At the age of fifteen, I’d been diagnosed with diabetes, the sort that needed daily injections. I also needed a carefully controlled diet. Not ideal when I was experiencing the usual teenage problems; I’d just discovered girls. Despite the setback, I got on with living my life. I left school, got a job, then another, and eventually managed to keep a girlfriend for longer than five minutes.
To move the story forward, things appeared to be going well. Now in my late twenties, I’d got engaged to Sharon and eventually got a job that I enjoyed. I was still also managing to keep my diabetes under control.
Unfortunately, out of the blue one day, I fainted. I then continued to have fainting spells regularly and felt quite unwell. After several fainting episodes, Sharon convinced me to see my doctor. After explaining my symptoms, it was naturally thought diabetes was the cause of my problems. He decided to refer me to one of the diabetes specialists for further tests.
Two weeks passed and, despite looking after myself a little better as the specialists had suggested, I started to feel even worse. I had also now developed a rash so went back to see my doctor again. I saw a different doctor this time, as my usual doctor was away. He examined me, checked my eyes and looked at the rash. His thoughts were that it might not actually be the diabetes causing the problems, and he made an appointment for me to visit the Haematology Unit the following day. I remember the appointment quite vividly.
After the tests and a very painful procedure with a large needle, I was told I’d need to stay overnight at the hospital. They neglected to mention that I had Acute Myeloid Leukaemia, which I didn’t find out until I was ushered into an isolation room; oh, and asked to sign some consent forms.
How to explain the story now is difficult, as the chances are most people reading this will be familiar with the usual side effects some cancer treatments can cause.
These included hair loss, which for me was a struggle as I loved my long hair. I had big hair, think Duran Duran style, sad but true! Other problems included trouble sleeping, poor concentration levels and having a Hickman line fitted.
I was also worried about the stress and upset I was causing my family and friends. I was very concerned by the awful news that the treatment would make it unlikely that Sharon and I would be able to have a family. Within just two hours of receiving this devastating news, I was asked to produce a sperm sample for storage. Having to retreat to the hospital en suite shower room to fill a plastic pot was far from appealing. I wish I could say I was successful and filled it to the top; however, with all the will in the world, the romance was missing – nothing happened.
Anyway, for six weeks, I lay in bed having treatment. My hair started to fall out, which was making me resemble Buster from Bad Manners. I had drips bleeping away and my wee being measured out in cardboard cups. Sharon sat with me every day and did her best to keep me going. We had some very funny moments together, which really helped me get through my treatment.
Once, the television in the corner of my hospital room was so loud it made it difficult for us both to actually hear each other. The theme tune from Top Gear was blasting out. Spontaneously, both Sharon and I started playing our air guitars and hummed for all we were worth, only stopping when the laughing got so loud. The nursing staff came rushing in thinking I was crying with pain; they didn’t believe me when I said they were tears of laughter.
Eventually, my treatment was reduced and I was allowed home. I still had to come into hospital daily; unfortunately, at that time, our car was proving very unreliable and it finally broke down on the way in one morning. A breakdown driver soon arrived in the dirtiest truck imaginable and said he’d have to take our car to a garage; all I was concerned about was all the germs. I still had to be careful as my immune system was low after all my treatment, making me very prone to infection. Anyway, I had no choice so asked if he could drop me off at the hospital. On the way, we started talking about my cancer and the various treatments. As we pulled up to the hospital, he said a friend of his brother had the same but had died, ‘which was sad because he was a good customer’. Not really a story I wanted to hear at that point.
There is humour to be found in most situations and I always felt it was important to allow myself to laugh. Sometimes it helped me to cry and scream; in fact, being selfish at times helped me, too. I hoped everyone understood it wasn’t personal.
To bring my story to an end, I am now happily married to the lovely Sharon and we have a son and daughter conceived naturally with no need for test tubes or plastic pots. I also now work full-time at a college.
There are still times when I worry or get depressed, but I only have to think back and realize the worst is behind me. So, if you’re reading this going through treatment or getting over cancer, stay positive and live your life to the full. It can and will get better, and remember you are not alone, people like me are thinking of you.