Debbie McGee has revealed the precious final days she spent with her husband, TV magician Paul Daniels, in her new autobiography, A Magical Life. The 67-year-old was woken by a nurse barely half an hour after going to bed, to be told that Paul was nearing the end. She immediately went to him, lying alongside him on the hospital bed and cuddling him.
She said: "I got up and went to him, laying alongside him on the hospital bed, just cuddling him. Paul always used to tell people that I was the best thing that happened to him. I wanted him to know that he was the best thing that ever happened to me."
A decade after loss
Ten years after Paul's death at the age of 77, Debbie has laid bare the agony and tenderness of his final weeks. She said: "Even though I was losing him, I just kept telling myself – I still do – how lucky I was."
The couple met during a summer season in Great Yarmouth in 1979, the same year The Paul Daniels Magic Show began its 15-year run on BBC1. They married in 1988 and, although they had no children together, Debbie became stepmother to his three sons, Paul Jr, Martin and Gary.
Signs of decline
Their professional partnership continued long after his television heyday, with the couple still touring together in 2015. By the autumn, however, Debbie noticed Paul seemed unusually tired, struggling to learn his lines for a pantomime. He began missing parties, leaving her to go alone, and often was in bed when she returned. Even wrapping Christmas presents no longer interested him.
Debbie writes: "Paul would usually have six projects on the go at any one time. He would get up in the morning and be straight on his laptop. He couldn't sit still. But now he didn't seem interested in anything. He would just sit in front of the TV until he fell asleep. When he was up and about, his balance seemed to have gone. He kept falling over."
Blood tests led to a suspicion of pernicious anaemia, and a course of injections was prescribed. But Paul continued to weaken, and Debbie rang the surgery desperate for answers, telling the doctor: "I can't describe what's happening but this isn't my husband."
Diagnosis and final weeks
Paul was eventually referred to a neurologist, but on the morning of the appointment he was sick after breakfast, so Debbie called an ambulance. A CT scan revealed a glioblastoma that had spread across much of the left side of his brain and was extending towards the right.
The consultant asked Paul: "Do you want me to tell you what's wrong?" He replied: "No. Tell Deb." Paul waited in the hospital corridor while Debbie stayed to hear the results. Though radiotherapy was discussed, the consultant could not promise it would improve his condition, and Paul's severe claustrophobia made the prospect of wearing a treatment mask daunting.
Debbie asked in desperation whether there was any treatment he could have in America, and what the consultant would do if this were his spouse. The consultant promised to discuss the case with oncologists but told her frankly: "In all honesty, if this were my spouse, I would be taking them home and making them as comfortable as possible."
In the end Debbie was told Paul might have two months and went home to prepare for his return. When she came back to the hospital, she found him in his Crombie coat and favourite trilby, dancing with a nurse. She recalls: "In that moment it was hard to believe there was anything wrong with him at all. He seemed like himself again. The man I loved. My Paul."
A peaceful month
After they announced his diagnosis publicly, around 800 emails and letters arrived in a single day. His sons and grandchildren visited. With Paul prone to falling because of the tumour, Debbie's sister Donna moved in to help watch over him, allowing Debbie to get some much-needed sleep.
Debbie said: "Paul didn't ever want to know what was wrong with him. I think he knew that he was dying but he couldn't discuss it. I didn't try to press him. There was no benefit to distressing him."
Days were spent watching Only Fools and Horses and taking short walks when the weather allowed. Paul had a Magnum ice cream every afternoon. Debbie remembers: "It was a very loving, peaceful month. I couldn't deny what was happening, but I really forced myself to stay in the moment and not look forward and not look back. I would wake up, put my make-up on and smile, although it was sort of fake. Each new day I told myself, he's still alive today so we'll make the best of it."
One film they watched together during those weeks has become impossible for her to watch again. She explains: "I only cried in front of Paul once and I only saw him cry once in front of me. It was when we were watching one of the films in the Best Exotic Marigold Hotel series. At the end of it, there's a wedding. The young couple at the centre of the film get married. I turned to Paul to see that he had tears streaming down his face. I can't watch that movie any more."
As his condition deteriorated, nurses began sitting with Paul overnight. On March 14, Debbie's mother visited for her birthday and went to say goodbye. "Paul couldn't speak very well by then but he sang 'Happy Birthday' to Mum in a whisper," Debbie says. That was the last day Debbie remembers her husband being conscious.
Debbie adds: "Paul and I had a fairy tale life. Through the good times and the bad, we had faced every challenge together. We really were a team. I hope he knew that I was with him, loving him until the very end."
A Magical Life by Debbie McGee is out on October 8 (Mirror Books).
