Ring the Bell

Back in the summer of 1986, I remember hiding under my Auntie Linda's (T'Lind as I have always called her) table whilst my many uncles, aunties and cousins feasted over another family birthday buffet.  It was here I noticed a little lump on my right calf.  Small, round and with a little black spot in the centre.  Obviously, as a 6 year old boy, I was always covered in bumps and bruises so didn't think much of it.  It didn't hurt, it wasn't uncomfortable it was just.....there.

I pointed it out to my mum, who after a little examination, assumed it could just be an insect bite but we would keep an eye on it just in case.

The "lump" grew.

With increased concern, my mum took me to the local doctor to have a medical examination and put minds at ease.  The diagnosis was a cyst and I was referred to Bolton Hospital for further investigation and removal.  It was during this examination that things took a turn for the worse.

Since the 1980's there have been massive leaps forward in medical science and research.  When the word "cancer" is mentioned it strikes fear into the hearts of everyone including friends and family.  So many people are impacted by this feared word, yet the survival rate has increased exponentially.

Cancer is still a monstrosity that has claimed the lives of so many people which in turn impacts
those around them.  It is a massive blemish on the medical world but as new sciences come forth, continued research is funded and new medical minds bring new innovative ideas the mortality rate is diminishing, slowly.


Back in 1986, my mum was told that the lump on my calf was not a cyst but a cancerous tumor, a malignant melanoma.  Whilst not the most common forms of skin cancer, malignant melanoma causes the most deaths.  I cannot imagine, now as a father myself, how my parents must have felt when this news was broken to them, how I would even process it.

My mum has always been a little reserved talking about the days that followed, but I do know that my dad was working as a fireman at the local fire station whilst my mum and I were given the news.  My mum drove home from Bolton Hospital bearing this news on her heart wondering how to break this to her husband, how to tell my teenage brother?  I cannot bear to think of how that conversation went.

When we arrived at the fire station, Ivor the Driver sensed the gravitas of the situation and came over to distract me whilst my mum and dad had that dreaded conversation.

I was admitted to The Royal Bolton Hospital soon after for the removal of the tumor.  The procedure included taking skin from my left thigh to use as a graft to cover the large cavity where calf muscles used to be.  Again, with time passed, I have very little memory of the weeks spent in hospital, only fleeting recollections of 100's of cards, visits from school teachers, school friends, my local swimming club, Welephant and all my family especially my Nanna, Grandad, George and Doris. Oh and the blue eggs that were a comic feature of every breakfast, how can you get boiled eggs that wrong every day?  I was tutored by Miss Win Connor, a teacher from my primary school who willingly gave up her time to come and read with me and brought homework so I could keep up with lessons being missed.

A few weeks later, it was discovered that the removal procedure had not been a complete success and further work needed to be done.  I was transferred from Bolton to The Christie Hospital in Manchester and onto the Young Oncology Unit.  Every child admitted to this ward was ill, each parent was going through hell, but despite all this and the unbelievable pressure they must be under, the medical staff were (and still are) positive and amazing every single day.  Supporting parents and caring for their children.

After a few more weeks I left hospital as a cancer patient who had beaten the dreaded illness.  I had the scar to show for it but I was still here.  Thinking as I write this, my fighting spirit is definitely a trait inherited by my daughter.  She has already proven that she has the strength and determination to fight, but that is another post.

I featured in the pages of our local newspaper.  My uncle was one of the journalists and the writer on the feature, but it was something that needed shouting about.  As I said, the mortality rate from cancer in the 1980's was extremely high and if I could give a ray of hope to a newly diagnosed patient then it was worth it.

The thing that always tickled me about this article was the way the picture was taken.  My uncle had asked me to run towards him showing how healthy I was now, unfortunately due to the angle of the shot, it looks as though my right leg had been completely amputated from the knee down.  I was questioned for weeks about my false leg looking so real!

My return appointments to The Christies for check ups were weekly to begin with.  My Dad and I would arrive early Friday morning and follow a similar routine for the years that followed.  We would be greeted by Mary the tea and biscuits lady in the waiting room.  She must have been in her 80's back then but she was always full of smiles and joy.  Mary was a volunteer who helped out on the Friday morning out patient appointments, she did this purely out of the kindness of her heart.  Next, I would be weighed and have my height measured by Wendy and finally it would be an assessment of the site of the tumor, an inspection of prone areas and a health check over from Doctor Raj.  This whole routine was managed by Pauline, an incredible lady who acknowledged every parent and patient who entered the ward by name and recollection as if it was only yesterday when they last met.  It is these little touches that prove the dedication and care from the team at The Christie is second to none.

My weekly visits soon became monthly and then every 6 months.  In my mid teens they changed to an annual visit but the faces never changed.  Mary, who must have been tipping 100, still brought tea and biscuits, Wendy still weighed, Dr Raj provided medical consultancy whilst Pauline ran the shop.  Occasionally the visit would involve a scan, a blood test or an x-ray.  I was still a young oncology patient and as heartbreaking as it was to see young children and babies all starting their journey that I had begun years before, I knew the safe hands they would be in.

More years passed by and my appointments were moved to two yearly, Mary had reduced her hours down due to ill health, Wendy had sadly passed and Pauline was over due for retirement.  These amazing people will always hold a place in my heart for the strength and support they gave to me and my family for many, many years.

The Young Oncology building was demolished and clinics were moved to the new building.  Whilst I know these changes reflected the advancements in medical technology I missed the familiar setting.  I had grown up with the people and the ward, but it was time for a change.

In 2016, 30 years after I was first diagnosed, I sat waiting in the new young oncology department.  There were no biscuits and tea from Mary, no weighing from Wendy and Pauline was in the Bahamas loving her retirement.  I was called forward and sent into Dr Raj's room.  We started with the usual check up, chat about family and life.  Dr Raj turned to  my enormous medical file which over the years had been crammed with notes, results, and scans.  He closed the outer casing and wrote the word "Discharged" on the front in big red letters.  I shook his hand, hugged him, thanked him for the many years that had passed and left the consultancy room.

I walked over to the large silver bell in the middle of the waiting room, grabbed the cord and rang three times.  On discharge, every patient gets to ring the bell as a symbol of success.  30 years had passed, I had grown from a 6 year old boy to a 36 year old man now with an amazing daughter who is growing up perfectly healthy, and I beat cancer.

Thank you to all the staff at The Christie, you are all amazing.