Ok, so it's T+6 days since I was told I had Oesophageal cancer and I'm already talking about heaven. I get it, it's not at the point yet but in reality, in order to deal with my situation I have had to accept my own mortality and the chance that I may be looking for a bowling green in the sky. Let me begin ...
I'm 46, live with my loving wife Carol, married almost 20 years and we have no cats, kids or dogs through choice. Until now life has been an easy ride, honestly for me it's been like driving an automatic car for 46 years and it's only just now that I'm starting to realise it. I wouldn't say I'm well educated but I got a degree of some shape from Strathclyde Uni and immediately fell into the world of technology. When I was a kid I was interested in programming and the transition to software engineering seemed an easy one. I worked for IBM for a couple of years, then bounced into manufacturing and ERP systems, then into utilities with ScottishPower. I was luck enough to be involved in the first Internet wave and developed lots of funky online things that probably caused mayhem with people's lives (sorry). I bounced about a bit more in technology, working on ridiculously large and far fetched ideas eventually ending up in HSBC where I currently still provide architectural guidance.
In my private life, I enjoy Lawn Bowling (hence the title) and am the residing secretary and president of a small club on the outskirts of Glasgow. I enjoy hill walking a bit of golf and love skiing.
Over the years I have had many stressful situations and jobs which have helped to promote the acid indigestion that I have lived with for such a long time. In saying that I have also been very bad for convenient food eating. Lots of processed meals, fast foods etc etc. There is also family history of this type of disorder and all of these things combined has ultimately led to me having some form of disorder in my digestive system.
Looking back it was August this year when I started feeling very unwell. I had such bad indigestion that the usual Gaviscon tricks at night were not helping. I remember one night having cramp in my left side and when I looked at the potential cause I realised that I had potentially over dosed on ant acids. Anyway, I took my case to the Dr and he prescribed me with Ranitidine (Zantac) and the symptoms seemed to die down a little. At the time, I was going through a stressful year. I was president and secretary of the club, I was trying to run things, raise money and keep things going whilst I was involved in some fairly serious projects at HSBC - there was a lot of stress flying about tbh. On top on this I had been told that my job was being moved to India and I was interviewing for candidates to take over as well as keeping the Indian build teams going when things were falling to bits. On top of that I was aware that the HSBC Stirling site was coming to a close and this would guarantee my redundancy at some point. In summary, it was a stressful year and if I'm honest, I put most of symptoms down to all of these various events never thinking I was marching towards a dance with cancer.
In October I managed to go back to my GP and told him the Ranitidine just wasn't cutting it and I had developed a really bad belching problem. My usual breakfast was a coffee and a roll and bacon and after eating it would take me an hour of benching before I could actually do anything. The GP offered me to options - Go straight to Omeprazole or get a scope. Being your usual chicken hearted male I took the pills as I didn't fancy the Endoscopy. Amazingly the pills worked. I actually felt I was getting better. The belching continued however but I started to realise that this was more to do with my diet than anything else and decided to stop eating junk. No more crisps, sweets, fizzy drinks, processed meats etc and after a while the burping came down to a manageable level. I did lose about 3Kg however which I was really happy about but somedays I would feel drained and had a recurring pain in my back.
In November I eventually plucked up the courage to go private and see a consultant at the Nuffield hospital in Glasgow. Dr Dover was very pleasant and suggested that I come off the Omeprazole for a couple of weeks and get an Endoscopy. At this point I had no trouble eating, no vomiting and nothing that you would associate with the cancer type - I was actually feeling ok but he reckoned coming off the drugs would make me feel worse.
So I came off the drugs and began to feel a bit lousy but nothing crazy. Was still belching but never had much acid reflux going on. One or two nights I had to take Gaviscon to help me sleep. Eventually we got through the weeks. I had postponed a boys trip to Tenerife as I knew I'd feel rubbish and had given up on alcohol in the summer anyway.
During the wait between the visit to Dr Dover and the Endoscopy, I went for an Ultrasound of my lower GI. The Dr found nothing other than a cyst on a kidney but was told this was normal. I can't remember if it was before or after this visit that one night I awoke and was violently sick. The next day I got up and again was sick but this time it looked like coffee grounds in my spew. I phoned NHS 24 and they were great - they got me to A&E at Hairmyres where a Spanish Dr tended to me. At this point I was thinking perforated ulcer and this could be bad. However all was deemed ok and I was let home.
It was Monday 5th December when I went for the Endoscopy. For background I really hate hospitals in fact they terrify me. I once had an immunisation jab at the local GP and passed out - that's the level of terror that these places used to give me. Anyway, I was feeling that depleted that this thing had gone on for such a long time that I decided that I didn't care how bad the procedure was going to be. In all fairness it was nothing to be scared about.
As I waited on the bed with Dr Dover sitting beside me I reminded him that I had a lump under my arm. He said right, I'll organise CT scan ASAP. I was then wheeled into theatre wide awake, had lots of people around me, one guy was working on my blood pressure whilst another was putting a drip in my left hand. It was all a bit stressful to start with but once the sleepy solution started I couldn't really remember anything until the end of the procedure when they started taking things out of my stomach. At the end of the procedure I was awake and alert, Dr Dover said we have found something very sinister, a 6 cm Tumour.
