An abnormality: me, my wife and cancer

So at 7.27 pm on Thursday 5th May, 2016 to be precise, I am travelling to a place I do not want to visit, to meet a man I do not want to talk to and undergo a procedure I really do not want to experience. So why am I putting myself through such torture?  

My thoughts exactly as I drove along the road on a perfectly lovely evening with the sun shining through the trees and bushes. My mobile ‘phone rings and I pull over to answer it. We exchange some rather scrambled pleasantries; “Yes, it is Elvin, and sorry, you are?” It is the man I do not want to talk to in the place I do not want to visit calling me about the procedure I really do not want to experience. “Oh, I’m about, hmmm, 10 minutes away,” I say in reply to the obvious question. “Would you like to postpone and we can rearrange?” I ask in a polite and upbeat manner, hoping the answer will be in the affirmative. “Oh, oh OK then, I shall be with you shortly”, I say in response to the man’s very polite and reassuring reply that he can wait; “No problem”. No problem, eh, I repeat to myself as I am engulfed with trepidation as I continue towards the place I did not want to visit, to meet a man I did not want to talk to and undergo a procedure I really did not want to experience.  

Within 2 minutes I arrive at the place I did not wish to visit and “Yes”, I did tell a fib as I was rather hoping the man I do not want to talk to would tell me 10 minutes would be too long, because that would have meant I would have been a full 30 minutes late for my appointment. But ‘Hey-hoe’, this was one appointment I was obviously not meant to miss. I book in at reception and as directed make my way along the corridor and up a flight of stairs to the next floor. At another reception a lady politely directs me to the room to meet the man I do not want to talk to and undergo a procedure I really do not want to experience.

The door opens and I come face to face with the man I do not want to talk to. However, we shake hands and we do talk. Quite intently in fact. We talk about the “raised PSA levels” both now and two years previously, and “symptoms” that I do not appear to have experienced, well not that I can deduce any way. After our exceptionally open, very honest and totally unembarrassed discussion; can this be two men “talking” I think to myself, I undergo a procedure I really do not want to experience.  You see, it was not the first time in the past two years I had had to suffer the ignominy of a doctor asking me to remove my trousers and pants and “assume the position” so that they can perform a DRE. Or, as it seems every bloke I have ever met terms it, “get the finger up the bum” examination. Several doctors had performed this part medical, part vaudeville double-act with me, and I really wasn’t at all impressed with their ensuing diagnosis, or the lack of laughter it raised. “Hmmm, well, it seems OK”, had been the almost pained lament from all the previous happenstances. I have to be honest, I’d come to the conclusion it was not so much a sophisticated medical examination, but more of an acutely embarrassing and highly cumbersome social encounter that didn’t even entail the common courtesy of being offered an alcoholic beverage before the proceedings commenced, or a cigarette post the act. 

But this time there was no pained lament. This time after a pause that seemed to last an hour there was a steely, serious look. This time my medical comedy act partner seemed to have found what had eluded all of his predecessors. “There is an abnormality. I want you to have an MRI scan.” 

This last comment wasn’t a polite gesture for me to consider, but a veiled threat that unless we took action now things could get awfully bleak, awfully quick.

This was why I put myself through such torture. You see, I had a random blood test on the 8th February 2016; just as I had done 2 years earlier, all part of a Private Health Care medical examination. Then on the 27th February; just like 2 years earlier, this led to a discussion with a GP. But, this time the random blood test didn’t end there. This time another GP did not shilly-shally discussing the “validity and reliability of the PSA test”, but demanded I travelled to a hospital I did not want to visit, to meet a consultant I did not want to talk to and undergo a medical procedure I really did not want to experience. So I did. And here I was.  

As it transpires, I did absolutely the right thing. With my wife Jude’s magnificent, astute and utterly caring support, we came to unequivocally the correct decision. Putting myself through torture was the very best thing I could have done. 

And so the torture continued, over the next 105 days with Jude by my side I was to travel to another 6 hospitals and 1 Clinic I did not want to visit, met 2 other consultants and 2 specialist nurses I didn’t want to talk to and underwent a further 4 medical examinations and procedures I really did not want to experience. However, all the unpleasant and quite honestly highly distressing body scans, procedures and consultations all led to the perfect conclusion on Saturday, 20th August, 2016. At 1600hrs Jude wished me luck as I was wheeled down to surgery in the Princess Grace Hospital, London where a highly personable and extremely skilled urological surgeon named Declan Cahill (see image below), ably supported by his friend and colleague, a wonderful anaesthetist by the name of Nathan Kasivisvanathan, using the da Vinci? Surgical System, (see image directly below) the first totally intuitive laparoscopic surgical robot in existence, removed my prostate gland and in so doing, rid my body of an exceedingly aggressive cancerous tumour that was in the process of killing me.

