It's not easy to know our bodies. Most of us only start to worry about them when something goes wrong with them mechanically.
A bad back will send some rushing for the painkillers, others to the oestopath, but regurgitating your food without any associated acid reflux or heartburn is probably pretty much down the list. Not being able to swallow your food normally without a glass of water to hand probably factors higher on the warning list, but what about pain. Where's the pain.
The point is that you don't need to be crawling up the stairs to bed in agony to have cancer and whilst I am not advocating that you start runninng around the room hysterically shouting "I've got cancer, I've got cancer" as soon as you have trouble shoving a bit of fatty bacon down your gullet, I am suggesting that if you ever think that you might have a problem with your body then you should go and get it checked. Equally as important is that if you do not feel that the answers you get actually fit your circumstance then you should be prepared to say so.
I have not been able to get through a meal without an accompanying glass of water for a few months but my situation was clouded by another symptom that I have ignored for years. I have been experiencing what my consultant termed as "bland reflux" for years. Nothing worse than my food popping back into my mouth after eating it, with the same taste as it went down. No acid feeling or heartburn pain or "sicky" feeling. I didn't read anything into this because I've never been a great chewer of food and it was suggested by those near and dear that this was the likely reason. The net result was that when I started having difficulty swallowing the same likely reason was tabled though I did make a conscious effort to start thinking about what I was doing.
The swallowing issues are the most specific symptoms but on a general note I hadn't been feeling fantastic for a while. There hasn't been anything specific and nothing that I didn't feel couldn't be put down to slowing down as I entered deeper into my forties (I am 44). I'm settled, so I don't lead a wild life style but I have partied plenty in the past. Forget medical issues and symptoms, I have noticed that in the last three or four years my recovery from a good night out has dipped considerably and my capacity to go out and binge on beers and Jack Daniels has waned in equal measure. However, I do generally look after myself fairly well. My weight is prone to drift up, as I enjoy a glass of wine and enjoy my food, but when it becomes excessive I get in the gym and take it off again (a touch of the Ricky Hatton's - but without the talent).
I've also had one or two other health issues. Recurring ear infections have been a problem though I never had one until my mid to late thirties and also a urinary infection a couple of years ago that I remember the doctor commenting on it being unusual in someone my age. What was interesting about that situation and we will see the pattern repeated later is that my system went "BANG" at the end of a regime of diet and hard exercise. I got myself really fit but perhaps I went to far too hard or perhaps my immune system wasn't up to it.
Things have built up over the last period of at least a year and I have noticed people saying that I don't look well when I am on a night out. It hasn't been pointed out in a gentle way but rather a spur of the moment, blurted and undiplomatic way, a truthful and relaxed way.
This year when I decided to get in the gym and get fit I was struggling with cardio exercise at levels that I normally warm up at but put this down to the fact that I was ice-skating regularly - a hobby that I took up to spend time with my daughter. I just assumed that my legs were tired from ice-skating so my capacity to push myself was lessened.
Then I had a number of triggers last December which were fired in quick succession. Banter with a friend at work lead to a running challenge. We shall refer to him as "Super Frank" who was in training for the marathon and who had recently run a half-marathon. His time was just under 10 minute mile pace, which to my mind is just above walking pace. So the banter started and I thought I'd better get into training.
I haven't run for a good 10 to 15 years but thought that for 4 or 5 miles seven minute miles should be easily achievable in a couple of months. The first time I got on the treadmill I did a mile in 10 minutes and felt like I was going to pass out. I'd lost over a stone and was weighing around 11st 4lbs so, regardless of how long I hadn't run for I shouldn't feel like I was just about to have a heart attack.
I dismissed it and tried a two mile run a couple of days later thinking that I was out of practice, but that was no better and I walked / ran the second mile. A third run saw two ten minute miles and I could see my £50 bet wafting in Super Frank's direction. I was a little bemused. If you can't run 10 minute miles and you are in reasonably good shape at my age then you must be seriously ill. That is what I have told Super Frank since.
He always said that I would find a lame excuse to renege on our bet and I concede that I have. I still reckon I could beat him when they've chopped me up and sown me back together though (AV IT!).
I'd been off the "pop" for a couple of months whilst I lost weight and didn't really feel like getting in the Christmas party spirit, but a night out in London with Kitten, Sushi and Notoplip and SandD (Saucy Sue and Billy the Fish) set the alarm bells ringing. A few drinks before the show including a strong cocktail made me feel restless in my seat and struggling to hold my attention. I hadn't had a lot to drink but it was more a case of having "restless legs" something that I had been suffering with more in the evenings and the feeling of becoming tired suddenly.
Saucy Sue was blunt and honesf ; "I know that you've been training and losing weight but you look ill, are you ill?".
You may not want to hear that sort of thing when you are spending £70 a round in the Stratosphere bar in the Hilton Park Lane but my close friendships have been enduring because of that kind of honesty. The comment didn't fall on deaf ears either it was instrumental in me taking action. The same day, Kitten had been encouraging me to put moisturiser on my face because I was "looking grey".
I got drunk quickly (not the first time in the last few years and grouchy too). Over the last couple of years I always seemed to get grouchy after a good drink, which is odd because I have always been quite happy to be drunk.
