Where do I start?

Well at the beginning I guess?

My health situation changes on an almost daily basis and with that, my mental state. Writing this to you is therapeutic and helps me as well as satisfying your curiosity.

A few weeks ago I started a course of action which would lead to one of the most profound experiences of my life so far, it started when I went to the doctors.

I only had a cold and a slight cough, but it had been going on for many weeks and while not as bad as many friends and colleagues who had been sick with winter bugs, it was getting me down. The doctor did the usual checks and prescribed some antibiotics. A couple of weeks later the cold had got worse and the cough still irritating. This time the doctor suggested a stronger dose of antibiotics and a chest x-ray. That was three weeks ago.

My mobile phone rang and a very nervous sounding doctor told me that they had concerns over my x-ray, it was nothing to worry about they said, they were just being thorough. Of course the first thing you do is worry and your mind gallops off in all different directions but it isn’t real, it’s probably nothing. I was referred to a chest specialist, that was last week.

The specialist sat at his desk and studied my paperwork, he looked up and with a friendly expression told me that I had a coin sized tumour on my left lung probably about a centimetre in size. The surrounding tissue looked good and there were no obvious signs of any other problems. Further tests were needed and a biopsy to see if it was anything dangerous but it all looked good. An operation to remove the section of lung was the worst case scenario, oh and by the way it looks as though you have a gallstone.

Through the magic of BUPA I had a PET scan a few days later, the 13th, unlucky for some. Following a morning of fasting, they loaded up my veins with radioactive sugar and put me in a dark room to relax for an hour, no screens or computers but you could play relaxing music. The sugar would be absorbed by any active tumours, so they would be able to image anything that lit up.

The following day I went to see the specialist again, Wednesday 14th, my mind was wandering off to the day’s earlier events where a number of my colleagues had been made redundant. What a terrible, inhuman way to deal with people. Meanwhile the specialist was looking serious and Sadie was gripping my hand tightly and cutting off the blood. With a snap, I was back in the room. “I’m sorry Mr Cameron, I’m afraid it’s cancer and it has spread to your liver, there is very little we can do, I’m very, very sorry.

I felt like I was an observer watching myself sat in the doctor’s office. How long have I got? I heard myself ask. It was the only question I could think of….about 12 months if everything goes well, he replied. This was followed by a stream of questions from both Sadie and myself, why can’t you do this or that, one after the other. The specialist just looked me square in the eye and kept saying, I’m really sorry. This just can’ be happening to me, no there must be a mistake. Walking out of the hospital to the car I thought, so this is how it all ends, so wasteful, so meaningless. I couldn’t cry, it just wasn’t real.

The next day, last Thursday, I was scheduled for an MRI scan to help pinpoint the liver tumour and also see if it had spread to my brain, if it had, it would be game over really quickly. If you have the slightest sign of claustrophobia, these machine are not a great place to be. In addition my head was placed in a close fighting plastic cage with a small mirror so I could see the ladies in the control room. Next came ear plugs and some headphones to protest my ears and well as another plastic cage that fitted around my chest. Completely immobile, a catheter in my arm was hooked up to remote control delivery machine. The bed slid into the machine where I stayed for 45 minutes, more burning chemicals were injected into me to highlight the bad stuff.

That evening as I came to terms with my own mortality for the 1000th time I wrote an email to my friends at work. I knew I would never be going back to work.

 Dear Friends,

It breaks my heart to tell tell you about my latest medical update.

I have been diagnosed with terminal lung cancer, which has spread to my liver. I have been given about a year to live.

I couldn’t tell you face to face as I don’t have the strength to hold it together while telling you that I have no hope of survival.

I have done as much as I am able, to make things easier for whoever picks up the baton and all I would ask is that you support them as you have been kind enough to support me, even when things weren’t going your way.

Please always remember that I am proud of each and every one of you and the selfless work that you do.

One last thing before I sign off, please make the most of every day that you have and live for today, you never know when it will be your last.

Your faithful friend,

Stuart

I went to bed, never to sleep soundly again.