A radiant life

Preparing to celebrate

2012-01-19T18:55:00.000Z

Tomorrow it will be one year since my last hospital visit. How different January has been this year from last. No count down. No waking in the night and remembering what's coming. No wishing my life away to make the nightmare end.

As well as this, tomorrow is five years since my first post-operative hospital visit. This is the 'official' fifth year anniversary, the day I should have received my final discharge, the one I received last year instead.

I swore that I would do something to celebrate if I made it to five years. At the beginning of February 2012, I'm heading to Finnish Lapland in the hope of seeing the aurora borealis. It would be really special to see those lights in the wilderness. I've seen a weak version near my home, but to see them in the far north would be amazing. Perhaps it won't happen, perhaps it will. I'm going to give it a good try - and if not this time, then I'll keep on trying!

One thing I've learned in the last five years is that life's too short...

What bliss

2012-01-05T09:46:00.001Z

Although I've been saying since last year that it was wonderful not to have to think about going for a check-up at the hospital again, it's only in the last day or two that I've really come to terms with the fact that I don't have that hanging over me this year. Every January since 2005, I've had a hospital visit that's filled me with trepidation and sometimes left me in tears when I was treated as a piece of meat rather than a real person (both times, it was a consultant who had that effect - the nursing staff have always been terrific!)

This morning, the reality finally dawned on me - no hospital visit this month. I feel as though a door has opened and I'm able, at last, to walk through it.

Five years free

2011-12-27T09:36:00.003Z

Today is the big one! It's the fifth anniversary of being cancer free.

On 27th December 2005, I was taken into theatre and emerged, 90 minutes later, without the tumour and without a significant part of my anatomy.

What a shame that had they identified that I wasn't so much depressed as physically ill some weeks or months earlier when I kept returning to ask for further investigations, I would only have needed surgery and not follow-up radiotherapy. This is a theme I keep returning to - it's hard not to feel bitter about it, particularly when I hear the same story from cancer patients over and over again. Mostly, I can now think of it as being 'one of those things', but sometimes I need to allow the anger to rise; without doing so, I think it would simply fester and become an unhealthy obsession and a monstrous elephant in the room. The only thing that cheers me up and helps me to get things in perspective when that anger begins to rise - apart from brisk walks or doing some hard, physical work - is the thought of Spike Milligan's epitaph: 'I told you I was ill'. (Thank you, Spike).

Is ignorance really bliss?

2011-12-26T12:58:00.000Z

I regularly rage against the demonisation of cancer, of the lumping together of 'cancer' as one 'disease'. I am reminded of this yet again today when I read that a newspaper columnist has died 'after a long battle with cancer'. There's no information of what sort of cancer this was, at what stage it was discovered - issues that make a huge difference to survival rates. Again and again we see this refusal to talk about cancer. It really does make me angry - it's not going to go away just because you don't discuss it. Ignorance breeds terror and a belief that cancer is always a death sentence. It isn't - look at me! It was a nasty experience and one I'd rather not have had, but the first thing my surgeon said to me after telling me the results of my tests was, 'But this is one we can cure if we catch it soon enough', and it was those words, not 'You have cancer' that I carried with me through my treatment, along with the nurse's comment, 'You're someone who's had cancer. You don't have it now'. For goodness' sake, what is it about cancer that causes such secrecy, such terror? I've even heard of people who haven't told anyone they had cancer because they didn't think it was appropriate to do so. That makes me so angry! Why should anyone be made to feel that their illness has to be hidden? And, even more important, why won't people talk about it? It's only through talking and sharing our experiences that we can destroy the demon!

More memories

2011-12-26T12:47:00.000Z

It's been a strange Christmas this year. For some reason, more than other years, I've been thinking about my cancer experience, possibly because the five year anniversary seems to be such a big deal. Today, it's five years since I was admitted to hospital. Boxing Day 2006 was not my best day ever! Not only was I worried about being in hospital, never having done that before, the weather was appalling; heavy grey skies and poor visibility. My neighbour had kindly offered to take me to the hospital after lunch and, once I'd packed a very small overnight bag, I spent the morning pacing the house until I had the bright idea to go for a drive around the places I love, 'just in case...'. Naturally, I couldn't concentrate on what I was seeing as I was worried about the time, but it did help a little simply to look at the landscape and to feel part of it.

Today, the contrast is huge. The sun's shining, I'm well and I hope I'll be celebrating my 10, 15 and 20, if not 25 year anniversary too.

My reflection today hasn't been so much on the fear of surgery (and I was terrified) but upon the date; it seems to me that if you have to be in hospital at all, a good time is over a big national holiday - it's quiet! I'm very, very glad, though, that I'm not there today.

Memories

2011-12-21T07:30:00.002Z

On 21st December 2006, I drove for 40 minutes through rush hour traffic to the hospital for an appointment with the consultant I'd been referred to several months earlier. The previous week, another consultant had carried out some procedures and, after doing so, he told me - three times - 'This doesn't look like cancer to me', 'I don't think this is cancer', 'I don't think you have cancer'. So, I arrived at the hospital expecting to be told that I'd need, at most, some minor surgery.

Although mine was the first appointment of the day, the consultant was delayed in surgery with an emergency. She arrived eventually, a little flustered, and, five minutes later, I was in her office hearing her say, 'I'm really sorry, but the pathology has revealed you do have cancer and we'll need to carry out surgery as a matter of urgency. I can do it next Wednesday, 27th December.'

Although that sounds quite a bald way of imparting the news, I'll be forever grateful that she didn't hedge and simply told me what the situation was and what had to be done. She was happy to answer my questions, telling me that, no, she'd never lost a patient in surgery and I certainly wasn't going to be the first one!

And then, because we were near to the holiday period break, instead of making an appointment for me to come back to have pre-operative checks, I was sent to have those done immediately. I really didn't have time to think about it.

Today is the fifth anniversary of that day. Some dates stick in your mind forever. But it's five years now. And next week, I'll have been cancer-free for five years!

Long silence

2011-12-08T13:39:00.001Z

Goodness, how time flies! I hadn't realised how long it was since my last post! Of course, that could be seen as good news - I'm no longer focussing so much on my illness and recovery. Life moves on.

However, having said that, today I went to an acupuncture appointment. My route takes me past the hospital I had to visit for check-ups. It was a wonderful feeling to drive past thinking, 'Well, I don't have to go there any more!'. This is the first Christmas since 2006 that hasn't been marred by the knowledge of hospital to come. I can't begin to describe how wonderful that is.

Thanks to the internet

2011-11-14T20:58:00.001Z

I was musing the other day about whether the information available via the Web is more useful than not in terms of health issues. It's something I hadn't really reflected on in my own case, but, on doing so, I realise that had I not been able to read up on my pre-diagnosis symptoms and obtain information about them so easily, I may not (almost certainly would not) have persisted in returning to my healthcare providers, insisting something much more serious was wrong than they were suggesting. Without that information, I probably wouldn't even have started writing this blog because I simply wouldn't have been around to do so.

Maybe the Web has encouraged hypochondria, but for every unnecessary visit to the doctor, there are people like me who would have accepted what they were told by the healthcare professionals, had it not been for being able to access that information and to engage in online support forums. It does make me wonder, though, about those people who don't have access to this source of information - what happens to them?

My journey

2011-11-06T08:01:00.002Z

As we move towards the end of the year, for the first time in half a decade I'm not dreading January. This whole journey began in late 2004, escalated in December 2005 with an emergency dash to hospital followed by many, many visits to my family doctor and to hospital consultants before diagnosis on 21st December 2006 (the date stays with me!) and emergency surgery on 27th December 2006. Since then, every January has been filled with worry and sleepless nights as the next hospital visit approached. That shadow has been lifted from my life at last, thanks to the flexible an sensible attitude of the nurse I saw this year. My 'official' release date is January 2012, but I got my freedom in January 2011 - time off for good behaviour? Maybe.

So, this year, instead of planning for a trip to hospital, sitting around waiting rooms endlessly and submitting to unpleasant physical examination and impertinent questions, I'm living my life! I have a list of things to do before I die and I hope to start ticking those off, beginning with chasing the aurora borealis instead of dreading the January hospital visit.

Carpe diem!

Slight break in transmission

2011-10-24T08:34:00.003+01:00

It's been a busy time and I haven't been able to blog here for a while.

After my last post, I asked around those I know who've had cancer / have cancer about their experience of getting travel insurance. It turns out that, like me, they've run up against a wall when they've declared their condition. Indeed, 'specialists in travel insurance for cancer patients' seem to be particularly inflexible and charge enormous amounts - into four figures - to insure anyone whose had cancer. Compared with that, the request for an additional £117 to insure me for my cancer seems fairly insignificant!

However, having discussed this with someone I know who used to work for an advice centre, it seems that my suspicion that insurance companies take a completely indiscriminate approach to cancer patients is confirmed. When I declared my condition and was told that it would be £117 to insure it, I pointed out that they couldn't insure that specific condition as I no longer have the organs involved! Indeed, the letter that's arrived with my insurance documents refers specifically 'womb cancer'. A bit difficult to get it again! So, insurers appear to see 'cancer' as a single condition. It isn't. It's many, many, many different conditions, all with different prognoses and attached risks. I have to say this feels like discrimination and I object!

Insurance policies

2011-10-14T14:58:00.001+01:00

I take back all I said in my previous post! Attitudes are not changing - if anything, they're hardening.
When I first decided to travel after having finished radiotherapy, my friends told me it'd be difficult to get a travel insurance policy - people who have had cancer are thought to be a bad risk, even though they're probably better observed and checked medically than anyone else on the planet. It gave me great pleasure, then, to be able to say that I'd found insurance that covered me and for the same price as for a 'normal risk' person even though it was difficult to do so.

