Cancer

“Here is the test to find whether your mission on Earth is finished: if you're alive, it isn't” – Richard Back

A quick note for everybody who read my last blog; a Christian fatwa may not be necessary as I concede you are right. Everything that you believe and everything that I believe is correct! Our own individual perception is reality.

Let’s just be friends : ) put all your hateful energy towards love xxxxxxxx

Cancer; a nice cheery subject, but due to today’s news with Jade Goody sadly passing away it was time to bring forward a planned blog.

Information on Jade Goody, for my international readers. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jade_Goody

I would like to state that what Jade went through (cervical cancer) I can never understand how she felt, or how anyone feels or experiences. All that I can do is talk about my own experience.

“My own experience”, what? now you are all intrigued well let’s get this party started.

It was spring 2000 that I finally worked up the courage to speak with my doctor, like all men my limiting belief was that Doctors only care about the Elderly, Children and Female adults. You see I was 25 years old and suppose to be in my prime so a visit to the doctor would in my mind be met with the usual disdain.

The reason that I had to see the doctor was that I had a lump on my right chest; this lump had been there for around 3 years. I of course had become quite conscious of this lump and developed a nervous tick whereupon I would pull upon the material of whatever top that I was wearing between the breastbone as the lump was quite pronounced.

The doctor examined me and quite surprisingly did not send me away but referred me to the breast care clinic in James Pagent Hospital in Great Yarmouth, Norfolk.

Naturally of course this was kept very private as there does seem to be quite a stigma with this sort of thing with men, and assumed that my situation would be aptly mocked by both friends and colleagues alike.

I kept the appointment and attended the surgery at the hospital, the waiting room as you would expect was full of a wide age range of female patients with the exception of me. There was high volume of nurse support on hand to assist emotionally where required.

My name was called, even if my appointment was 2 hours prior there were of course cases of a higher priority before me. I was asked to go to a cubicle and not the private consultation room as every other patient had been invited too. The cubicle has a consultant surgeon awaiting me with an added gathering of student doctors. The pleasantries were exchanged about if there presence would be a problem, naturally you dare not disagree.

The examination took place and the surgeon showed concern about the lump and again asked my permission if some of the students could also examine me and he invited them to examine me. I did find this humiliating.

An open quiz then ensued with a star prize (the surgeons respect was the bonus) all were invited to guess what the “man” has. I listened to opinions from cysts to fatal tumours and man boobs to excess fluid. To my joy no-one was right as the surgeon pulled a swerve on them all and stated that there was no way of knowing and that my age and gender suggested that it was probably not cancer but he needed a biopsy or removal of the lump for further investigation. He also kindly suggested that he will book me in for surgery within the next 12 weeks.

I did appreciate that after a few minutes he addressed me personally, the conversation began to feel like an out of body experience so the following explanation (dumbed down) was of course sarcastically received.

After hearing my diagnosis from the fastest buzzer game show, I was led from the cubicle and informed that a date for the operation would be sent to me in due course and that a week before the operation would be required to have an ultrasound in a pre op clinic.

I was in a daze and quite frightened and isolated, my journey past all the nurses and volunteers who were on hand to counsel the recently diagnosed with family and to offer support was quick, and quite glad that no one reached out to help me, stop me or advise me on what to expect.

I am a Man and this should be easy to handle, right?

So what did I do next? You guessed it. NOTHING!

I told no-one, this was not for want of trying as desperately wanted to speak about it, but the stigma of the situation would have brought me derision, this was my limiting belief.

This went on for 6-months, until one day which cannot be explained the urge to live was overwhelming. In reflection now 9 years later, I feel that this was probably the time that I let go of the negative emotions attached to my experience and the loss of this feeling was immediately replaced with a lease for life. This was the start of my own personal mantra of “keeping the accent on the positive” this has been in the metaphor of a wave in my life for many years and will conquer this and will have a calm sea to journey across when I choose too.

I made the call and accepted the situation and an appointment was made for my operation, for September 14th 2000.

I attended the pre operation clinic and the ultrasound warranted an operation to determine what was there, although there was a low risk of cancer no additional treatment was deemed necessary.

The night before the operation I was supposed to shave the right part of my chest to assist in the surgery. All those who know me may of notice that I am quite hirsute. My chest hair makes Chewbacca look like Yul Bryner, so this was a challenge.

The next day was the operation and was admitted to the ward, the surgeon came around to visit me and to my annoyance brought with him the posse of acne scarred, middle England, socially inept future of our country to molester my dignity.