By the grace of God my life had been saved. The cancer had been caught in time and was appropriately treated. Some 4 years on I have fully recovered and not just back to how I was pre-the radical prostatectomy, but actually fitter, stronger and healthier. Plus, unbelievably grateful to have been so fortunate.  

That said, I still have the high anxiety of awaiting on the result of my bi-annual blood test to check that the illegitimate son of the devil; cancer, has not returned to dampen my inherent energy, enthusiasm and raging lust for life. 

Therefore quite unsurprisingly on Saturday, 17th June, 2017; one year and two days on from the biopsy that was performed on me at the Spire Roding Hospital, Essex by Andrew Ballaro; the consultant who detected the “abnormality”, a biopsy that was to provide conclusive evidence that I had prostate cancer, the magnificent Jude, wunderkind daughters Sandra and Emma, and I shall be taking part in the Prostate Cancer UK’s ‘March for Men’ walking event at the Queen Elizabeth Olympic Park, London. Alongside hundreds of other men, women and children, my girls and I shall be happily walking to celebrate my return to fitness and to raise money to help stop prostate cancer being a killer.  

I really must stress that my encounter with prostate cancer at such a late stage of its development is very unfortunately a very common occurrence in the UK. We must all be aware that across the UK Prostate cancer is the most common cancer in men. These are the horrendous facts and figures:

• 130 men every day are diagnosed with prostate cancer; 47,000 every year
• 1 man dies from prostate cancer every 45 minutes; 11,000 every year.
• 1 in 8 white men will get prostate cancer in their lifetime
• 1 in 4 black men will get prostate cancer in their lifetime

I can tell you now that as I walk around the 10K course on 17th June I shall be thanking whoever it is that determined that after two years of uncertainty, fear and a whole lot of loathing, I should be diagnosed in time to enable me to survive Prostate Cancer and come back stronger, fitter and healthier than I have been since I was in my twenties.

I have been exceptionally lucky. I do not deserve to survive and thrive after I was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer any more than the next man, but I did I am determined in return for my ridiculous good fortune to give everything I can to help and support Prostate Cancer UK for the rest of my life. It is the very least I can do.  

Now it is a whole ‘new ball game’ good people! I DO want to visit places, and talk to men, and women, about the body scans, procedures and consultations I experienced, especially the dreaded DRE, to help those who have been, and those who will be diagnosed with Prostate Cancer, in the coming weeks, months and years.

Therefore please, please, please would you be so kind as to donate whatever money you can afford to my Just Giving page and in so doing help to raise funds to ensure every man in the UK has the opportunity to be as incredibly blessed as I was: 

Diagnosed in time; treated in time; supported back to health and immense happiness in a very short space of time.

One last very final thing I just have to say is this:

I shall never forget that throughout my prostate cancer experience, from diagnosis through to the recovery I am enjoying now, to paraphrase the words from the immortal Richard Rodgers and Oscar Hammerstein song, I was so very, very fortunate, because just as cancer survivor and ex-Celtic F.C. legend, Stiliyan Petrov, felt so deeply from the fans at his testimonial, “I never walked alone.”  

So, to those who caught me, held me and prevented me from drowning as I fell into a sea of self-pity and despair, I can never thank you enough, or praise you enough, ever.

Therefore Love and deep, deep gratitude to my incredible wife Jude, wunderkind daughters Sandra and Emma, son-in-law Darren, ‘consultants’ Declan, Nathan, Andrew and Stephanie Gibbs, my brilliant GP; Dr Anita Pereira, the small but perfectly formed fantastic cadre of trusted work colleagues at Mace that were so admirably led by Head of Group Health & Safety; Andy Brown, plus fellow ‘Team Cahill’ prostate cancer survivors Brett Simpson, Jim Shuttleworth and Mike Doherty. Words alone will never, ever be enough to express my gratitude.

Hopefully my deeds will help repay the huge debt of thanks I have acquired since that fateful day in May last year, when a perfectly executed DRE identified the abnormality that triggered a medical race against time to save my life. That’s why I am beholden to Prostate Cancer UK for the rest of my days.  

Many thanks for your generous donations in advance everyone. Much love peace and understanding, Elvin K. Box & family.