How things have changed. Today, I needed to renew my policy. Only a few days ago, it wasn't a problem but, suddenly, with no warning at all, I was told today that because I've had cancer I'd have to pay FOUR TIMES the amount required from those who haven't had (or at least haven't been diagnosed with) cancer. I queried this and asked if there'd been a policy change. Apparently, there has been, though it wasn't mentioned when the renewal notice arrived. Five years seems to be the cut-off point. Annoyingly, I'm just over 2 months off that.

I was told that if I agreed that I would waive the right to any cancer-related claim, I could purchase the policy for the same amount as anyone else. So, I've decided to take that risk. My travel plans can be changed for no extra cost so I could come home if I needed to do so. I'm unlikely to make a claim for anything cancer-related - why would I, when the cancer has been totally removed and I've been given a complete discharge by the hospital? I can understand that if I were in the middle of treatment, the risk to the insurance company might be higher but, at present, I'm no greater risk than anyone else. However, if you don't have cancer but have to make a claim on your travel insurance because you're diagnosed with it while away (and, let's face it, you're likely to have a good idea there's something wrong before you travel if you reach a state where you have to make a claim) you're covered - unless, of course, the insurance company tries to weasel out of paying by claiming 'pre-existing condition'. So why are those who recover from cancer discriminated against like this?

I even tried insurance companies that claim to 'specialise' in insuring those who've had cancer - and yet they wouldn't insure me, despite the fact that I have recovered and have been fully discharged. Not only that, but when I was first diagnosed, I was told by the oncologist, 'You're very lucky - this is one cancer that we can cure.'

Blatant discrimination, in my view. If I hit the same problem when I'm past that five year mark, I may well feel a campaign coming on. How very, very dare they!

Things are looking up!

2011-10-05T22:08:00.000+01:00

Attitudes to cancer are changing slightly, it seems.

When I was first diagnosed and in recovery, I wanted to travel. I had so much trouble getting travel insurance, and it's been the same ever since; as soon as I declare that I've had cancer, the response is, 'We can't insure you, then'. Reading around the subject and talking to people, it seems that for those of us who have had/currently have or are recovering from cancer are seen as a bad risk for insurers. They don't seem to realise that we're the ones whose health is monitored constantly for five years at least and, so, we're probably fitter than a lot of the population!

Today, it was insurance renewal time again; my last premium was so large that I decided to look for another provider. I was worried; the reason I was with my insurer was th at it was the only company that would insure me.

I filled in an online form. I pointed out that their assumptions about me - 'you haven't ever had of had treatment for cancer' - was incorrect. 'Phone us immediately' was the response. I did, explained my circumstances and, to my amazement, this time I was told I could have insurance and that it would be at the same rate as anyone who hadn't had cancer.

So, either attitudes are changing or insurance companies have worked out that increasing numbers of people are being diagnosed and going home 'cured'. It would be nice if it really were an attitudinal change...

Breast cancer awareness month

2011-10-01T08:57:00.000+01:00

October 2011 is breast cancer awareness month.

Raising awareness in this way is a good thing, it seems to me. I know many people who've been diagnosed with breast cancer, usually very early because of campaigns such as this one. And, of course, early detection improves your chances. So, let's all pay heed and contribute to the campaign.

BUT - and this is the thing that always strikes me about awareness campaigns - it does seem that only the 'big' cancers - breast, prostate, bowel, cervical - achieve this level of exposure. I didn't have any of those cancers; does this mean that 'my' cancer is somehow seen as less important, less worthy of awareness raising? It's a dilemma, isn't it? How to raise awareness for specific cancers and yet not exclude other cancers or to make them seem less 'important'?

Another sad day

2011-09-14T09:46:00.000+01:00

After all I've had to say about cancer charities recently, it's ironic that yesterday I heard that the daughter of a friend of my parents had died of a brain tumour the previous day. As well as being terribly sad that one of my contemporaries didn't survive her encounter with cancer, it reminds me how important it is that research should be properly funded. The problem, though, is compassion fatigue; how can charities overcome this? I can't see an easy answer, but one thing that did strike me about the latest sad news was that the illness was never named and never mentioned. The more I encounter cancer and its consequences, the more certain I become that we need to talk about it and not pretend it isn't happening. Too often, when people die, the cause of death is cancer-related, but friends and even family are surprised to learn this. It seems that, along with death, cancer is still the great taboo in Western cultures at least; but if we don't talk about it, how are we ever going to face it down and understand why it's so important to fund cancer research?

Advertising and compassion overload...

2011-09-08T18:11:00.002+01:00

I have come to the conclusion that it isn't just me - there is a lot of advertising of various sorts from cancer charities trying to get donations. I wonder if the general population -those who haven't had cancer - have reached saturation point yet? I know I have! I wonder why all the cancer charities I can think of have decided to make a push for donations in August/September? Maybe I'm not a very nice person, but the more they ask, the less likely I am to give. And if another street collector says to me, "But it's for children", I may say something in reply that shocks them!

Cancer charities - you need to be aware that people don't like being coerced into donating. We all have our own 'favourite' charities and our ability to contribute is finite.

Relief - of a sort

2011-08-25T19:18:00.001+01:00

Since diagnosis, it's been at this time of year that I've started to fret about my next hospital visit. I woke today wondering what was wrong. And then I realised; no incipient hospital visit, thus no need to fret. For the first time in six years, December won't be blighted with the thought of a late December/early January hospital appointment. I wonder if I'll feel so sanguine in January. Maybe I'll find that I'd be happier to have the 'reassurance' of an examination. Or maybe not...

Summer silence

2011-08-20T08:56:00.000+01:00

Sometimes, there's not much to say, but I note with surprise how long it is since my last post! Life simply gets in the way from time to time and, despite many cancer-related news stories recently, I haven't felt moved to comment on any of them. I get increasingly tired of reading headlines that tell me, 'Decrease your risk of cancer by doing x' - too late for me, anyway! Then there are the headlines that scream, 'If you do y, you'll increase your risk of cancer by n%'. We all know the obvious risky behaviour, but news reports now focus more and more on practically any aspect of your life; I expect to read soon that getting out of bed in the morning causes cancer, while staying in bed all day will also cause cancer. All these reports focus on how dreadful cancer is, not on the positives - and, as I've said in the past, there are some positives, in spite of everything. Catching the condition early is, of course, important, but if you do, the survival rates have improved dramatically and you have the opportunity to reappraise your life. Cancer certainly makes you review what's important to you, as does surviving any serious illness. I do, though, think I've reached saturation point in relation to the way the press approaches cancer.

What does still touch me, however, is hearing from friends about people I know who have cancer. That reminds me how very lucky I've been; not everyone escapes so lightly and I'm grateful every day that I retained the strength (physically and mentally) to keep on asking for second opinions until my condition was recognised. Sometimes, though, even quick diagnosis and treatment (which isn't what happened to me!) is too slow, and whenever I hear of one of those cases, I remember how fortunate I am and feel grateful to have been diagnosed and successfully treated - and most of all for all the friends I have who supported me and encouraged me to get well again!

Avoidance or self preservation?

2011-08-04T17:44:00.001+01:00

I subscribe to various cancer charity links. Recently, however, I've found myself feeling quite resentful of the amount of mail this generates. Today, I received a new newsletter about cancer research; I had neither requested it nor required it. It was sent to me because I subscribe to a certain cancer charity's update list. I looked at the headlines; every one of them assumed that I wanted to think about cancer, to know what I should/shouldn't be doing to avoid cancer, to be aware of all the tests I could put myself through to find out if a) I'm at risk of cancer or b) I already have cancer. I found myself thinking, 'I don't want to know'. I found the 'unsubscribe' link and unsubscribed. There comes a time when enough is enough - there is such a thing as too much information and I've finally arrived at that point.

I could certainly read all the warnings, about the research, the survivor stories and so on. Would that help me? I doubt it. I suspect it would just make me paranoid and unable to live for now, instead always worrying that I might get cancer again. And you know what they say is likely a cancer trigger? Stress and worry...
If surviving cancer teaches you one thing, I think, it's that life's too short to spend it worrying about what might happen. Carpe diem is now my motto. We have one chance at life, so let's live in the moment; tomorrow may never come.

Whatever next?

2011-07-21T07:53:00.001+01:00

At the moment, there seems to be a daily 'cancer story' in the press. Today's suggests that height and propensity to cancer are related. Among the cancers named in this news story from the BBC is the one I had - but I'm only 1.64m tall, only just on the borderline for the apparent 16% increased risk! Well, I must have been very unlucky, then, mustn't I?

Personally, I'm tired of the 'scare stories'. Give me real, solid, replicable and reliable evidence and I might start to believe them. At present, I'm waiting for the story entitled, 'Being alive increases cancer risk'.

One in four

2011-07-15T16:34:00.000+01:00

So, one in four Britons can expect to get a diagnosis of cancer. Well, that's ok, then - I've had mine!

If only it were that simple; the statistics are worrying - 6 in 10 of those diagnosed will die of cancer, many of those treated may be cured of cancer but suffer from other serious health problems. And - joy unlimited - those who have been diagnosed once are more likely than the rest of the population to be diagnosed again. That really makes me feel good. At least I know there are now three cancers I can't possibly develop since I no longer have the relevant parts of my anatomy to do so!

This is the first time I've heard of a major report that admits that the side-effects of the treatment can be devastating. Interesting, since it's easy enough to find those statistics if you know where to look.

