FAQs

There have, during the months and years of my illness, as well as the short time since this blog has been on the web, several questions I have been asked that have a strong consistency to them, which has lead me to include this section. Not yet knowing how to change the order of any postings, this will appear wherever it does, and not remain, as perhaps it should, somewhere near the top for people to read easily.
One of the most frequent questions, especially in the early days of my illness was: How did you know/ What made you go to the doctor in the first place? (I particularly wanted to write about this, because, although it contains a little graphic detail, I want to encourage anyone who is experiencing any symptoms to go and get it checked out. It can be very easy to talk oneself out of going, through either embarrassment, or simple fear. The earlier this illness is caught, the better the chances are that people survive and even avoid the need for surgery. So if anything like the following is going on with you, or someone you love, PLEASE check it out with a doctor!)
Those of you with a delicate disposition should look away now!
Well, a few years before all this (back in about 1996 I think), I went to the doctor because I suspected I had piles (or haemorrhoids) because I had notice some bleeding from my bottom. After a brief examination the doctor concurred, and I was given some pessaries to insert that would clear up the problem. And they worked, for a while at least, but after just a few months, the symptoms of bleeding started again, and, being very blokish about going to the doctor, and feeling I knew the diagnosis based upon my previous experience, I just decided to buy some cream from a pharmacist and self treat. And that also worked. This went on for a few years or so - there were long periods where there were no symptoms at all, and then there were times when I had to go to the chemist's again to buy the necessary. Once I went to the doctor in about '98 or so, told him my symptoms and history, and was prescribed pessaries again without being examined - something I wonder about today - but, once again, the pessaries worked. Then in about 2002, it all stopped for quite a while. When some symptoms came back in 2005, I merely thought it was the return of the piles and that I shoud take the cream again and all would be resolved. But this time the creams didn't make much difference. Then, one very strange day in '05, I felt very suddenly extremely faint and nauseous, began to sweat profusely and felt terribly weak. This was followed by some horrendously explosive diarrhoea, and thinking that I would die as I sat on the toilet. But the strangest thing was, after the event, all the bleeding from my bowel ceased, and it was not until January 2006 that it returned. Once again, being a bloke I self treated and did not go to the doctor, until one morning in May, when Sarah said would I please just go and get myself looked at.
Thinking I would merely be told once again that the piles had returned, I booked the appointment at my GP's surgery, and on arrival was a little surprised to find that I would be seeing not my own (male) doctor, but Dr. Fiona Forsyth. She listend to my history, and said while it could be piles once again, that it might be wise if she examined me - a "Digital Rectal Examination", or DRE: a term I was soon to become familiar with. After the examination, she told me this: "It isn't haemorrhoids, David. It is quite possibly polyps. These are small growths that can occur in the bowel, and are easily treated during a colonoscopy, where a doctor inserts a camera into your anus, which also has a small device for giving an electric charge to a small area to cauterise any small growths that are there. It is always wise to have polyps treated, as they can, in a few cases, become cancerous. What we now do with any rectal or bowel bleeding is refer you immediately to the colorectal clinic at the hospital for a more thorough examination. If I do that now, you'll have an appointment in a couple of weeks." (Dr. Forsyth has contacted me every few months since that day, and has admitted she was almost certain it wasn't a polyp at the time. She has followed my case very closely since that first step, and I have nothing but praise and gratitude for the fact that she gave me the examination she did, and took the prompt action she did.)
And that is how I came to discover I had bowel cancer. I shall never forget Dr Marcous, a wonderfully chubby and unhealthy looking doctor in the hospital who carried out the next DRE a couple of weeks later saying to me in his heavily Egyptian accented English as I lay prone on the couch, "David, I can see nothing because there is too much blood. But I feel something, and I got to tell you, it not nice." The fact that the face of the nurse in attendance turned instantly from a Nurse Ratchett look-a-like into that of Bambi made me think that I was not in for an easy ride!
Are you still working?
Well, I was still delivering training all through my chemo therapy earlier this year, and stopped doing so about three months ago now. However, one company I do a lot of work for have been so outstandingly supportive as to give me numerous course writing jobs to do, so that I can continue to work from home without having to travel as I used to and stand on my feet delivering courses. I hope to continue like that for a long time yet, and then, when I am recovered, get back to doing what I love to do - training others.
Have they told you how long you have?
Only at the first meeting in December '07 did one of the consultant oncologists mention that "statistically", people in my condition last one to two years "on average". However, being younger than the vast majority of people with bowel cancer (of the 32,000 people a year who are diagnosed, less than 5% are below 55 years old) I could hope to see three years. Personally, I have never regarded myself as a statistic, so I have no idea how long I could last, but intend for it to be a long, long time.
How are you/Sarah/Emma?
This is a question asked almost every time by people who contact us at various intervals, and the honest answer is that it can vary from one call to the next. According to the people who are most familiar with this situation and how people usually react (the doctors in the palliative care team, Caroline our wonderful Macmillan Nurse, our family GP, the District Nurses, and so on) as a family we are doing remarkably well. We communicate how we feel, when we are upset, how we are responding to the latest piece of news, and just try to keep tabs on how each other is coping all the time, and to tell you all the truth, for me, the way Sarah and Emma cope with this is a humbling inspiration to me. If you can try to imagine everything they have had to come to terms with in the last two years or so - from diagnosis, to seeming recovery, to a seemingly impossible-to-recover-from recurrence, and all the treatments in between from chemo-radiotherapy, to operation, and more chemo, and if I then tell you that we are regularly laughing, playing, joking and crying together, you may have some sense of the immense pride I feel for the pair of them.
Is there anything I/we can do?
Again, I think almost every person who has spoken to us in the last two years has said this to us almost every time we have spoken. The sensation of love and support we have all felt has already been gift enough, and the truth is, that at the moment, there is little anyone can do, other than to help out when they can: like our gorgeous and great friend Trish coming round to clean for us the other day because Sarah felt run ragged with all she had to do, or Claire doing the ironing for us, or Paul fitting the handrail to the steep stairwell to assist me getting up and down the stairs, and so much more. I cannot tell you how much a phone call or a letter or a card has meant to all of us, because we know then we are not going through this alone. And, most importantly for me, should I not make it through this alive, I have the knowledge that our friends and family will be there for Sarah and Emma. I have to say, without that certain knowledge, I would find it hard to face the possibility of my death with as much strength as I now can.