It’s my birthday today. 62 years and (thankfully) still counting.
I was diagnosed in early March this year after a few weeks of experiencing difficulty swallowing. It was mainly down to the wonderful Norma in the tea hut at Mousehole Football Club, who noticed me struggling and urged me to see my GP. He was brilliant – got me referred immediately for an endoscopy, which led to my diagnosis of stage two cancer (3cm) at the base of my oesophagus. I then went through the usual CT and PET scans and, luckily, no spread was detected, so I was put onto FLOT chemotherapy at Truro Hospital. Four rounds and most of my hair later, I coped pretty well with the onslaught. I was very tired, often somewhat lethargic and occasionally a bit grumpy, but I was still managing to walk the dog every day and carry on with life more or less as normal.
The most positive moment of the journey was finding out that I was strong enough for surgery – which I believe is down to living in Cornwall, where there are lots of hills and plenty of places to swim. Every time I look at my dog at my side, I know he’s part of the reason I’m still alive.
Surgery was a success, although there were some complications afterwards with my kidneys and I had to be moved to ICU for about six days (although four of those days were due to a lack of available beds elsewhere). I progressed well and was back home just under a week later. My food progression was pretty swift, moving onto the dreaded liquid-only week before I left hospital (I hated the sickly milkshakes). Then it was puréed food, which was probably the least appetising of all the options. Then Mum made me a cottage pie, which was one of the best I’ve ever tasted, to kick off soft solids week. By the end of the first fortnight at home I was already eating more or less what I wanted, with the exception of tougher bread and pastries.
I have to say the second round of chemo was probably the toughest, and the only time over the whole period that I had to ask someone else to walk the dog because I wasn’t feeling up to it. But that wasn’t every day – most days I still managed to get out and clock up 7–8,000 steps. Overall, though, I didn’t feel good either physically or internally, and I was very pleased when they decided to stop the chemo after three rounds. It had done its job, they told me, and any further doses would do more harm than good, especially with regard to the neuropathy.
That, I guess, has been the only really lasting side effect. I’m still feeling some numbness in my fingertips and I’m slightly unsteady on my feet due to nerve problems, I think. But other than that, things are going pretty well. I’m eating more or less normally, with three meals a day and the occasional snack in between. Portion sizes are definitely smaller, but they’re getting bigger. I had a full plate of fish and chips at the pub last week!
The main thing I’m finding difficult to come to terms with is dealing with liquid – I enjoy water, squash and the occasional beer, etc., but the volume that takes up inside me now means it’s difficult to combine liquid and food. But I’m getting used to it and remembering not to drink around mealtimes. I’m also sleeping a lot better now than before. I have a bed with an adjustable lift at the foot and head, which really helps, although it did take some getting used to and the first few weeks were quite restless. I kept slipping down and worrying that this was going to lead to reflux, but gradually I learned that it didn’t, and I’m now sleeping well.
So all in all, although I would never wish the last nine months on anybody, I can’t say the journey has been terrible. I’m feeling quite fit and healthy now, and I’m managing to swim 22 lengths of the local hotel pool every day, which really makes me feel more active and less tired. The dog is getting his 10,000 steps a day on the Cornish beaches, and I’m looking forward to 2026 being a much better year.
A very Happy Christmas to everyone and here's to being in a good place for 2026.