Does this sort of journalism help? I have to say I didn't find it at all helpful: Four in 10 will get cancer, warns charity Macmillan. Cancer isn't something you catch, you know - despite the fact that referring to people 'getting cancer' suggests it is...
Anyway, consciousness-raising is vital, but there's a very fine line between that and scare-mongering.

Silly me!

2011-07-11T20:06:00.000+01:00

I really must remember that even 'non-drowsy' hayfever medication makes me fall asleep almost instantly. Every time I take a specific brand, I start to worry I must be ill as I'm so tired. And then I remember... Despite not being particularly worried about a recurrence, I do seem to have become much more paranoid about my health since my discharge!

It's the little things

2011-06-27T15:45:00.000+01:00

From time to time, I notice that I'm doing something without thinking about it when before diagnosis or for some time afterwards, it would be an effort. It's these little things that make me realise how far I've come; such small changes that I don't even notice them unless i reflect - emptying the dishwasher as soon as the programme finishes instead of taking the clean items one by one and piling them up used until the dishwasher is empty again and ready for a new load; closing the roof-lights in the conservatory if it looks like rain instead of watching the deluge flood in; throwing out dead flowers before the water begins to reek... Small actions that are as nothing to those who are healthy but big steps when you're recovering.

Never far away

2011-06-21T07:50:00.001+01:00

That concern about recurrence is never far away it seems...

For the last few days, I've been really, really, really tired for no reason that I could identify. So, my mind went into overdrive.. is this it? Has the cancer come back somewhere else? And then I realised. I've changed my hayfever medication. 'May cause drowsiness'. It's so easy to think it's happening again and start to worry about decisions you may never have to make.

I am still here

2011-06-08T21:45:00.002+01:00

People often comment on the 'bravery' of cancer patients. Sometimes, people told me I was brave. But I wasn't. I've said it before - if there's nothing to be done about something, you just get on with it and live for that moment.

For the whole time I was sick, while I was recuperating in my hospital bed and all the way through radiation treatment I felt relatively upbeat. The one real low point was as I was being wheeled into theatre and I didn't know if I'd wake up again. That scared me.

Sometimes, when I think back over that time, I realise how lucky I was to survive and I wonder why I wasn't afraid. But now the possibilities terrify me. Through illness, I've learned not to fear death, but the thought of never seeing the sun again, never spending time with the people I care about again and just not being force themselves to the front of my mind with more regularity than I care to consider.
The real issue, I think, is that as well as not wanting to talk about cancer, not wanting to acknowledge it or you as a cancer patient - other than to whisper, "Oh, she's marvellous. so brave..." - nobody really wants to hear about those fears. They don't go away with the end of treatment or with final discharge; in some ways, they get worse. They ambush you when you least expect it and suck the joy from you. The only way I've found to deal with these fears is to acknowledge them, to look into their face and say, "Hey, I'm still here"; and then, they retreat into the shadows in my peripheral vision - until the next time.

So, let cancer survivors share their fears. Don't whisper, "So brave...". Rather, just let them talk about it and don't change the subject.

Time heals...

2011-06-07T15:17:00.001+01:00

As I walked the dogs this morning, I was musing on the last few years and considering the things I can do now that for some time I was unable to do; walking the dogs is a very good example. Every day now, I feel fortunate that I have recovered so well; there was a time when I didn't think I'd even make it to my next birthday. It's amazing what changes happen over time. So, if you're in recovery and thinking you'll never be fully well again, look at me! Who would have thought that I'd be so healthy now? It gives me great pleasure when asked what medications I'm taking to be able to reply, "None". It was a very different story not so long ago.

Another week...

2011-05-27T19:25:00.000+01:00

At the moment, I have two main concerns:

hayfever - bah!
falling asleep in the afternoon and evening unexpectedly!

Well, the first one is something I get every year. I just have to grin and get on with it. This year, though, as a result of the colds I've had since my discharge, I seem to have ended up with less itchy eyes and more sneezing, spluttering and runny nose and laryngitis than usual. I look forward to the end of the season.

The second one worried me for a while. Before I was diagnosed, I was sleeping a lot during the day. I would get up at 8 am and by 11am, I'd be having 'a little rest' and not waking again till 5pm. Anyway, before I began to get really panicky about my 1pm sleepiness, I realised that my puppy is currently bouncing around until about midnght and getting up between 4.30 and 5.30 am every morning! Maybe it's not surprising that I'm exhausted by lunchtime...

The good news is that I've now been able to drink coffee again with no side-effects. I'd forgotten how much I dislike it! But things are definitely looking up.

Psychosomatic?

2011-05-20T08:03:00.000+01:00

I can't believe it! I had a cup of coffee with no side-effects for the first time in 6 years! I've been avoiding drinking coffee since I had radiotherapy, as it made me really unwell whenever I tested my reaction. Yesterday, for the first time this year, I drank some - no effect at all! I may have gone down with just about every bug (un)known to medical science since I was discharged in January, but it seems my mind/body has finally decided coffee is ok again! It's a shame I've decided I don't much like it!

Filling the space

2011-05-15T06:48:00.000+01:00

My acupuncturist asked me what I was going to do now for myself. She said she wanted to challenge me. She succeeded! And she was right - I've spent the last 6 - 7 years with my life filled with my cancer; cancer of the spirit, if you will, once the physical symptoms were gone. Once that huge shadow lifts, there's a correspondingly huge hole in your life. So far, I've been trundling along as usual, feeling vaguely discontented but not knowing why. That question, "What are you going to do for yourself now?" has led to reflection on my part. The source of the discontent, at least, has been identified - the cancer shaped hole is an enormous space to fill. Now, all I need to do is make some decisions. The question now is, will I be brave enough to do so?

Like any enemy, when they're gone, something has to fill the void. I wonder how long it takes to do that?

What to do?

2011-05-04T21:41:00.000+01:00

Well, it's got to that time when I really want to do something to support cancer charities. But what should I do? There are so many different charities, ranging from cancer research to cancer support and even local hospices. They're all very worthwhile, but I can't support everything.

What I'd like to do is to share my own experiences and to show that cancer doesn't have to be the end of everything; you don't have to stop living just because you've been diagnosed with cancer and, even though you'll always be someone who's a 'cancer patient' (even when you've been discharged) there are a lot of benefits, not least of which is gaining a new perspective on what's important in life.

If I can make things less scary for even one person, I'd feel that I'd succeeded. All I need to do now is to find the right charity.

Oh cancer, up yours!

2011-04-27T07:33:00.005+01:00

Despite the advances, still too many deaths. This one is particularly telling - Poly was the same age as me and it brings home to me how lucky I've been, particularly when her death was reported on my birthday.

It reminds me of the importance of supporting cancer research charities and every death makes me so angry.

RIP Poly - and keep on screaming!

Writing to Nurse

2011-04-11T15:44:00.000+01:00

Some weeks ago, I said that I was going to write to Nurse Janet to thank her for the care, compassion and for the down-to-earth, no-nonsense approach she took during our encounters over the last few years. I'm ashamed to day that it has taken me until today to do so. But at least I have done it now and the card is in the mail.

So, given I was quick enough to complain last year, why has it taken me so long to send something as simple as a 'thank you' note? Perhaps it's because I find it much, much easier to complain than to praise? Maybe we're all better at providing 'constructive' than 'positive' feedback?

I've been reflecting on this for some time as my feelings of guilt about not conveying my thanks have grown. Having given the matter due consideration, I think part of the reason has been that it's taken quite a long time to accept that a very unpleasant and all-consuming part of my life has ended and that I can now move on to the next stage. That word, 'closure' has been lurking in the ether; sending the thank you note suggests closure - or maybe it's a way of tempting fate...

Whatever the reason, I'm grateful it's ended. At some point, I'll come back to what it was like to undergo diagnosis and treatment. Putting some distance between me and the experience is important now in order to gain some objectivity. And when I have, I'll write about what I've learned from my reflections.

The after effects continue

2011-04-09T08:09:00.000+01:00

Clearly, my body has been saving up a whole load of bugs for me for when I was declared hospital-free! Either that or radiotherapy has seriously depressed my immune system. The medics told me that I didn't have enough treatment for it to have that sort of effect, so I'll have to put it all down to a sudden dip in stress levels. Let's hope the antibiotics kick in soon to deal with the current ear infection...

Even more interesting...

2011-03-28T11:43:00.000+01:00

So, my cold has developed into an ear infection. Lovely. My confidence in my GP practice was not encouraged when I went to get a diagnosis this morning, only to be asked, "What do you think is wrong?" Either they've realised I was right when I insisted on repeated visits before my cancer diagnosis or medical practice has changed dramatically in the last few years... How utterly bizarre.

My body is definitely catching up on all those nasty illnesses it had avoided while I was visiting the hospital though. All very strange.

How interesting

2011-03-27T07:19:00.000+01:00

I don't ever remember having so many colds and so much general malaise as I have since my final discharge letter arrived. As I suspected, now I don't have to attend hospital appointments, it seems my body is busily catching up with all those minor illnesses that it hasn't dared to contemplate over the last 5 years or so! Snuffles, sneezes, unexplained aches and pains, abdominal cramps, headaches, earaches, jaw ache; all have made their appearance. How wonderful it is, though, to be able to undergo all these niggles without going into a panic, 'just in case...'

Feeding back

2011-03-17T07:58:00.000Z

Last year, I wrote a letter of complaint to the hospital after a particularly upsetting check-up visit. It was acknowledged and, apparently, did have an effect on overall practice (though I assume other patient feedback led to those changes). This year, my treatment on a similar visit was exemplary. It's taken me a while to get used to the idea that I don't need to go back, but I'm now preparing to write a letter to the hospital to tell them how much I appreciated the way in which I was dealt with this time. It's important, I think, to provide good as well as critical feedback (but essential to provide feedback of some sort). I'm also about to write a personal letter to Nurse Janet to thank her for her support and kindness whenever I saw her over "the check up years" - and, most particularly, to thank her for treating me as a person rather than as a collection of body parts, something that many medical personnel seem to forget about.