I skipped other nights out over the Christmas period and didn't bother with drink until Christmas itself. A couple of glasses of wine in the evenings and I was strolling around the living room with "restless legs" and off to bed at 10pm feeling drained. It's really not like me to bypass the whole Christmas festivities. Even with a young family I have to have at least one night getting absolutely smashed into small fragments.
At that point I decided to get a blood test done that had been assigned for my recurring ear infections and then went to the doctors.
The first stab at diagnosis was dyspepsia i.e. my problems were caused by acid reflux from the stomach which may be caused by a number of factors but the most common being a peptic ulcer or a bacterial infection H. pylori. Despite pressing, no explanation was offered for the fatigue I was suffering. I guess that the assumption was that the suggested condition could cause the other symptoms. I was prescribed "lansoprazole" tablets for a month to see how I did.
Let's face it, it is a good job I didn't take that diagnosis at face value otherwise I would have been going back to the doctor's at the end of January saying "I'm still feeling poorly" whilst actually dying. TRUST YOUR INSTINCTS. My comments aren't a sleight on the diagnosis I received as my condition is very rare in someone my age, perhaps there was a slight inability to listen to what I was actually saying though.
The next day I remained unconvinced by the diagnosis, especially as when I looked closer the symptoms and diagnosis could be caused by coeliac disease which is prevalent in my mother's side of the family.
I went back to a doctors and was allocated a different doctor who had already received my blood test results. My haemaglobin levels were low enough for me to be considered severely anaemic. There was a check to request that I undergo a "rectal" examination so I "lost my virginity" despite protestations that I had only come down for a chat. There were calls to the hospital to see whether I should be admitted but instead I had an appointment arranged to see a gastric consultant on the 12th January and was left to dwell on my circumstance walking home with KY Jelly dripping down my leg. It was New Year's Eve and, unsurprisingly, celebrations were muted.
The appointment on the 12th January suggested the likely cause as being coeliac given the prevelance in the family and I had an endoscopy arranged for the 25th. It was here that the alarm bells started ringing. Some of my mother's family have had to fight against medical prejudice and ignorance to get a proper diagnosis of their coeliac conditon. I should say ignorance borne of the fact that the first diagnosis of coeliac in the family was around twenty years ago when it was not really a mainstream consideration. To be told I was likely to be coeliac therefore made me immediately think away from that. Too simple for me!
The endoscopy was uncomfortable enough given what the condition transpired to be but the patient's copy of the results form was fairly suggestive. It included terms such as
- severe lesion and stricture in oesophagus
- urgent CT staging scan required
To feel that you have cancer just by virtue of a patient's copy of a form is not a great place to be. It was suggested to me in the hospital, by a nurse, that the endoscopist may be being thorough but I assumed that when you spend your day looking down peoples' throats you get a fairly good sense of what you are seeing down there. My wife and I were therefore prepared for the worse.
I am not one ot just accept things at face value, so I trotted down to the doctor's and had an informal appointment. I suggested that the form implied that I had cancer and the doctor I saw simply said "You seem to be taking it well".
This whole process was outside the formal loop. The formal loop dictated that the biopsis from my endoscopy would be available in two weeks time and that there woudl be a CT Staging Scan in the intermediary week. I would see the hospital consultant to discuss my "likely coeliac" condition.
The CT scan was a formality. It's a non invasive procedure and they scanned by chest, abdomen and pelvis. It took place on Wednesday, 3rd February.
The two weeks between the endoscopy and D-Day with my consultant on the Tuesday 9th February were tough. The darkness that surrounded my iniitial thoughts was lifted somewhat by people around me. Kitten and I shared our thoughts with a few others close to us but the mood was generally one that the problem could prove to be less traumatic and that the language on the endoscopy form may have been procedural and unfortunate rather than indicative.
The first two days were difficult but the main olive branch I felt that I had was that I have suffered illness before with "haemangioma" on the right-hand side of my face. This is a blood tumour and is benign but, of course, I did not know that when it first appeared. In fact I did not know that it was benign until it was operated on some nine months later. So, I've already been on the "merry-go-round" but not with a wife and children. Of course, my hope was that I had another haemangioma a benign tumour.
That previous episode changed me enormously but helped me grow, so I don't see illness as all-pervading darkness.
In those two weeks I travelled to Wales to discuss with my parents and I also discussed with the directors at work. That may have seemed quite drastic to "guess" at such a thing with my job, but the way I saw it I either had cancer or a haemangioma and both would have required operation and downtime from work.
As I moved towards the appointment with my consultant I grew ever more optimistic and it was a couple of days before the appointment that it dawned on me that I probably did have cancer. My reasoning was simple, my complacency was a clear cut sign that I was due for a bump back down to earth. Not strong logic, I agree but as the dust settles you are either paranoid or understanding of your situation.
D-day was with my consultant on Tuesday 9th Feb. The hospital I had visited for my initial consultation, endoscopy and CT Scan was a few minutes drive so we left it until the last minute to drive there. It was only when I got to the unit where my original consultation was that I realised I was in the wrong place. It was like a magician's trick; play the same move three times and the mind assumes that same event will be replayed.
So, a dash to the otherside of town and we were in the right place. Pretty funny when you think about it really; rushing across town to pick up a "cancer chitty".
A short wait then into the room with the consultant, a nurse and....... a case nurse. OPENING GAME OVER