The examination went true to form and the surgeon kindly drew on my freshly shaved chest and proceeded to circle, in a blue Biro the “lump”.

The humiliation will hopefully soon end, so in the next hour went into theatre.

This part of the story is of course missing but the result was awaking to find that the surgeon had given me a full mastectomy of my right chest and removed a large section of muscle in the same area. Also attached to me was a large chest drain which was full of flowing blood.

The nurse who explained this to me had of course had the spirit of Florence Nightingale ground out of her soul and was just going through the motions.

The situation had kind of escalated, I was alone, frightened and craved even for a Kathy Bates character out of misery. I would have accepted the sledgehammer to the legs just for conversation.

The vision of me leaving the hospital within the proposed 24-hours seemed to be unlikely; my current girlfriend had expectedly fell apart and sought solace in drink (found out a year later that she cheated on me that night as well). I of course lay alone and did not have any visitors.
The next day was Friday and still had a drain full of blood that had not shown signs of slowing down so the nurses informed me that will have to stay over the weekend. The bad news was that the ward was closing over the weekend so will have to me moved to a general emergency admissions ward.

On Friday afternoon the surgeon finally came to see me on his ward rounds and explained the process and that he removed a lump which he sent for a biopsy but he removed everything just to be on the safe side. Unfortunately during the operation they found it necessary to fully remove my nipple and reattach without the majority of nerve endings, this was of course mentioned jovially that “breast feeding” is now out! The drain was inserted due to bleeding in the surrounding area but will subside within the next 12-hours.

There were some more pleasantries mostly involving the Olympics and was walking out of the door then came back to mention that I will never be able to have 100% dexterity in my right arm again due to the muscle being removed. He then excused himself as he usually does a second ward round for patients in his care.

That was my only visit and was discharged on the Monday morning 18th September 2000, my drain had cleared and the nurses asked me to count to 3 and on 1 pulled the 5 inch drain from my chest. I had gained some strength and was determined to convalesce at home. I could not lift my feet but shuffled determinedly out of the hospital, my back stooped with my right arm in an elevated sling and head tingling after my prescription of pethidine and antibiotics.

The first day I had to be helped on occasion to the toilet and needed help to wash all the dried blood and iodine from my chest and arm, a task that could not be done with a trembling arm.
I was signed of work for 3-weeks and quite fortunately had the pleasure of resting in a bed settee in front of the Television watching the Sydney Olympics.

There were some visitors and two colleagues from work came to see me, and appreciated that (Paula Randall and Sue Griffiths) sadly not one of my so called friends came, I don’t blame them, as the stigma attached to what my condition entailed, made it a complicated social situation to deal with. I did not encounter derision but something worse, Apathy.

I returned to work 10 days after my operation, the need for social acceptance did seem to be more of an overriding issue that the pain I was in. The humiliation had to be confronted although the most painful was yet to come.

I was phoned by the Head Office of the company of my employment to question my sick note; they intimated that it must have been fake? as how can a man have a mastectomy? My defence of my situation which I had lived through had to be acknowledged and my curt reply reinforced its validity.

A few weeks later a letter explaining the biopsy results came back with “Benign” an expected outcome as never thought it would be anything else.

The reason for writing about the topic and especially something that is personal to me is that Cancer (not in my case) could happen to anyone and you have a duty to look after yourself, get tested regularly and act immediately.

My story and its tone was not to draw sympathy, the lasting side affects is only 99% mobility in my right arm, a caved in right chest and the inability to breast feed from my right nipple which has no feeling whatsoever.

It was a life changing experience that was not appreciated at the time and did not learn any lessons, as the very next year almost to the day on September 11th 2001 was held under house arrest in an Egyptian Hotel due to the 9/11 incident in America. The area was bordered by Israel, Saudi Arabia and Jordan. The home office arranged for me to be transported to Eilat in Israel and to be flown home. (Note to self: if you visit multiple Arab countries, have two passports)

The above is a whole blog in itself and the crazy things that kept happening every year until I realised what my life purpose was.

I am here today, because it is what I'm supposed to do! The opening quote kind of reminds me of the dignity that some people have in death and what you can achieve.

Whatever you feelings are towards Jade Goody and she did polarize opinion, just what would YOU do?

Cancer can happen to anyone, it can cut between class and in my case gender so be happy, be healthy, do something new everyday and enjoy life.

My next blog will be lighter, and a quite comical admission.