Thank you, Nurse Janet - I'll always remember your first words to me, "You're someone who's had cancer. You haven't got it now, so you can stop feeling sorry for yourself!" That's the most helpful thing anyone said to me throughout the entire experience (even though I didn't think so at the time!)

Noticing

2011-03-11T07:38:00.003Z

What a lot of news there's been this week about cancer, cancer research, celebrities with cancer, etc. Am I noticing these items more now that I've had cancer or is the number simply increasing?

Nothing about the side-effects of radiotherapy in all of these, though quite a lot about those related to chemotherapy. I wonder why it's so hard to find information about what to expect from radiotherapy? Even when you have abdominal radiotherapy, for instance, all they tell you at the time is, "You may have an upset tummy..." They don't mention the abdominal cramps or the need to stay close to a WC. They don't mention that "1 in 5" people have serious, long term side effects (though, as I've said in other posts, the number I've read, rather than been told, is 50% or 1 in 2).

For people like me who were told, "Well, you don't really need radiotherapy but you should probably have it because we made a mistake with you", having information about those side-effects is, I think, vital. I was lucky - again. I only had a couple of weeks of real discomfort and very few side-effects. I couldn't eat onions or chocolate(!) for a while and I still have to be careful about drinking coffee.

Often, the side-effects don't manifest for some time - years even - after the radiotherapy. Again, I've been lucky. I don't have the bladder or bowel problems many people experience. Of course, if the choice were between a painful death and such problems, most of us would choose the problems; they can be managed, controlled and lived with. The relevant words here are "lived with", it seems to me.

My point? Why, when offered radiotherapy, are the possible side-effects not stressed? Would fewer people take the option? I suspect not. But at least they'd have the treatment in full knowledge of the possible consequences.

600th post

2011-02-28T23:54:00.002Z

Apparently, this is my 600th post in this blog. I didn't imagine when I began to write it that I'd still be going 600 posts later. In fact, I didn't imagine I'd still be going. When I began writing this, not only was I convinced I'd be lucky to make it to the end of 2007, I didn't want to get to the end of 2007. I felt better than I did before surgery, but I still felt ill, and the thought of going through radiotherapy alone, driving to the hospital all by myself every day and coming home to an empty house didn't encourage me to want to recover.

I'm still here though! And now, I look back at the me I was then and realise that it was the illness and its aftermath talking to me. As I've recovered, I've understood more each day how hard it is to do this alone, but, in fact, I haven't been alone: I have fantastic friends who've been with me every step of the way, even though I haven't always realised it or appreciated them enough. Yes, it would have been nice to have had someone to sit in the waiting room with me for the 6 weeks of radiotherapy. Yes, it would have been nice to have had someone drive me to the hospital and home again. And yes, it would have been nice to have had someone make me a cup of tea each day when I got home after treatment. However, despite having felt sorrier for myself than I may have indicated in this blog, I've been a great deal luckier than many. I could drive myself to and from the hospital; I could make my own cup of tea when I got home; I suppose I could have talked to myself in the waiting room, too, but maybe that would have looked a bit odd! Though, on reflection, I now wonder how I managed not to give up - and there were times when that was a very attractive option - I did make it through and I didn't give up! It's a bit like walking in snow until it seems easier simply to lie down and go to sleep, I suppose; you have to fight the urge to do so. Without my friends, I probably would have lain down and slept.

Today, the importance of a good support network, even if it's geographically far away, reasserted itself. I heard from my oldest friend who'd just caught up with my blog. Her unadulterated joy at my discharge moved me more than I could have imagined.

So, today's thought? Even if you think you can't help someone with cancer, just being there to support them, to send a message from time to time and to let them know you care is the greatest help you can offer. Without that, and my dogs' need to be cared for, I wouldn't be here to write my 600th blog post.

Thank you, my friends - and thank you my four-legged, wet-nosed boys!

And now the celebrations begin

2011-02-18T17:34:00.002Z

Four weeks ago, I was discharged from the Cancer Care Unit. "Never", said Nurse, showing me out, "darken my door again! Or at least not for this reason." Then the confirmation letter came. I should have been ecstatic. I wasn't. The last four weeks have been unbelievably stressful, thanks to my local GP surgery! The day before my visit to the Cancer Care Unit, I went to consult my GP surgery about a recurrent blister in my mouth. The response? "You must see you dentist immediately." Why? "We cannot rule out the possibility of oral cancer." So, I went directly to see my dentist. She was fabulous - managed to fit me into her busy schedule within a couple of hours, looked and reassured me; "It's a mucocele. Benign. Nothing to worry about." Nevertheless, she referred me to the consultant in oral surgery at the local hospital to see if anything could/should be done.

Ten days ago, the appointment letter arrived. I don't know how my dentist did it, as there's a huge waiting list, but she managed to get me seen just four weeks and one day after I first saw her. Today was the day. Even though my dentist had reassured me and I knew it was nothing to be worried about, the GP's reaction had spooked me and I have been worried; not that it might be cancer. Been there, done that, got the t-shirt! Rather, my concern was that I might have to make a decision about what to do.

The outcome of the consultation? Mucocele. Benign. Nothing to be done since it isn't constant. The consultant was very supportive and made me feel as though I wasn't wasting his time, which is more than can be said for many medical/dental consultants! I am now completely reassured that I really am a cancer-free zone (for now, at least). So, finally, I'm going to stop worrying and move forward...

And the lesson from all this? I'll be going to my dentist from now on with anything worrisome and oral. Sadly, my latest GP experience didn't increase my confidence!

NOW I believe it!

2011-02-08T12:46:00.000Z

The letter from the hospital arrived this morning, discharging me completely. I finally believe that I don't have to go back next year! Now, I'm going to think of a way to celebrate that will raise some funds for cancer research charities. It has been horrible, but I've been very, very lucky.

I've learned to recognise the importance of living for the moment and not worrying too much about the future - it may never come! I've learned not to be afraid of cancer and that it's ok to talk about it; in fact, we must talk about it and embrace an open approach to discussing our experiences. Finally, I've learned the importance of good friends and having a positive attitude.

In fact, I may have turned into Pollyanna!

Two weeks on

2011-02-05T17:41:00.001Z

Until I receive the letter from the Cancer Care Unit that confirms my discharge, I don't think I'll believe it's really, finally happened. Why do letters from hospitals take such a long time? Two weeks after my final visit (it had better be my final visit!), I still haven't had that confirmation. I wonder if that's why I don't feel able to celebrate yet?

One week on

2011-01-28T07:41:00.000Z

It's a week now, since I was discharged from the Cancer Care Unit. I've had time to reflect, and yet my mind is still spinning around the whole experience. Somehow, I thought that once I got that final discharge, I'd be incredibly excited, overjoyed and generally thrilled. For about an hour, I was, and then it all felt like a huge anticlimax.

Although friends were pleased with the news, the reaction wasn't as ecstatic as I'd imagined it might be, probably because I'd been thinking about how my parents would have responded, and parents are parents and friends are friends. When I was really ill, I received a huge amount of support, but very few people even seemed to register what a big event it was for me to be given that discharge. Some did, of course, but there was a distinct lack of excitement on the whole! I'm not sure why I expected a more upbeat reaction - after all, I've just been given official confirmation of what everyone knew anyway; I'm absolutely fine and cancer-free. I think I've been longing for freedom from the Cancer Care Unit for so long now that I'd built it up in my mind to be a huge event and, of course, it wasn't.

Now, I'm thinking about how to raise some money for cancer research and what I can do to put something back in return for the care and support I've had. And I want to do something to thank everyone who's been on this journey with me - although I'm feeling a bit flat at the moment, I want you to know how much your support has meant to me; I couldn't have done it without you, and I'll never be able to express my gratitude sufficiently. Without a great support network around the world, it would all have been so much worse than it was.

Reflecting

2011-01-23T11:06:00.000Z

So, it's over. I feel strangely disconnected as pre- and post-operation and pre- and post-radiation hospital visits have been part of my life for more than 5 years now. I'm pondering my reaction to being "free" and will write some reflections in the next few days, while it's all fresh in my mind. I won't miss the hospital visits, and I certainly won't miss the 'rabbit caught in the headlights' terror-filled anticipation of each visit; somehow, though, my life at present seems somewhat empty, and that's something I hadn't expected!

At last

2011-01-21T20:48:00.003Z

Today I had some good news. I have received a complete discharge from the radiological oncology unit at the local centre of excellence. I never have to go back!

It has been a long, hard road, but I've arrived at my destination and I'm about to celebrate! Raise a glass of something to the nurse who deserves a medal! Without her willingness to be flexible and recognise that repeated recalls do more harm than good in some cases, I'd have to go back for the final time next year instead of this.

I look forward to living a normal life again at last.

Will I stop writing the blog? Well, I'll always be a cancer survivor, though hopefully I'll never have to go through this again. The blog will be updated, but perhaps not quite so frequently.

Janet, if you're reading this, THANK YOU!

Almost there

2011-01-21T08:31:00.000Z

In 6 hours' time, it'll be over. Unless there's a delay. Friday afternoon is such a bad time for a clinic as you have all week and then all morning to worry about it! I'm feeling both incredibly stressed and strangely calm. It's strange really, how the calmness descends when there's nothing you can do about it. Fight or flight mechanism in action?

