If you have read my last blog post, you will know that I was given the bad news that I had bowel cancer while I was away from home, on an InterRail trip in Scandinavia. I was actually in a hotel room in Copenhagen, at the end of a long day’s sightseeing and photography, having walked over 8 miles around various locations (according to Strava) - the seaside, the University area and Orestad - using public transport to travel between these places. That day was my last chance to explore Copenhagen as I was moving on to Stockholm the following day. I was thinking about packing and what I was going to do when I arrived in Sweden, so the phone call took me by surprise.
The doctor introduced herself (it was the same doctor who had carried out the partial colonoscopy, and she said she remembered me). I joked that it might be an expensive call, as I was abroad. I remember she asked if I was alone and I replied yes, I was traveling solo as I often do. She went on to say that the results of the CT scan had come through, and it showed a “mass” the other side of the benign constriction which the colonoscopy camera had not been able to pass. She was sorry. It was cancer.
She gave me a phone number for the specialist cancer nurses at my local hospital and advised me to contact them if I had any queries. She would pass my contact details on to them and they would be in touch. She also advised me that I’d need another CT scan of the upper body. When I asked whether this was to see if the cancer had spread, she said it was “just routine”. I told her the date of my planned return to the UK on Saturday, 27 May and asked whether the scanner worked over weekends and Bank Holidays, which were happening immediately after my return. The answer was yes. I supposed I assumed that I’d have an appointment waiting for me when I got home, if not before.
I can remember asking what happens now and being told that the scans, colonoscopy report and blood test results would be considered by a multi disciplinary team (MDT) who would decide the best course of action and let me know. It would probably be surgery, maybe keyhole surgery, possibly with chemo before or after surgery. I recall saying that I wanted to be involved in the decision making. When asked whether I had any other questions, I said I couldn’t think of anything - I was still processing the news. Her last words to me were if I couldn’t eat anything or felt sick, just keep taking little sips of water. And that was it.
In truth, I couldn’t quite believe what I’d been told. My regular cancer screening poo stick test taken in February had come back negative. After the initial gut episode early in March and post-Covid recovery, I’d felt fine. Travelled to Italy, Istanbul and now Scandinavia without any problems. All the medics I’d talked to indicated that my symptoms were consistent with diverticulitis. A cancer diagnosis was the last thing I’d expected. Oh, shit.
The practical part of my mind swung into action, prompted by the doctors remarks about taking sips of water if I couldn’t eat anything (which sounded serious and more than a remote possibility, otherwise why mention it?). I phoned my travel insurance provider to tell them what I’d been told, to make sure I was covered in case of a medical emergency (I am, but must tell them the treatment plan when known so they can adjust my cover - and the cost, no doubt - accordingly).
Then I had to think about how to break it to the (grown up) kids. Wanting to tell them both at the same time, and feeling unable to wait until I was back in the UK, I set up a WhatsApp group phone call for the following evening, after I’d arrived and settled in at the Stockholm hotel. They probably guessed that something was up, but I needed to bit more time to digest the news before I talked to them.
I think I must have finished a bit more packing, double checked train times from Copenhagen to Stockholm, and got ready for bed. Life would never be quite the same again…
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