My name is Simon and in November 2011 I was first suspected of suffering from skin cancer. This was not the news I was expecting when I told my Doctor one day that I thought I had bashed the top of my head whilst working under my car and now had a lump. I was sent to the John Radcliffe Hospital in Oxford to one of their investigatory clinics so they could have a quick look, chop it off and send me on my way. Or that was the plan anyway. This is said lump:
In the end I was there for four hours. And you know it's bad when the Doc asks if he can call in the students and registrar as "They don't often get to see these." Oh jolly good. So they cut a big hole in the top of my head and sent it off to be looked at under a microscope. As you've probably gather by now the news was not all roses.
It turned out that I had developed, if that's the right word, a case of malignant melanoma, one of the more aggressive types of skin cancer. So I was rushed back down to the JR sharpish for a wide area excision. In plain English, cutting a great big hole in the top of my head in an effort to remove all the cancerous cells. This leaves you with an amazing sponge stapled (yes, stapled) to your head and a patch on the thigh where you used to have skin before they stuck it to your head. And yes, it really is that big. This was also when I first met my MacMillan Skin Cancer nurse, Heidi. She's a tiny little thing, but brilliant all the same. How she does her job I will never know, as I start to well up just typing this!! There's no way in hell that I could ever tell someone the bad news.
Under the sponge is a full depth skin excision which I shall spare you the photo of because I hate looking at the ones I took at the time. Suffice to say it looked like someone had put a hot mug of tea on top of a waxwork head and then painted the hole red.
So all is well now, yes? Well for a few months it was. As part of the surgery the Doctors try to search for escaped cells. Unfortunately, my scans showed nothing as the radioactive dye had disappeared. However, the big lump that appeared behind my ear did indicate something nasty had gotten away. Further scans, using a different technique, showed a series of cancerous sites in the lymph nodes down my neck. Now that was not a happy day and is not one I think of if I can help it. It's easily the darkest time in my life so far, as I knew just what having the cancer spread could mean for me. And I don't look good all in black as it is.
Thankfully, there is a hospital in Oxford called the Churchill. And it's a shiny new cancer and haematology unit. Between them and the JR, I spent a few hours being prodded and poked before spending 9 1/2 hours under the knife of Mr Potter and his senior registrar. Worryingly, Mr Potter looks younger than I do, but it appears he knows his stuff! The op has a rather fancy title of radical neck dissection and a superficial parotidectomy. In plan English, this is cutting a bloody great hole in your face and neck. And you get to wake up looking a little bit like Frankenstein. You'll have to excuse the silly look, as taking a photo of the side of you neck with an Ipad is difficult.
So 17 days later the drains were removed from my neck, and I was finally allowed out of hospital to go home. Thankfully, I seem to heal quickly as I was down to this stage already:
And time has gone on from this point, with me getting a three monthly prod and a poke from what I always hope is going to be one of the cute young female Doctors and not the hairy old men. So far it's about a 50:50 hit rate!
Not long after my big op, I also became a Dad to my beautiful little Noah, who is now my reason for being, as I'm sure most Dads will understand. Knowing he was on the way gave me every reason to fight what ever cancer could throw at me. I just hope he never has to see me in hospital.
And that leads me to where I am now. I have been thinking for some time that I wanted to at least try to give something back to MacMillan and also Cancer Research UK, as without their tireless work I may not be able to sit here typing this whilst trying and failing to keep the dust from my eyes. I'm sure it's dust. It must be, can't possibly be tears.........
So what to do? Skydive? Turns out that I'm too heavy to do a tandem jump, and I wanted something more personally involving. Give something up? Not really me. Running the London Marathon? Certainly not me, as I hate running and haven't done so since I left school 12 years ago.
So the Marathon it was. This will be hard, possibly the hardest thing I've ever done; I will hate it and there will be days I never want to see a pair of running shoes again. But I can think of few things that will mean more than when I cross the finish line, probably being kicked the entire way by my running partner Hannah. Thankfully, she's not the only person I know able to help. I have another good friend in Anthony who will help me with getting started and he's also said he'd go with me to half marathon distance. Without them both, I have no hope at all of being successful.
I will update this before and after every run, assuming I remember, and when ever something happens so my progress, thoughts and feelings can be tracked and hopefully someone out there will get just a hint of inspiration from all this. And I will be honest, there will be fund raising, cajoling and just plain threatening people for money at several stages!
And if anyone knows how to run a Marathon for as little effort as possible, your advice would be appreciated!!
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