Thought for this morning? My mind goes back to the surgeon giving me the news that it might be a good idea to have radiotherapy. "You'll have to come back for five years, " she said. "If we'd caught it sooner, I could have discharged you today."

Has anyone ever apologised? I think that's what makes me so angry. Not one word of regret from anyone, even though the "mistake" has been admitted.

Communication skills

2011-01-20T17:14:00.000Z

If I were a GP - or a medical professional of any sort, come to that - I might consider the effect my words might have on my patients. Today, I visited my local family doctors' practice to ask for advice about recurrent mouth blisters. While the GP I saw couldn't have been nicer - particularly since I confused the appointment time and arrived an hour late! - she couldn't see anything in my mouth but suggested that I should ask my dentist to review x-rays for the last few years as, "we can't rule out oral cancer"! This was not tremendously helpful, especially given that she knew I'm going for my annual overhaul tomorrow.

Naturally, I rushed to the dentist - whose surgery I pass on the way home. No appointment available for 10 days... I explained the reason for my visit and the receptionist said she'd see what she could do. By the time I'd walked up the hill home, there was a message telling me I could see the dentist 2 hours later if I liked. So, 2 hours later, I rushed down the hill. The dentist looked and pronounced. A mucous cyst. Benign. Referral to consultant to decide whether to let it take its own route or whether to remove it under local anaesthetic. Not cancerous. Not rare. Absolutely nothing to worry about.

So, doctors, beware - if you must say to your patients, "we can't rule out x cancer", also make sure you give them an upbeat message as well, particularly if they're cancer survivors!

Preparing

2011-01-20T08:31:00.000Z

I find that an acupuncture session before my hospital appointment usually calms me down sufficiently to get me through the day. I was always a sceptic about acupuncture, but it really does work for me.

I have an hour's appointment booked for tomorrow, immediately before the ordeal of the hospital visit. Fortunately, my acupuncturist is located only five minutes from the hospital.

I so want tomorrow to be over.

Is it really helpful?

2011-01-17T08:54:00.000Z

Today, David Cameron, Prime Minister, has been on the radio defending health service reforms. All very well, you may think, but is it really helpful, Mr.Cameron, to go on and on and on about how your life expectancy post-cancer is currently poorer in the UK than in the rest of Europe? While that is a very good reason to aim to improve the health service, all your comments are doing for those of us who have survived thus far is to worry us about our prognosis.

Thank you so much.

Less than a week

2011-01-15T11:57:00.000Z

In 7 days' time, it'll all be over for another year. For now, however, I'm very stressed. This happens every time I go for a check-up; by the day before the visit, nobody will be able to speak to me without having their head bitten off. Clearly, this is my problem, but it has to be said (again) that the issue is not with whether or not a recurrence is discovered; rather, it's related to the fact that I've lost trust in my medical team. I see other people going for annual check-ups and, even if their outcome may be to undergo more tests, they don't seem to feel the horror, distress and sheer anger that I do. I've asked them why, and the difference really does seem to be in their experience of the health service. While my surgeon was amazing and the follow-up nurse is fantastic, I'd lost my faith in the system before I encountered them, and I simply can't get it back. Let's hope next year is the very last time...

Focussing one's mind

2011-01-12T14:11:00.000Z

It's strange, isn't it, when there's something nasty in the offing (in this case my annual post-cancer check-up) that everywhere you look, you see information about it? For the last week or so, every time I turn on the radio or TV there's an article about some form of cancer or an advertisement from a cancer charity or health insurance focussing on cancer. Even my mailbox isn't free of spam from cancer charities trying to get me to contribute, visit their shops and so on. Maybe there's simply an upsurge in interest in health issues around the turn of the year, resulting in much greater visibility, or could it just be that feeling stressed about something makes you notice any mention of it?

Just over a week to go and I'm beginning to lose sleep about the appointment. It's not that I'm worried about a recurrent cancer - I'm sure I'm fine. It's just that my experience of the health service has not inspired confidence, and the publications from cancer research charities that now suggest annual check-ups of this sort simply serve to stress the patient and waste everyone's time rather add fuel to my fire of resentment!

I want to get on with my life, not be dragged back to its lowest point once a year.

Soon, soon...

2011-01-09T14:34:00.000Z

As the day of the hospital visit approaches, I've been reflecting on my resentment at having to attend this year. Of course, as I've already identified, I'm angry that I am in a position where attending was necessary at all, having been told by both my surgeon and my GP that, had they diagnosed me earlier, I wouldn't have needed treatment or follow-up beyond surgery. So, five years of my life have been held in thrall because "we made a mistake". What could I have done in those five years if I hadn't been so worried about my health, I wonder?

The other reason for feeling less than happy about the situation is, I think, bound up with my visit last year. Having seen the nurse 6 months earlier, I was under the impression that last year would be my last visit. Had I seen the nurse, it probably would have been. However, my story was altered by an encounter with an intransigent consultant, as I've complained several times in this blog. So, back to five years instead of three, putting my life back on 'hold' for another two years.

Particularly annoying, given the press reports of recent suggestions by cancer charities and foundations that these regular visits really don't make any difference and that medical personnel time could be freed up for other things, were the system rather more flexible.

Something to discuss at my appointment next week, perhaps, particularly if I'm again treated like a not-very-bright and very disobedient child!

Three more weeks

2010-12-31T13:54:00.000Z

The countdown is underway as we arrive at the end of another year. Three weeks until my next hospital appointment. I am feeling well but very tense. Last year was a horrific experience and I dread repeating it. What if I have to see the same consultant that I complained about? It doesn't bear thinking about.

Anniversaries

2010-12-27T15:48:00.000Z

Well, four years ago today, I had just come round from the anaesthetic administered for my surgery. And the nurse was encouraging me to have tea and toast and to greet my visitors! Good grief. And then there were the compression stockings - have you ever tried to put those on while your entire abdomen has been slit open and stitched up? Nurses only help in the direst emergency...

Four years on

2010-12-26T18:10:00.000Z

Thank goodness time moves on. Four years ago, I had just been admitted to hospital for major surgery. I had a whole night to wait, and I was terrified. I'd never been in hospital and had heard terrible things about the National Health Service (and experienced some of those first hand with members of my own family). It must be said that the surroundings were unpleasant, the hygiene was less than perfect and the food was so disgusting I couldn't eat it, but the treatment was fantastic. I was so lucky that my surgeon was incredibly skilled, compassionate and thoughtful. She came to visit me the day after the operation, even though she was on holiday. I can't praise her more highly. If only the rest of the experience had been so good.

Another Christmas

2010-12-25T09:46:00.000Z

So, here we are at Christmas again. Another Christmas I didn't think I'd see. It's hard to believe that four years ago, I was waiting to be admitted to hospital on 26th December for an emergency radical hysterectomy. That wasn't a good Christmas because I didn't know if I'd even see the beginning of the next week, let alone the next year or next decade. Four years on, I'm still here.

This year is bittersweet; I've survived, but over the last 12 months, many of my acquaintance haven't. I miss my summer mother and my thoughts are with her family as they spend their first Christmas without her.

Today, I'll be cooking for friends who have recently experienced the touch of cancer in their family. So, while I celebrate my own survival - so far - this is a time for memories as well, and a renewed belief in the importance of supporting research into ways to contain cancer and to stop it in its tracks.

Survival rates

2010-12-22T08:56:00.003Z

Another news story today about lower survival rates for cancer patients at 5 years in the UK - http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-12054984.

I heard this story on the radio this morning and was enraged by the comment that "patients go to their GPS too late". What about those of us who went to their GPs for more than a year and only got diagnosed by insisting on a second opinion? I was very lucky, but over and over again, I hear of people who have had the same experience and who haven't been so lucky. What about addressing some of those issues instead of trying to push responsibility onto the patient again? There comes a point at which you've been told so often that it's nothing serious, it's your age, your mental health is the issue and so on, that if you're not really persistent, you're going to give up and get a really late diagnosis if you get one at all.
Why did this story, which isn't unusual, annoy me so much? Reflecting on it, it seems to me that it may be because yesterday was the fourth anniversary of my diagnosis, the day when my consultant said, "You've probably been growing it for at least 2 years" - and for 18 months of those 2 years, I'd been seeing various GPs, telling them something wasn't right!

December

2010-12-17T09:16:00.000Z

I can't believe that it's almost four years since my diagnosis. At this time each year now, my mind goes back over the run-up to the verdict and all those feelings of anger resurface when I think of the medical professionals saying, "You've probably had it for at least two years" and "We made a mistake with you".

So, I try not to think about it. I should have made a complaint as it's too late now, but, at the time, you have enough to cope with without fighting the medical system, too. However, every time I read or hear of a late diagnosis, I realise that I was one of the lucky ones. I've survived. Why are so many "mistakes" made, though?

My life changed because of that "mistake"; though I appreciate each day now far more than I did before, if I'd been diagnosed sooner, I wouldn't now be waiting for my annual check-up because I wouldn't have needed follow-up radiation treatment.

Some good news at last

2010-12-08T17:16:00.000Z

I had some happy news today. Someone I know was diagnosed with breast cancer earlier this year. Today I heard that the diagnosis was made early enough for her to avoid chemo- and/or radiotherapy. She "only" has to take Tamoxifen for the next five years. I'm delighted for her - radiotherapy isn't fun and, though I didn't need it, chemotherapy is, I understand, very unpleasant.

So, here's to early diagnosis (and trying not to feel resentful that my own case could have been equally successful if only the medics has listened to me sooner than they did!)

To the recipient of today's good news - keep well and make the most of every minute! We have seen what could be and know how important it is to celebrate our time here.

