something, go do it.”
“Take three days, take a week. Make it a special memory. Even planning it gives you space to breathe. And when you’re away, you’re not thinking about the next appointment. You’re just living.”
You keep going, you really do. And every day you do that, that’s a good day.
- Marianne
