This is not a story to be read and enjoyed. It’s the true story of the dedication and expertise of all the staff in the Surgical and Oncology units at Queen’s Hospital Romford who saved a man’s life. My life. It’s the story of the speed with which my serious illness was dealt with.
It’s a story of “What Ifs”.
What if my G.P. had delayed his decision to make the original decision to refer me to the hospital by two weeks or maybe more?
What if the first scan (endoscopy) had been delayed by two weeks or more?
What if the first appointment with a consultant surgeon had been delayed by two weeks or more?
What if the times between assessment appointments had been delayed by two weeks or more?
What if the later scans and procedures had been delayed by two weeks or more?
What if the surgery I needed had been delayed by two weeks or more?
If all the “What ifs” were added together how would that have affected the outcome of the treatment of my cancers?
What if my treatment had run over into the Covid period, would my treatment have been completed and how might my body have coped with Covid? Would I be writing this story?
If you believe that the “What ifs” is overly dramatic could I point you to the NHS waiting list times.
This story has not been dramatized it simply tells of the trauma and drama experienced by me and my wife (carer).
The equipment myself and my hardworking team are endeavoring to raise the funds for, won’t solve all those “What ifs” but if it speeds up one aspect of a patient’s treatment, which it will, it could be the difference between a life saved or a life lost.
Let me go back…
The year 2018 was a vey busy one for me. At the age of 74, working in my garden was becoming more of a chore and less enjoyable than it used to be. My wooden fencing had deteriorated to the point of collapse and too many plants were taking up too much of my time, so I decided that the time had come for a complete redesigning of the garden along with brick walls rather than fencing. Plants that were no longer part of the new design I removed and took down to St Patrick’s church and replanted them in the grounds that surrounded it. It was a solo project, and it took me a whole year. The last piece of crazy paving, to cover the areas where there would be no plants, was laid in the early part of January 2019. I had been disciplined in working from 8 a.m. in the morning, every morning. I felt strong, fit and healthy and was looking forward to my new garden coming to life in the coming Spring. I had no inkling of what was lying in store for me.
Only a few days later I had a few episodes whereby, although my food had been swallowed, it had got stuck halfway to my stomach. Pat, my wife, said she thought I was eating my food too quickly and not chewing it properly. As any dutiful husband would I heeded her words but the instances began to occur more frequently and the time taken for the blockage to clear was taking longer and longer. Meals were constantly being interrupted and, in many cases, not finished at all. Time to see Dr. Rhandhawa, my G.P.
Dr.Rhandawa was an excellent ‘old school’ no messing about or dithering type of G.P.who knew his trade and inspired confidence, certainly in me. Having inspected my throat he gave me several possible causes of my problem none of which I can remember now. What I can remember quite clearly was his words “and of course we can’t discount cancer, I’ll make a referral to have a proper look at your throat after which we will know a bit more than we do at the moment”. That last comment lingered in the minds of both myself and Pat while we awaited the appointment date.
On the 10th March 2019 I duly presented myself at Queen’s Hospital in Romford to have an endoscopy and a nurse explained that I would be given a sedative prior to the procedure so I would be awake but would feel no more than a bit of discomfort, possibly some gagging. I would then be taken back to the holding ward for 4 hours before I could be taken home. I had to be accompanied when I left and driving was not an option. Pat and I had agreed a time for her to arrive at the hospital but she arrived much earlier than I expected and idled away the time in the waiting room. The procedure appeared to go well but It couldn’t have been more than an hour later when a nurse came and told me that the doctor who had performed the procedure wanted to see me. I firmly believed that I was only going to be signing the usual release documents until Pat was also brought into the consulting room. Neither of us was expecting this and we were both very tense as you would expect.
Gently we were advised by the doctor who carried out the procedure that he had found cancer in the oesophagus. Everything went quiet for a moment until I queried at how quickly he knew. “I’ve been doing this for a long while and I know Cancer when I see it” was his reply. He went on to tell us that the result would be checked officially and then the hospital would contact us to advise the next steps. Whether it was the sedative still in my system I don’t know but I don’t remember feeling any particular emotion. Pat also showed no emotion but later she told me she just went numb but was determined to be strong for fear of upsetting me unnecessarily.
I don’t know the name of that doctor and never saw him again but he was one of many, many back room personnel that I came across that never see the limelight but whose contribution to a patient’s well being is vital.
We walked through the hospital and then to the bus stop holding hands but neither of us spoke a word. What was there to say? The silence continued until we reached home and like all sensible people we made a cup of tea.
For more information on the symptoms of oesophageal cancer please visit https://www.nhs.uk/conditions/oesophageal-cancer/symptoms/
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