That time of year again

2010-12-03T09:43:00.000Z

Only 7 weeks until my annual hospital visit. I'm not looking forward to it. I never do, but this time will be worse. After my last visit, I sent a 5 page letter of complaint to the hospital's complaints department - and received a four page apology in return. Somehow, though, I don't think the apology came from the relevant - and guilty - staff members! Sadly, I have to see them, no the complaints department staff, when I visit. I find it very sad that I should feel intimidated by the very people who are supposed to support me!

Winter woes

2010-11-28T10:49:00.000Z

Another funeral linked to cancer tomorrow. Was it always like this or do I just notice more now that I'm a survivor (so far)? Another reason to contribute to organisations such as Cancer Research UK and Macmillan. As they say, "Together, we can beat cancer".

Horrifying!

2010-11-13T07:07:00.001Z

Why am I not surprised?
http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-11749078
23%? That really is appalling, and what the report doesn't mention is how hard you have to fight to get an earlier diagnosis than that, as I am only too aware.

A postcode lottery?

2010-11-11T15:37:00.002Z

All too often, the press highlights cases where cancers are not diagnosed at all, incorrectly diagnosed or diagnosed too late to be treatable. We hear of those who are labelled "hysterical" or "attention seeking" when they make numerous trips to their GP with symptoms whose causes aren't immediately obvious or that could be attributed to a number of different causes. We also read about "postcode lotteries", where someone living in one area gets better (or different) treatment from someone living in another area.
I was pondering on my own experience (not good in some ways but excellent in others) and wondering how much evidence there is to support the claims that are made, when I heard of two people I know, living in different areas who have been treated completely differently since they discovered they had a recurrence.

One has received wonderful treatment, being followed up, reassured and given a huge amount of support. The other has been misdiagnosed and, despite having daily, medically trained carers visiting, the reason for their decline over the last few weeks has been attributed to cancer. It was only when they were admitted to hospital as an emergency this week that anyone noticed they had pneumonia and a twisted gut. Now, we all know that mistakes can happen, but there do seem to be an awful lot of them around, and it's not reassuring to those of us who had to fight for a diagnosis in the first place!

Why not be positive?

2010-11-01T19:44:00.001Z

So, another well-known person is diagnosed with cancer and the press goes mad, referring to the "fight with cancer" and barely suppressing gasps of horror.

Until I had my own diagnosis, I believed all the hype and I was terrified that I would, one day, develop cancer. And then I did. And it wasn't nearly as awful as its publicity would have you believe. Yes, it is life-threatening and yes, the treatment is nasty. And yes, it could come back, it could kill me eventually, but... it might not.

There are some positive aspects; it makes you rethink your life and your priorities. It makes you recognise how lucky you are and to feel much less negative about those things that irritate, upset, worry, etc. For me, I suddenly became Pollyanna!

I'd love to see more focus on those positive aspects of cancer - and, as I keep saying, I'd like to see more people talking about their own experience of cancer without their audience turning away, metaphorically sticking their fingers in their ears and going, "La, la, la, I can't hear you" because they don't want to acknowledge that one day it could be them.
In order to accept that it could be you one day, you have to acknowledge that cancer exists, but also that it might not be the end of your world. If only those positive aspects were what we focussed on...

Reading around

2010-10-27T16:09:00.000+01:00

Is it me, or is cancer mentioned much more frequently in the press? Every time I open a newspaper, listen to the radio news or watch the TV news, there seems to be something about research, breakthroughs in treatment, scandalous treatment waiting times, a celebrity who's been diagnosed and so on. So, are people really discussing cancer more or is it a case of me being ultra-sensitive to all mention of the word and noticing it more frequently?

Whatever the answer, I was appalled to see this today:

Brian Burnie charity targeted in cheque fraud

Walking and walking and walking

2010-10-19T08:04:00.000+01:00

I have never walked so much in my life! Every day, rain or shine. I know I've advocated exercise to keep feeling well, but it's spiralling here! I wonder at what point "sufficient exercise" becomes "too much exercise"! When does the well-being promoted by walking merge with worry about spending so much time yomping through the countryside impinging on work?

Having said that, if I couldn't take those daily walks, then I'd know there was something to worry about! In a way, taking this sort of exercise confirms my recovery - and gives me time to reflect upon my good fortune at still being here. All I need to do is to get it into perspective - I'm beginning to understand how people can get addicted to exercise...

Flying time

2010-10-12T18:22:00.000+01:00

Only a couple of years ago, I spent my time worrying about my next check-up from 6 weeks after the previous one. Then, they happened every three months. Now, I'm three months away from my Year 4 check-up - it's already 9 months since the Year 3 visit, which I can't believe - and what I'm worrying about now is whether I'll see the nurse or the consultant (if the nurse is away). Most of my visits have been with the nurse, and I feel that we've got to know each other to the extent that I trust her judgement; if she says - as she did 18 months ago - that she thinks I could be discharged as long as I go back if I have any concerns, I would trust that judgement more than that of the consultant whom I've only seen once but who is adamant that I must return because I obviously can't be trusted to make any decisions for myself (that was the implication, anyway).

In the light of the recent Macmillan report that suggests insisting cancer patients return to hospital for regular check-ups is old fashioned and unhelpful, I think my view of the nurse having the 'right' approach isn't that far off. So, let's see what happens in three months' time; I do, however, feel much more empowered than I did on my last visit, and am not going to be intimidated this time round.

Told you so!

2010-09-28T12:26:00.002+01:00

It's been a while since I had anything to blog about, but this item caught my eye this morning, not least since it's saying a lot of the things that I've hinted at over the last almost four years of blogging:

'The NHS is letting down our cancer survivors'

How interesting that 18 months ago, the nurse I see offered me exactly the approach suggested here but, at the next visit, the consultant snatched away that opportunity, implying that I was too stupid to be able to manage my post-cancer condition myself!
I rest my case.

That nagging little voice

2010-09-05T13:21:00.000+01:00

I've said it before but, at the risk of repeating myself, I often find it hard to connect "cancer" with my own life. When I reflect on what's happened over the last few years, I find it very strange to think that I am the person who had cancer. I don't feel as though I've had cancer - although you might well ask, "How should a person who's had cancer feel, then?" - and yet I know that I have. However, whenever I start to brood on that, I remember what Nurse said to me, namely, "You're someone who's had cancer. You haven't got it now!"

Recently, I've heard of a few people who've had recurrences, though mainly fairly quickly after the original diagnosis and treatment. That does tend to trigger concern, though, not only for those people, but also for myself; at three in the morning, that subconscious voice that worries about these things will wake me up to say, "Are you sure that ache / pain / itch / twitch isn't the cancer come back for you?" I suppose that voice will stay with me for the rest of my life - I know people who had cancer decades ago who tell me that you never lose the worry once it's happened - but I do wonder if one day it might be right and, if it is, what I'll do about it...

Walking again!

2010-08-24T16:18:00.000+01:00

Well, it's been a worrisome week - I keep hearing about people I know who've had recurrences of their cancers. That's always alarming, but I am doing my best not to worry too much about myself, focussing instead on them. Indeed, I'm feeling much more lively since I began to walk the dogs 3-4 times a day to ensure they're getting sufficient exercise to keep them supple as they age. This has not only done them good, but it's definitely improved my own outlook; I'm sleeping better and feeling far more energetic than I have done for a while! Rather than the walking poles, I'm currently taking "Mr.Stick" with us on our frequent, short walks. The dogs love chasing after the stick and the older one enjoys carrying it home, wagging proudly all the way back from the woods.

Little do the dogs know how much difference they make to my health!

Contradiction?

2010-08-18T11:25:00.001+01:00

This is the first year since my diagnosis that I've had 12 months between check-ups (though the nurse wanted to discharge me, the consultant refused to let go). So, I'm now past the 6 month stage where, last year, I would just have had another check-up. While I'm delighted not to have to go through that again until January, I find that I'm feeling even more worried than usual about the slightest twinge, tiredness or general malaise. This does seem to be a contradiction to my pleasure at being hospital-free for a bit longer!

Of course, as soon as I don't have to go to the hospital, I'm noticing increasing numbers of newspaper articles about cancer, hearing discussions about the likelihood of cancer recurrence, etc., etc.

Maybe I just need something to worry about, but I'm beginning to understand why people who've had cancer are often more concerned about their health than the facts appear to indicate they need be. Another example of needing to experience something to understand its effects, it seems.

Moderating comments

2010-08-09T15:09:00.001+01:00

In case anyone wonders why comments on this blog are moderated, it's so that I can avoid being inundated with spam comments. I was sure I'd enabled a feature that required text entry to avoid such things, but I've still been getting them.
Having just checked, I find that the "word verification" feature for my blog had been turned off - must have happened when I updated the editor, but I certainly didn't do it.
Anyway, word verification is now in operation. If you want to comment, my apologies for all the hoops you'll need to leap through now.

Making donations

2010-08-09T15:08:00.000+01:00

Making a donation to a cancer charity via a bank transfer should be straightforward. It isn't. I checked with two different banks. One wanted the IBAN and SWIFT information, the other wanted the IBAN and BIC information. Who was right? Who knows... I went with the latter bank since they were more hlepful - but it turned out they charged me more than 10% of the donation simply to carry out the transfer (a matter of a few button presses and keystrokes). You'd wonder why, wouldn't you? I assume that if I'd made a larger donation, the amount charged wouldn't have changed, so the percentage of the donation would have been smaller.

Would the other bank have charged less? I don't think so - indeed, it may have charged more because there was a conversion from one currency to another involved. It really doesn't seem right to charge so much for a charity donation - it seems to me that it's quite likely to reduce the amount of money going to the charity if people suddenly find that they have to pay a huge fee.

