‘MY WORLD WAS TURNED UPSIDE DOWN’
After his return to work after a year’s absence, Drogheda Independent group editor opens up about his cancer diagnosis and treatment
LAST Wednesday morning, March 11th was the first time in just over a year that I sat at my desk in the newsroom of The Argus. On Thursday, March 7th, 2019, I left the office early not feeling well and went to bed early that evening. After a restless and painful night, during which I considered calling an ambulance, I went to the Emergency Department in Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital in severe pain with, what I suspected was a persistent stomach bug, which had bothered me on and off for a couple of weeks and had hindered my enjoyment of my sister’s wedding only the previous Saturday afternoon.
Thirteen days later I left hospital following emergency surgery and a diagnosis of bowel cancer.
My world had been turned upside down. The world of my family had been turned upside down.
I had hardly been sick a day in my life and only occasionally missed work, more often than not infecting the rest of the office when I came into work with a cold.
A bout of glandular fever in my college days was fortunately as serious a health crisis as I faced in my four plus decades.
Facing my return to work, I know this is a significant milestone upon my recovery and it was during an evening walk with my wife a couple of weeks ago that I silently decided that I needed to write my story, the words, the sentences came flooding into my brain. With every step another memory came flashing before me. Not every memory flash was negative, indeed perversely very many were positive.
The twists and turns of my last year are well known to me, my wife, my sons, my mam, dad, sister and friends, but I needed to put it down on paper. Writing and the written word are an essential part of my working life. It is how I process information, organise my thoughts and gain inspiration.
I’ve never talked as much as I have in the last year, nor had as much time to talk and think, but in putting it all down in black and white, I suspect I will get some new insight into my story. I suspect those closest to me will also learn a thing or two as they read along.
What I didn’t decide on the walk, was whether I wanted to publish the story. Yes, in my soul I always knew I had to write the story, I have written it in my head over and over again in the last number of months, but even now as I sit at my keyboard I don’t know whether I want to reveal it publicly. Writing it down and keeping it private, or at least confined to family, is one thing, but putting it out there is another thing altogether.
However at the end of the day, if just one person reading this takes away something positive from me doing so then absolutely it is worth doing.
Cancer is a scary word, we all know that, but perhaps it is not as scary as it was once upon a time. It is certainly no longer the death sentence it once was, and thanks to the advances in medical science and research, living with cancer has become the new norm.
One in two of us will get cancer. If I do publish this story, it is for the people who will get cancer, who will be scared and need to know that while there are not happy outcomes for everyone, there are positive stories connected and associated with cancer.
Writing my story I don’t wish to sound naive or conceited. I know I am not expert or qualified and that others have had far more difficult and traumatic experiences than me.
I am one of the lucky ones. I know that. I know that is not the case for everyone. I know that not everyone is lucky enough to benefit from the wonderful loving support of a family like my own and brilliant friends who supported me at every step.
During my treatment in the Oncology Centre in Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital I personally knew two fellow patients very well and we would cross paths during our regular visits, having a bit of craic, usually talking football and comparing our experiences of treatment.
Tragically both these wonderful men, passed away in January within days of each other. I could only describe both as life forces in their circles of family, friends and community, Tommy battled cancer for over a decade but never lost his zest for life and was looking forward to a golfing trip to Spain at the end of January with his closest pals.
The second man I knew, told me how he loved to walk along the Navvy Bank on good days between treatment and he is always in my thoughts when I walk that same route.
Just this week I learned a childhood friend who had emigrated to Australia had passed away after a long and difficult battle of her own.
Yes I know that I am one of the lucky ones and I very much hope that luck will continue. Every cancer survivor has a five-year aftercare plan with scans and follow up appoint- ments and I have come through my first year check in good health.
Working in the newspaper industry as a journalist since leaving college I have become accustomed to bad news. Unfortunately it is all too common a part of the working day and I think that helped me deal with my diagnosis in a pragmatic and practical way.
Shock probably carried me through those initial days in hospital. That and the endless round of tests and scans, need for blood samples, bedside medical consultations, prep for surgery, consent forms and the period when I begged the nurses to take me off the morphine which put me potty.
However, once home
I think the pragmatic and practical part of me took over and my motto became ‘it is what it is’ to each and every twist, turn, setback and expression of concern.
I latched onto the description of my condition, ‘curative bowel cancer’ explained by Professor Bryan Hennessy in Our Lady of Lourdes Hospital in the appropriately named Dochas Centre who explained that in addition to the surgery I already had, I would need a course of chemotherapy given over twelve cycles, but the statistics of a successful outcome were favorable.
Following my surgery and at home recuperating before the start of chemo, I was lost in limbo, frustrated at not being able to drive for some weeks, missing work, wanting to get back at my desk and impatient with the very well meaning cautionary word of advice to take my time.
If someone told me then that I would be off work for a year I would have torn the walls down and at times I did, bored by the long days, frustrated at my illness. But never angry. Of all the emotions I’ve experienced, anger never crossed my mind. Why me?, sure, but why not? No family history, don’t smoke, rarely drink, but as I said so often, ‘it is what it is’.
Of all the emotions experienced, guilt is the one that comes to mind most readily. Aileen Emery, the excellent manager of the Gary Kelly Cancer Support Centre, prodded and poked until she teased that emotional response from me during an hour long chat.
Guilt at what I put my family through. Guilt at seeing their worry. Guilt at seeing the relief and outpouring of stress from their bodies as I relayed the good news I had received from Professor Hennessy at a meeting in December following my treatment.
Their bodies shook with the release of pent up anxiety and worry and rather than being relieved myself, I had an immense feeling of guilt that my illness had caused them such worry.
During my treatment of course I was worried, but my pragmatic, practical self was focused on my treatment. I had that routine, twelve cycles of chemotherapy, one every two weeks, blood tests, three visits to the oncology unit during chemo weeks as well as other appointments and scans.
Then I had to ride the wave of the bad days from the treatment which came over the weekend following the midweek chemo. I had the focus of the good days, getting out and about, doing ordinary everyday things and building up the strength and appetite before the next cycle of chemo.
Those routines carried me along. We counted the cycles off. I remember one day a friend asking me how many cycles I had done. ‘ Three’, I said. ‘ Not so bad, sure you’re halfway there’, he said. Talk about positive thinking, I wouldn’t mind but he was a maths teacher. I know it’s a long time since I went to school but even then, 3 wasn’t half of 12.
The weeks since the end of chemo and the drying up of the medical appointments have been more challenging if anything. January is al- ways a pretty bleak month and this Feb- ruary wasn’t much better with the end- less storms, but with no routine, no focus on medicine, no chats to doctors and nurses, no blood tests, there is huge vacuum, with the comfort blanket of that medical support network removed.
More time, more hours to fill. Time to worry. What if this, what if that. Time for the demons in your head. Face that battle. Time to engage with the Gary Kelly Centre and a wonderful counselling session with Aileen who really helped me get everything into perspective and showing me coping mechanisms for the future and how to watch for signs that you are not coping.
Returning to work is actually one of the biggest challenges, but I know that the door to the Gary Kelly Centre is open if and when I need it.
As a lifelong Liverpool fan, their last