Monday 14 August 2017: Just after 10:00 am on Monday 14 August 2017, I was called through to see one of the surgical team who had been involved in my surgery the previous week. We had turned up about an hour early, having left plenty of time for teh cab to get us through the potentially busy Doha traffic. As it was the height of summer, there was not so much traffic on teh road (people do still try to get away for prolonged periods if they can to avoid the heat). The doctor was running late (just for a change) so it gave an opportunity to grab a coffee etc before receiving what I anticipated was going to be fairly ropey news.
Strangely enough I already felt pretty strong and determined inside. On the Sunday, after the MDT meeting at the Hamad hospital in Doha, I had been called to ask me to come in for an appointment the following day (one day earlier than originally schedule). You know at that stage that it is definitely not going to be good news! So my wife, Sharon, had to urgently change her flight to arrive a day earlier than scheduled; no small achievement in this region. We were dealing with the early stages of the political crisis between Qatar and other Gulf states. She was still in Dubai and I was living and working in Qatar...less than ideal, particularly if you are about to embark upon pretty grim treatment etc. What was once a door-to-door trip of less than 4 hours (direct flight from Dubai to Doha) was now 8 hours at best (via Muscat).
We went through to the office and two members of the surgical team were there (one senior and one junior). After the usual pleasantries, I could see that there was some unease etched on the surgeon's face. At just after 10:00 am he delivered the words you really don;t want to hear. "I am afraid it's bad news. You have metastatic squamous cell carcinoma."
Now, my immediate reaction as I was writing down what was said, was simply to look up and say, "Bugger!" So terribly British! Yet that initial reaction was immediately overtaken by a shiver going through me as I knew exactly what "metastatic" meant. With a Consultant Radiologist father, I had heard the term in context often enough to know that this was pretty crap news; the immediate thoughts turning to where else it might have spread. The junior doctor piped up, "But we think you have very good prospects..." Okay, that was rather encouraging, but frankly we didn't yet know what we were dealing with.
The machinery which then swung into motion was hugely impressive. Qatar has invested in the best equipment and certainly has some decent medical professionals. Yes, they fall down in some areas from time to time, but the rapidity of reaction was Blitzkrieg! Immediately I was booked in for a PET CT scan to see if there was any spread away from the neck (which was the first surgical site and that mass had been the 'secondary'). They also needed to try to find the primary. The last thing I wanted was an unknown primary (well, not exactly the 'last thing' as such, but you get my drift). That day it was confirmed that I would be having a PET CT scan just two days later. Would I have got in that quickly back at home? Hmm.
The journey back to the apartment was okay; maybe slightly muted, but Sharon and I were good. Back at the apartment we had a bit of a cry, the inevitable comments of "What the hell..? This doesn't make sense etc." Head and neck cancer, but non-smoker. Yes, I like(d) a decent glass of red, but hardly a heavy drinker either.
Wednesday 16 August 2017: PET CT scan. This was an interesting experience. Canula into back of hand, contrast medium etc, sit around for quite a while until the stuff has made its way around the body and then in for the scan. The usual warnings about not splashing anywhere when you pee(!), flush with lid down and flush twice etc. Essentially this is all because the PET CT scan creates a radioactive reaction in order to show any potential "uptake" from the contrast medium (i.e. where there might be something a little nasty lurking!)
Results next week..but we all know where this is going!
J.