Note to self: avoid donating to overseas charities via bank transfer. Send the cash to a friend to donate in person.

What next?

2010-07-21T09:33:00.000+01:00

Every day, it seems, we read about breakthrough treatments, but there's still so much more to be done. Although I contribute to cancer research charities, I haven't done any fund-raising for a while.

I've spent the last couple of weeks or so reflecting on the life and death of my friend. Thinking about it, cancer has claimed a lot of my friends in the last few years, and quite a few of us have been touched personally by diagnoses that have led to treatment and (so far) survival. Coupled with my realisation that I could do more, I'm now thinking about how best to raise funds - an event of some sort, I think, but it all takes planning. I have some ideas, but they need to be refined and discussed. Whatever it takes though, I need to do something now both in recognition of my own good fortune in surviving my cancer and in remembrance of all those people in my life who have succumbed.

At peace

2010-07-09T16:18:00.000+01:00

After unbearable pain, my friend is at peace.

I remember and mourn her passing.

Cancer is cruel and pays no attention to who it takes. My friend loved flowers. These are for her while I decide how best to support research into beating this disease, or at least how to develop better pain management.

Hospitals

2010-07-03T15:09:00.000+01:00

Hospitals are the same around the world, I think: from the overworked staff to the overheated rooms. Thank goodness I've been able to take time to come to see my friend; the best day of this year was when she recognised me and hugged me as though she'd never let me go. To see her in so much pain is terrible, and to see her family sharing that pain is awful. This is such a cruel condition - the suffering just seems to go on and on. For those of us who have survived - so far - it is a reminder that this could happen to us, too. For those of you who haven't had to deal with survival, remember those statistics. And for all of us, let's support those who are working towards ensuring that eventually nobody will have to go through this.

Travelling and flexible working

2010-06-29T18:42:00.000+01:00

Occasionally, something happens that makes me realise how very fortunate I am to be free enough to drop everything and go, if necessary. I complain constantly about my work, but at least, when something important happens, I can just pack a bag, book a ticket and head out. My sick friend has said she would like to see me. I'm leaving in 36 hours, the first ticket I could get. I am deeply touched that, ill though she is, she said she'd like to see me. So, I'm on my way, grateful that my life has changed sufficiently to allow me to make this very important journey.

Anger

2010-06-23T12:06:00.000+01:00

Cancer is a cunning and malign enemy. I heard at the weekend that a very dear friend of long standing who has been fighting cancer for several years has finally been told that the treatment was doing more harm than good. The cancer is winning. My friend is now receiving palliative care only and even so is in terrible pain. The family can only be with her to support her.

I am angry. This is such a cruel condition. We must do more to find out how to prevent and cure cancer.

I am sad. My friend is the kindest, most gentle person you could wish to meet. To think of her suffering is unbearable. We must do more to find out how to prevent and cure cancer.

I am afraid. What if my own cancer returns and I have to make a decision about the best route forward? We must do more to find out how to prevent and cure cancer.

Summer sorrow

2010-06-20T15:53:00.003+01:00

Every year in June, the airline, Flybe, raises money for Cancer Research UK by collecting from passengers as they disembark from their flight. Every year, I forget about this until I take my annual trip to Southampton. Last week, then, I was able to make my annual donation to Cancer Research UK twice. Though I know I would resent being asked for money (and frequently do!) for a charity that I don't consider to be "mine", I'm glad Flybe makes this collection - it reminds me to contribute to research that saved my life and it reminds other people that if they haven't done so already, they may one day need the outcomes of that research themselves.

Sadly, for some it's already too late. My summer sorrow arises from the fact that I heard today that a very special lady is now receiving palliative care for her cancer as the anti-cancer treatment was doing more harm than good. After many years of fighting to recover, nothing more can be done. We can only hope for remission.

To watch someone in pain and be unable to do more than decrease the symptoms without being able to remove the cause is a terrible experience. My thoughts right now are with my dear friend's family, knowing that they have been strong so far and hoping that they will be able to bear the days, months, weeks ahead.

I mourn the passing of friends who leave suddenly, but the lengthy suffering of other friends is unbearable; not only does it remind me of the frailty of our exis

Don't forget that one in three of us will be touched by cancer at some time in our lives, directly or indirectly. The more we support research, the sooner we may find better and/or more successful treatments.

Now I know...

2010-06-12T20:35:00.002+01:00

From time to time, I rant about the fact that whenever I fill in a job application now, I'm informed that if I've had cancer, I have to classify myself as disabled. I object to that!

Thanks to a friend of a friend who has specialist knowledge of the Disability Discrimination Act (DDA), I now understand two things:

I do not have to declare myself disabled - and nobody can insist I do
The aim of inclusion under the DDA is meant to stop employers discriminating against those who've had cancer; employers often avoid employing cancer survivors, "in case the cancer comes back". The DDA is supposed to stop this happening. My experience, however, is that it has exactly the opposite effect - it singles us out, and, in fact, most of the cancer survivors I know (me included) are probably healthier than the so-called 'able-bodied'. At least we have medical professionals keeping an eye on us...

An interesting take...

2010-06-05T22:00:00.003+01:00

... on the medical profession Have a look at: Black Eyed Susan - and look out for my friend Uschi in this (the psychiatrist)

Travelling still

2010-05-24T10:14:00.001+01:00

Well, I don't remember if I used to catch a cold every time I flew, or whether this is a new, post operative/post radiation thing. However, every time I take a plane anywhere at the moment, I start coughing, sneezing and worrying about blocked ears! So, just to test thing properly, I've had a cup of coffee today - so far, no problems, which is good news. It would be nice if the coffee issue would disappear!

Travelling and distances

2010-05-15T02:17:00.002+01:00

A longish silence on the blog. I've been travelling and haven't had much to say, though I've noticed that cancer research suddenly seems to be raising its profile as I browse the BBC News website every day.

As for me, I'm good, other than a dreadful, long-haul-flight traveller's cold. Again, though, overall I continue to improve in terms of health; I'm noticing once more that I take half the time now to walk distances that used to feel a long way. It may be that because it's cooler now, a walk that took me 15 minutes in summer now takes me 10, but I do also feel more able to take that walk. Amazing to think that I used to count the number of steps between lampposts simply to get home before I was diagnosed.

And another one...

2010-05-03T22:17:00.002+01:00

So, a sadder story, and yet one that raises the profile still further - as well as concerns in those of us who have survived the initial diagnosis... http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8658484.stm.

And still they come

2010-05-03T12:16:00.003+01:00

It seems to me that there have been a lot of cases of "celebrities" being diagnosed with varous forms of cancer recently. Here's another one: http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8657122.stm. Although the diagnosis here was very recent, it's interesting to read the headline that suggests the battle has been won... For those of us with insider knowledge, that really isn't the case at this stage, but maybe the idea is to demystify cancer and to suggest that it can be beaten (which is increasingly absolutely true).

This is a case of real life imitating drama, so has the potential to be doubly effective and also to give the actor an insight into cancer that can be shared with a wider audience. All these cases, sad though they are, raise the profile of cancer charities and emphasise the need for funds to support cancer research. I wonder, though, why increasing numbers of well-known people are coming forward to share their own story with the public; is it that more are being diagnosed or that more are prepared to admit to their diagnosis, perhaps with the intention of helping others? I hope it's the latter.

Another day, another year

2010-04-28T06:48:00.008+01:00

I made it through another year to a birthday I didn't think I'd see. Now to plan this new year's adventures, to remember it could have been so much worse and to be grateful for the opportunity to make those plans.

And to share my birthday flowers, too.

Raising the profile of cancer research charities

2010-04-25T09:14:00.004+01:00

As yet another well-known - in certain circles - woman is diagnosed with breast cancer - http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/entertainment/8642438.stm - the profile of this condition is raised again.

There are three things we shouldn't forget:

Although the numbers of women diagnosed with various forms of cancer is rising, diagnosis comes earlier and this improves the prognosis in most cases.
Breast cancer is just one of many different cancers.
Government spending on research into cancer is limited, so we need to make sure cancer charities receive sufficient funds to continue cancer research.

My own view is that all cancers should have their profiles raised, not just breast cancer and prostate cancer, which seem to be targeted at present. This is not to say that different cancer profiles shouldn't be raised - just that we need to be aware that these are not the only cancers that may affect one in three of us during our lifetimes. Let's try, too, to address the "postcode lottery" that means that the treatment you receive may depend on where you live and give equal access for all to life-saving treatments.

Being aware

2010-04-20T08:42:00.003+01:00

It's a while since I posted, mainly because I've been busy. However, this morning I spotted a news item that seemed to me to be important. Martina Navratilova has been talking about her breast cancer and the fact that she missed a routine mammogram. She stresses that she's been healthy all her life, and yet she still got cancer. A salutary lesson - it's too easy to ignore those test reminders (I almost ignored mine!) but they can be the difference between being well and not.

The article is here. Take heed!

Coffee?

2010-04-09T15:11:00.003+01:00

From time to time, I think I'll try drinking coffee to find out whether the reaction to it that I developed after radiotherapy has subsided. Today was one of those days. The result was the same: nausea, headache, abdominal cramp. Must remember not to drink coffee... The health professionals I see tell me that there's no reason for this, given nothing else makes me react like this, but the fact is that it didn't happen before I had radiotherapy. Coincidence? I doubt it!

At last!