I was taken back to my room where my wife was waiting for me. I was alert and a bit shocked. I told her I had a Tumour. It was all a bit fuzzy but I seem to remember her eyes becoming teary and I knew at that point that we in a different world. Dr Dover came to the room with a nurse and explained the situation to us both. He also came with an appointment for a CT scan the next day. He said he was sorry and put his hand on my foot - this was the moment I realised we were in for a bumpy ride. The nurse sat down and the only words I can remember were her suggesting that this was a long road.
At this point I was very naive and had no idea what to expect other than an operation at some point. I have a friend that I play bowls with Bill who is also going through the same problem. He has a 6 inch tumour he has been battling all year. I decided to call him to ask about about the operation. He said it was a full on job with lots of potential complications. Although it helped to talk to someone in the same situation all of a sudden I was over come with the emotion of more hospital interaction.
I can't actually remember the drive home tbh. We were obviously in shock but the feeling of helplessness was one that I can vividly remember. We had no idea at this point what we were dealing with and what the path would be. The only thing I knew was that I needed to let my family know and we had another visit to the hospital the next day.
My mum and dad knew that I was going through the procedure and were waiting for the results. Carol and I went to their house on the Monday night straight from hospital and told them the news. I was still in shock so was able to say with ease 'It's a tumour, going back tomorrow for a CT scan. It was a very strange feeling to sit there with my folks. I love them with all of my heart and to tell them this news was heart breaking. Both of them aren't in the greatest of health to start with and this news was obviously difficult to deal with.
Carol and I went home on the Monday and despite the nurse telling us not to go anywhere near the internet we spent the night being horrified by stories. We managed to ascertain the 5 year survival rate for the disease was about 12% and that the survivors had to make radical changes to their lives after the fact. It was all too much, we held each other and cried a lot. I never slept all night. It was horrible.
The next day I went for the CT scan. I think it was late afternoon so there was a bit of hanging about and more internet research to do. By this point I had potentially convinced myself that it could be benign or could be Barrets or could be that the tumour is small enough to operate etc. The CT scan at the Nuffield was fine. A funny drip dye thing in your hand then shot through a hoop half a dozen times. Nothing sinister.
Wednesday was another day of research and nothingness and by this time we had convinced ourselves that I was either as fit as a fiddle or I had a couple of months to live. Honestly, if you can avoid the internet for as long as possible please do. There is too much information out there and for people like me once that data is in your head you can't delete it. By this point Carol had gone to the Dr and got me sleeping tablets so at least I was getting sleep.
Thursday (T+3) was the return visit to Dr Dover. I had convinced myself by this point that it was cancer and he confirmed this by saying - 'Where I am going with this is bad news I'm afraid'. These words will forever be impregnated in my psyche, they will never leave. He confirmed that the biopsy from the Endoscopy showed Adenocarcinoma as well as as the CT showing abnormalities in my abdomen and in my armpit. We were expecting this result but hearing it this way just made things slightly more real. Dr Dover finished our consultation by saying that he had set up a referral to a Dr Stewart at Ross Hall the next day.
Friday (T+4) we went to Ross Hall and saw Dr Stewart. I've never met this guy before but Carol and I both came out thinking what an amazingly lovely guy he is. This is after he told us I had probably inoperable cancer, that this was about shifting sands and taking one bridge at a time. I can remember him saying there is always hope as well as organising for more bloods and an armpit biopsy on the Monday.
Friday night, Saturday and Sunday were tough. My sister came over my phone rang constantly and we just wanted to curl up in a ball. We cried a lot we cuddled we really didn't know if we were in heaven or hell. I slept on and off but your mind is a curious thing. It wouldn't let go. Every 10 minutes I'd pick up an iPad or a phone and google stupid stuff like - Do hot tubs help cancer. It was endless. It just went on and on.
In the meantime Carol had decided to go hard core with my diet. I was now on Blueberry, Strawberry, Spinach, Kia and Protein shakes every morning. Every meal was being prepared from scratch. Sugars were out and I was taking supplements. We got through the weekend but I don't really know how.
Monday came and we had to go for the biopsy. I actually amazed myself - the needle was about 6 inches long and there was blood! But it came and went and I had a thought of being a bit easy about it all. Anyway, we got home, cried some more, cuddled and got on with things.
So today is T+6 and we are waiting for the final staging of the cancer. In my mind we are stage 4 as the lump under my arm is too much of a coincidence and if we are then my time is limited however I also realise that there are things that happen and I shouldn't look at this as a life sentence. In order to cope however, I have accepted my own mortality in that if it happens now or in 30 years from now, it's still going to happen. This helps me. I don't know why, I don't know if it's natural but I know this helps my mind deal with everything that is going on. I suppose at this point its the only thing that is certain in my life i.e. at some point I will die. It could be next month or it could be in 30 years but either way I have managed to get my head around the process and it doesn't scare me. In a twisted sort of way I suppose I am thinking about driving the automatic car again just cruising through life - if it happens and I go soon, I miss all the hassles of Brexit, Trump, WWIII, Indy2, ISIS, 30 years of degenerative processes, losing friends and family over time and watching them suffer. Perhaps this is wrong but today this is how I feel after all we are merely grains of sands in an infinite universe.
Finally, if there is a bowling green in heaven, I just hope its not an indoor one or artificial grass - I hate those.
