Bombshell

Private healthcare in Portugal is marvellous. My appointment at the clinic for the CT scan was for 1730, we got there five minutes early and were out of the door at 1745 with the images and the CD rom in my hands. Returning to Dr Habeck’s surgery he was pleased my infection was getting better, he had a quick look at the images and announced he could not see anything suspicious. Result, onwards and upwards.

Then, an hour later, a phone call. I was to return to the surgery that evening to meet the doctor. We got there early, Bren sat in the car, I walked up and down, knowing something was wrong. He arrived, opened up the surgery and sat us down. I was shaking, so was Brenda.

Being German, Dr Habeck cut straight to the point. The radiographer had called him, he had seen from my scan that I had colon cancer and secondary cancer in my lungs. It was very serious, we had to move fast. I needed a biopsy and colonoscopy which he could arrange locally, and he could get me treated by the best cancer surgeon he knew in Heidelberg in Germany. There was no time to loose. We walked away in total shock – we were totally unprepared for this latest bombshell. I had no symptoms of any of the above, how could it be ? We drove to Gerry & Sue’s house, sat down and cried our hearts out.

Dr Habeck

The infection got worse, my mood grew darker. The lovely Christine from next door said I should see a doctor and knew of a Dr Habeck who ran a private practice nearby. He was German, and highly recommended. So off we went, and not before time. The good doctor said my infection was serious, smelled bad, could easily have developed into septicaemia and after cleaning it up he prescribed strong antibiotics. I was to see him virtually daily so that he could monitor and clear the infection. He was worried that the cancer from my leg could spread, I mentioned I had a pain in my groin so he arranged X-rays, and an ultrasound, both of which came back clear. Anyway, he said, any spread of the cancer would have been picked up in the CT Scan. Apparently everywhere in Europe, if you have a melanoma you have a scan as a routine, apart from UK and Switzerland. So we booked one, for the following Monday, 14th September at a clinic in Lagoa.

Dark Sunny Days

I am useless on crutches, and very impatient. The recovery period didn’t go well, I had an infection in my wound, and I was feeling very sorry for myself. Eventually though, and thanks mainly to my wonderful Brenda trying to keep my spirits up, the wound started to recover, I got more mobile and we flew out to Portugal.

I love Portugal. I love everything about it. I love the food, the wine, the scenery, the golf, the climate, the people. I even love the way they drive. But I wasn’t looking forward to going there. My dear friend Claire had explained in great depth how careful I should now be when exposing my skin to the sun. I had become paranoid and terrified of going outdoors, and that’s not good when you have a house in the Algarve. I couldn’t play golf, swim in the pool, cycle, walk on the beach, I became a recluse and a prisoner in our home. In addition to that I had a bad foot from my weeks on crutches, and the infection in my wound had come back, only worse. Miserable is not the word.

The Maverick

So, I was to have a “wide local excision”. Never heard of it? Well neither had I. Evidently they cut a piece of flesh way from around the site of the original mole to ensure the cancer doesn’t spread. And within a few days I was under the knife of the marvellous Mr Dannan, a true Maverick. I should have had a skin graft but he didn’t like that idea, he operated on my leg and repaired using a series of “flaps” – it made my leg look like I’d done ten rounds with a shark, but the recovery would be better. He didn’t finish tying the last of the 100+ stitches till after 8pm, the nurses stayed with me throughout, despite they weren’t paid after 5pm, and even waited to make sure I was safely loaded into my taxi to take me home. Thank you Jyoti and Frank, and of course Mr Dannan, heroes all of you.

Unfortunately

My pal Mick had a mole removed, and was told that he would receive a letter in the post within 5/6 weeks with the result of the biopsy. I was told I should report for a follow up appointment in two weeks. They obviously knew something I didn’t,  and alarm bells should have rung…..I was to meet with a Claire Lansdell who sat me down, with Brenda of course, and went to great lengths to explain that we never apply enough sun cream, don’t use a strong enough factor, should “stay under a tree between 11 and 3”, there was a certain risk etc etc……it was probably the same spiel everyone else got, my mind was drifting. Ok, I’ll be more careful in future, I get the idea….Then she said the word – “UNFORTUNATELY”.

