Early on the morning of Tuesday 13th October 2014 I had a conversation with the anaesthetist at the Hillcrest Hospital in Rockhampton. He informed me that colon cancer was the best cancer to have. Well, I thought, that is if you have a choice. As it happened I did not have a choice and was happy to take his assurances that I had a “good” cancer. He was proven correct in that the surgery later that morning was successful and now, some six years later, I remain in very good health.
It was a story that could have had a much different ending. I began seeing my Doctor in late July about this particular pain in the side of my stomach. He put me through the usual process of CAT scan and ultra-sound, I was given the all clear but was left wondering what was the source of the pain? When this persisted the Doctor prescribed treatment for constipation. Now, that really made no sense to me. However, what do you do?
In mid-August as the pain kept recurring I received the government-provided bowel test kit and duly did my duty with regards to the test. There were some nagging fears about the possibility of the Big C and I thought this test would confirm or settle my concerns. As it happened in late August I received the good news of a negative test. I was all clear, that was great, but the recurring pain was getting worse and I began to lose weight.
In the second week of October, we celebrated the full recovery of our business – Clear Waters Financial Planning – with our clients. We had been in a mammoth struggle for two years with a Franchise Company who sought to destroy us. Hence, the celebration was a great event but in the old terminology I was actually feeling pretty bloody crook. On the Monday morning I demanded to see my Doctor for the 6th time since July. He looked at me, felt the tidal wave in my belly and called for more tests. At 3pm that afternoon I was informed I had colon cancer. With Remy and my two sons attending, I met with a surgeon and was admitted to hospital for emergency surgery the following morning. As they say, the rest is history.
The “emergency bit” was good, meaning we did not have long to sweat on the matter. On the flipside, the surgeon informed me that had I waited another two weeks I might have been a “goner”, the whole thing was ready to blow. We did turn our attention to the fact of the negative result of the bowel screening test, the earlier scans with negative results and the six Doctor visits. There are times when riding on the Personal Health Canoe we need to grab hold of the oar and do a bit of paddling ourselves, not just take whatever is given to us.
Ultimately however I was just happy to have got out of jail as it were and continue to enjoy good health.
I was given the mandatory chemotherapy with the aid of the slow-release chemo belt, something akin I guess to slow-release fertilizer in the garden. I really did not look the better for the ten-kilo loss of weight and did not really enjoy the infusion of chemicals into my body, but I was the better person for witnessing fellow patients whose battle with the Big C was far worse than mine. This experience brought me to appreciate firstly how truly fortunate I was to have avoided a much harsher outcome and secondly the immense gift of good health. The pain and patience I saw in the faces of others taught me not to take good health for granted and exercise greater empathy for those on the same road.
Looking back, I recall I was not upset about being diagnosed with cancer. I did not ask “Why me?” because I could just as well say “Why not me?” So many of my friends, acquaintances and business clients had endured and were enduring health crises of different types with cancer as the most prevalent. I now had a greater affinity with and for them as well as a positive attitude regarding full recovery.
A further chapter of this story was written in February the following year. We were experiencing the flooding of our house and yard, the second time in eight years. We have a high-set house – a Queenslander – which meant water could not reach the upper section of the house, but the downstairs and yard were being devastated.
The high picket fence around the house was in danger of giving way as the flood waters surged against it, seeking a way out. Without thinking too much I waded into the knee-high surge with the chemo belt swaying on my left hip, pair of thongs on my feet and using a garden rake as a prop in my right hand, as I sought to get the large gate open to release the water pressure. I thought of Moses parting the Red Sea with his staff, but the waters of Wackford Street were giving way to no one. Above me through the windows of the side veranda Remy was yelling at me to “get out of there”. I did get out of there, after I had managed to get the gate open and avoid being swept off my feet by the flood current. Then I had time to reflect on how humans sometimes do what really amounts to silly – if not stupid – things.
That night I thanked the God of All Goodness for rescuing me, both from cancer and from serious mishap in my back yard.