2010-04-07T22:07:00.002+01:00

I've finally met a volunteer who didn't shuffle and look embarrassed when I announced that I am a cancer survivor! Cancer Research UK is doing door-to-door fundraising at present. Today, I was dragged from my marking heap to answer the door in the early evening. It was a young man in a Cancer Research UK jacket who'd called to ask if I'd like to donate. I was able to tell him that I already do and that I have survived cancer myself. It wasn't clear whether his response - "Congratulations" - was to the first or second piece of information, but he didn't get tongue-tied and worried as so many volunteers I've met in the past have done.

What a refreshing change!

All very reasonable - of course

2010-04-06T12:51:00.003+01:00

I have received a response to my complaint about my treatment at my last hospital visit. All the explanations and apologies are, of course, very reasonable, so why do I not feel reassured that it won't happen again?

All staff involved have been "counselled" and they realise, in hindsight, that their responses to me were not necessarily the best they might have made - apparently. They are sorry. Are they really? Or are they just sorry that I complained? They didn't realise x, y and z; why not? Why didn't they check? Why didn't they ask? Why did they "just assume"?

Not good enough - but nothing more to be done now. I have an apology. I have reassurances it won't happen again (we'll see) and it's time to move on.

Let's hope that the treatment of other patients has improved as a result.

But why is it that the handbasin in the examination room is positioned so that staff have to stay in the cubicle while patients are dressing? Something not quite right about that explanation...

Falling on deaf ears...

2010-04-05T18:03:00.005+01:00

I've said it before - several times, probably ad nauseam -but people don't want to talk about cancer. Last year, I was approached by Macmillan volunteers asking for a charitable donation. I gave one, saying that I felt it was a good cause because I had had cancer myself. The volunteers looked horrified and ran away as fast as they could, the instance I'd made my donation. The same happened when Cancer Research UK volunteers came to my door asking for a donation.

Today, I was shopping and, at the checkout, the cashier asked if I'd make a donation to support research into childhood cancers. Since it's not long since my last donation, I said that although it was a good cause, I had already donated recently and, even though I had recovered from cancer myself, I wasn't going to donate again so soon. Now, whether it was my (unexpected?) refusal to give an additional amount via my debit card, or whether it was the fact that I mentioned having had cancer, the atmosphere cooled tremendously! If it was the former, then I'm afraid that's bad luck - I don't give in to moral blackmail! If the latter... well, bad luck again! Making a charitable donation, or collecting them from others, might make the cashier feel good, but it doesn't mean that she won't ask for money from people who've had the very condition she's collecting for... And, guess what! Making a donation doesn't make you immune from developing cancer!

I suppose I used to make donations to cancer (and other) charities because it gave me "the feelgood factor". I'm a lot more discerning now - I only donate to causes I believe in. If volunteers aren't prepared to discuss the work of the charity in whose name they are collecting, I'm certainly not going to make a contribution! Not talking about cancer isn't going to make it go away...

Calm,calm,calm...

2010-03-29T20:10:00.002+01:00

Stress is not a good thing. I have been stressed for the last few weeks, for many reasons. Stress can have disastrous effects on health, as I know. My new mantra: life's too short - walk away.

It isn't all laughter and merriment

2010-03-18T10:31:00.004Z

The thing that worries me most when I go to the hospital for my check-ups is the possibility of a recurrence. Indeed, that's what worries me constantly, though it's mostly at the back of my mind - hospital visits make it tangible. This is not to say that I expect to have a recurrence; if I did, though, making a decision about the way forward wouldn't be easy.

My mind is concentrated on this at the moment; this week, I've heard of one recurrence and one possible recurrence for people I know. It does seem extremely unfair to come through everything, get the all clear after 5 years and then have to face it all again, or even to have the possibility of having to face it all again.

At least I know there are three forms of recurrence that I now can't get as I no longer have those organs!

Meanwhile, positive thoughts to those two people - I'm thinking of you.

Survivor stories

2010-03-11T14:22:00.002Z

It really is amazing how many people have a story to tell about their experience of cancer. Today, while buying a birthday card, I also bought a ballpoint pen that was being sold in aid of breast cancer research. I began to talk with the shop assistant and it transpired that she had undergone a double mastectomy and a total hysterectomy in 2007. We swapped tales, and both of us agreed that we had never felt better. I left the store feeling uplifted and optimistic; as well as avoiding talking about cancer, the population as a whole doesn't seem to be aware that there are some positive aspects, too. My quality of life, for example, has never been better.

The most interesting thing about today's encounter, though, was that it was one more example of someone who ostensibly wasn't related to a cancer charity being prepared to talk about cancer. Why is it that whenever I go to cancer charity shops or encounter cancer charity collection volunteers in the street or door to door, those volunteers become embarrassed and change the subject if you say you've had cancer yourself?

Feeling grateful

2010-03-10T11:26:00.003Z

On almost a daily basis, I hear of people who've been diagnosed with various forms of cancer and who have to undergo prolonged treatment including chemotherapy, radiotherapy, surgery... Each time I do so, I feel so lucky only to have had to have radiotherapy (and then only because my GP said I probably should do so, "... because we made a mistake with you."

Clean bill of health

2010-03-02T10:50:00.002Z

Today, I had my last health check of the year. My teeth are ok, my gums are fine and I don't have any sign of oral cancers. So, having been completely overhauled in the last six weeks, time to get on with life!

Reasons to be cheerful

2010-03-01T12:00:00.006Z

Although I grumble a lot about the iniquities of the health service and reflect on my own experience of recovery, having had cancer has had its benefits, believe it or not.

When I was first diagnosed, I had just resigned from a full time job - for reasons we won't dwell on - and signed up for a full time course. A few weeks into that course, I was so ill that I had to withdraw. Shortly after that, I received my diagnosis and had to take time out of my part time job, too. Of course, I thought my life was over! In fact, as is clear from this blog, I recovered.

Having cancer was a wake-up call for me. Although I'm often asked why I didn't go back to full time work, having the time to re-evaluate my life was invaluable. Before then, I had toyed with the idea of working part time and doing consultancies, but I'd never had the courage to take that step and walk away from the security of a regular salary. My intention was to go back into full time work once I'd finished the course from which I had to withdraw. I even meant to go back to complete that course when I was well enough to do so.

Time to reflect while I recovered gave me the opportunity to ask myself what was really important to me. The constraints of full-time work had never suited me, while I enjoyed providing consultancy services and doing part time work to ensure a regular (though tiny) income. Cancer gave me the push I needed to take that step away from a lifestyle that made me unhappy (and may have contributed to my cancer in the first place!). It made me realise that life's much too short to dither and that having the freedom to take a day out of you schedule to admire the countryside, to tidy the garden or even to go shopping is a luxury that those of us who work full time simply don't have.

So, while cancer was a shock and something I would rather not have had to face up to, my life has been significantly enhanced as a result.

While I definitely wouldn't recommend serious illness as a reason to change your life - rather, if you're thinking about changing your life, do it before you're forced to do so by serious illness! - it isn't all gloom; having time now to watch the birds on my bird table, to take walks in the sunshine or to put my feet up and read a novel has improved my lifestyle beyond anything I could have expected. I know how lucky I am to have recovered and to be able to earn sufficient from working part time to pay the bills, but, in many ways, cancer has been a huge learning experience for me in all aspects of my life.

Making complaints

2010-02-24T20:26:00.003Z

Finally, I got round to writing and sending off my "constructive feedback" to the hospital complaints department. I know that my experience is nothing when compared to some of the really serious issues raised by patients, but I hope that the fact that I've made the effort to feedback about my concerns re patient dignity and the importance of treating us as people with feelings rather than a collection of body parts and symptoms in need of treatment may at least make the recipients think.

I also hope that raising my concerns may prevent other patients being treated with the lack of dignity and respect afforded to me, and that information given in confidence will not again be passed from hospital to local doctors' practice without express permission being obtained.

As my mother used to say, politeness and courtesy cost nothing.

Bringing it home

2010-02-22T21:09:00.003Z

Just heard that someone I know, and who has been making good progress, has had a not-so-good outcome from their recent check-up. That certainly reminds me that any improvement may be transient. It also makes me realise how lucky I've been - so far.

Now it's time

2010-02-21T08:55:00.002Z

I really must write my feedback to the hospital about my experience at my last routine check-up. I've been waiting until I felt a) less angry and b) less traumatised by the whole experience. I made copious notes at the time, so today may well be the day I put them together into a coherent form and post that letter.

How useful that hospitals now publish lists of contacts on their websites. I wonder how long it'll take them to send me a list of excuses and denials.

Cynical? Me? Why ever would I be cynical?

More reflections on a theme

2010-02-18T17:20:00.003Z

Abdominal radiotherapy, they say, can cause huge side-effects sooner or later. Whenever I have to attend the hospital for a check-up, I'm asked incredibly impertinent and personal question about the state of my gut and there are always looks of surprise and (I suspect) disappointment when I say that I haven't had any problems (the literature, I find, suggests 1/2 of those who receive abdominal radiotherapy will experience major side-effects and that many of them will live with those side-effects, not realising anything can be done).

Having said that, from time to time I do wonder what effect radiotherapy has had on me. I'm sure that my digestive system is less robust than it was; I seem to suffer gastric upsets more frequently than I did before treatment and, with every gastric discomfort, I start to wonder if this could be a side-effect or, worse, a recurrence. Of course, it all comes back to whether the cause of loss of robustness is mechanical or organic; maybe I'm just getting old!

Whatever the reason, while it's annoying, it's not debilitating; I know that if I eat something that's slightly past its "sell-by", I'm likely to react badly in a way that didn't happen when I was younger. If I am affected, it serves me right but, equally, the discomfort and inconvenience is minor compared to what others have to deal with; I know that tomorrow I'll be fine again. Others don't have that luxury to look forward to.