Unfortunately Mr Mole was a cancerous melanoma. My heart dropped, I broke out into a sweat, Brenda cried. Cancer? That’s what other people get, older than me and unhealthy. Surely some mistake ? No, no mistake, it’s cancer. Claire then revealed that she was in fact a specialist MacMillan nurse who was trained in the handling of exactly this type of situation. One of the most wonderful people I’ve ever met. There are very few experiences in life quite like being told you have cancer, it’s the great taboo, it’s the worst nightmare, and we were living it. Luckily there are people like Claire in this world to help you deal with it.

The much maligned NHS

It didn’t seem worth bothering with the appointment at The General that was made for me a couple of days later, but I went along anyway. The doctor who examined didn’t share the same confidence as Doc Martin, and suggested I get Mr Mole removed immediately, although even he didn’t give me much cause for concern. Just a precaution, kind of thing.  I was happy to oblige, and the lovely Dee Glover had it sliced it off without so much as a blink of an eye. This was the start of my lengthy association with the dermatology dept at Brighton General, and the first time I had really seen what a fabulous and much maligned institution the NHS is. Yes, there are problems, yes, there are too many bean counters, managers and committees, but when it comes down to good old fashioned care and devotion to patients we should be very proud and grateful that so many people are prepared to work in such trying conditions and make so many sacrifices to make our lives better. This is never truer than the team at The General, bless ’em.

Statistically speaking

My old GP, Dr Stalker, had recently retired, persuing his dream of extreme golfing and motorcycling across the Himalayas, and good luck to him. It was therefore the first time that I had occasion to meet my new GP, Dr Martin.  Doc Martin. I expected him to be very tall with sticky out ears, driving a Lexus, and constantly being rude to old people and children. He was however nothing of the sort, a charming softly spoken Scotsman ( there ain’t many of them about ) who instantly scored a hit by announcing confidentially that he was “99.9% sure” that Mr Mole was nothing at all to worry about. Phew, what a relief. He did however suggest I pop along to the dermatology dept at Brighton General, just to be sure to be sure.

Are you REALLY ill ? – June 2015

By the time I had got back home, I was proper worried about Mr Mole. The authors of those bloody American websites had definitely done their job well. So, on the first morning back in Brighton, I started ringing my GP surgery at eight o’clock on the dot, as their website told me that’s when you should ring if I wanted an appointment to see a doctor. After several dozen redials I finally got a ringing tone instead of the engaged signal. Success ! It rang for ages and then I was unceremoniously told to “hold on”, with no offer of an apology for the delay, or even an electronic rendition of Greensleeves. Eventually though, the Haridan returned to the line and demanded to know why I was calling. It should have been bleeding obvious, I wouldn’t normally phone up a GP for a friendly chat at 8AM, especially as we had never actually met. What kind of horror do you have to be to get a job as a doctor’s receptionist ? I did finally manage to persuade the woman that I had a genuine and real medical concern that required urgent attention, so she reluctantly granted me an appointment for later that same day. This clearly disappointed her, but I didn’t feel in the least bit guilty that I had ruined her day.

Mr Mole – June 2015

” I don’t like the look of that thing on the back of your leg, Unc, maybe you should get it checked”

I’m not his real uncle of course, but Martin is a good deal younger than me, and for ages we had called each other Neph and Unc. The same went for our mutual friend Simon, who is around the same age as Martin. They’d called me Unc for ages, so long in fact I can’t remember when they have ever called me “Bill”, it was always Unc or  Uncle Bill. I think it all originated with Simon after I’d sorted some minor problem or other, like opening a particularly awkward jar or bottle and announced proudly ” just leave it to your Uncle Bill”. We chuckled like silly schoolboys and the name stuck. And if I was to be Unc, they of course would of course assume the title of Neph.

I’d been aware of the mole on the back of my calf for a while, and had noticed that it had started looking a little strange, but didn’t make much of it. Out of sight, out of mind. Brenda had remarked on it too of course and even offered to squeeze it at some point, but being a typical husband I didn’t take a blind bit if notice…..it was only when a mate, a bloke, a fellow golfer, a geezer, expressed concern that I thought I’d better get it checked out as it could be serious. Wives’ opinions and suggestions that you should see a doctor are universally ignored by the spouse. It’s the way of the world. I did however do the worst thing you can possibly do when faced with a potential medical issue, I went on Google and read all kinds of websites, mostly originating in the good old USA, that scared the cr&p out of me, so I decided I’d have it properly checked out by my GP as soon as I got back to Blighty.