My voice had been knackered since early in the year, like a typical man I ignored the obvious, ignoring the nagging of my family and friends. I eventually bowed to the pressure paying a visit to my friendly GP. In those days you could get a GP appointment without having to give your inside leg measurement to the receptionist.
He immediately put me onto the 2 Week Pathway which involved a CT Scan followed by a Biopsy. The Biopsy all went a bit pear shaped as I reacted badly to the General Anaesthetic, had a cardiac arrest, "Died" for around 10 seconds apparently before CPR brought me back. Obviously I knew nothing about that episode, frankly when the surgeon was explaining this to me I was still away with the fairies, so it fell to my wonderful wife to take the phone call at home explaining what had happened On Christmas Eve 2015 my wife and I made our way to the old Nissan Huts in the Royal Berkshire Hospital to get the results of the biopsy, secretly I think we both knew what the result was going to be. We sat down at about 4pm with my Consultant and our CNS Jo, who has since become a trusted family friend. T2 cancer of the throat, but "We think you're worth saving!" said my consultant having identified that I had a bit of a dark sense of humour. The treatment would be 30 sessions of RT and 6 of Chemo which would begin early January 2016. Our next job was to break the news to the kids, we'd thought about getting Christmas out of the way, but decided that was going to be a challenge. So, with typical tact we sat them down and I said "Hey kids, we've got some news, Dads got cancer, ho ho ho Happy Christmas". That Christmas turned out to be a total scream, we had family down with us, didn't leave the table until close on 10pm and dented the wine cellar. Stupidly I agreed that I'd be on the pitch with my son for the annual Boxing Day rugby match in December 2016 if things went the way we hoped they would. Treatment started mid January after I'd been through the fine needle biopsy, mask fitting and getting a tattoo. I'd always presumed that Chemo would be the killer and I'd float through RT. How wrong could I have been. I struck up a good relationship with the Radiographers, I think taking cakes in for them each Friday possibly helped. They knew when I wanted to chat, they knew when I just want to curl up and be left alone. The last session of RT was so tough, I dragged myself out of the Berkshire Cancer Centre, mask under my arm, drove home, lay on the sofa and fell apart for a few days. I could hardly eat, sleep wasn't happening, my voice had gone on holiday. However, over time my taste returned, my voice got better life became normal. I vividly remember the meeting with my Consultant in May 2016 when she confirmed that the cancer had been zapped! We promptly booked a holiday in Corfu to stay with friends, albeit probably about two months too early in the recovery process. Life was great for about 10 months, my employers, Santander, had been fully supportive of me, allowing me to take time out when needed. My kids were excelling at their studies........ I pulled on my boots for the Boxing Day rugby match, making a 10 minute cameo appearance,
........ then, the voice began to fail. May 2017 and another biopsy. "Paul, I'm so sorry, it's back and this time surgery is the only option!". I'd never heard of a Laryngectomy, had no idea what the future would hold. Would I be able to speak, eat, breath, live a life? I was offered the chance to meet someone who'd been through the process, but stupidly declined. I've since seen three patients who were due to go under the knife, I like to think I've helped them. I went under the knife in June 2017 in the Churchill Hospital, Oxford. The next 5 days were a challenge, initially because the person in the bed opposite me rang the nurses bell every five minutes as well as insisting on playing films on his laptop at full blast in the middle of the night. I was thankful to be moved to my own room which was better than some hotels I've stayed in. I coped fairly well with the change in my body, communicating via writing in a note pad (which I still have). When I was allowed to I started walking the grounds of the hospital, the nursing staff often getting pee'd off that I wasn't in my room when they needed me. Sleep was still a challenge, a couple of nights I sat at the nurses station for a couple of hours, having a chat. When I say "Chat" I of course mean I listened and wrote. I spent a lot of time writing my blog which I published on a Friday evening. I found that whilst I couldn't speak, I could express myself through writing. I've always been a bit of a foodie, once I was deemed watertight I began taking myself down to the hospital canteen to buy breakfast, much better than the rubbish stuff being served to me. My wonderful wife started bringing me in food for home, spag bol, chilli, and the like. I'd heat it up in the kitchen microwave, take it back to my room, fire up Netflix, then take 30 minutes to eat the smallish portion. Welcome to life as a Lary. I was released 14 days after being admitted, the fun was about to begin. I remember my first venture into town and having to clean out my valve in public, the first time I was stared at in public, the first time my valve leaked. I was incredibly lucky to have a wonderful SLT Team at the RBH, they supported me throughout the early days, came up with suggestions to help the valve life, and importantly recognised that I'm a pretty resilient person. As I mentioned, my employers were very good to me, never putting pressure on me to get back to work, unlike some employers I've heard of who try to "manage out" any employee with a cancer diagnosis. My role was as a Corporate Recoveries Manager (glorified Debt Collector), I was customer facing, working from home.
The job involved often having to give bad news to customers, a few used my new disability (?) as an excuse that they couldn't understand me. By the time we got to late summer 2019 I was finding harder and harder to get out and be front of house as I needed to be. Santander were great, an agreed payout was offered and taken. For the first time in 35 years I was out of work. I intended to have six months off work, recharge the batteries and find something else to do. Then along came
COVID. Initially I was classed as highly vulnerable, my wife is a nurse and was working in Respiratory at the time she was moved to back office duties to protect me. Slowly but surely I sussed out that my HME is probably a better protector than anything other than a medical grade mask. I've come to recognise now that I'm unlikely to have gainful employment again. I get tired easily, would struggle to work 8 hours a day, and who would look after the medium sized dog called Neville? I did spend a bit of time being "Fishy Van Man" doing deliveries for my local fishmonger, but found driving for six or seven hours to be beyond me after a few months. It would be quite easy to fall into a malaise if you let being a Lary get to you. I've tried as much as possible to embrace things. I appeared three times on the Victoria
Derbyshire Show banging on about Larys, my son and I were also contestants on BBC Pointless, I still say we were robbed! I applied for Masterchef, getting to the final interview which wasn't great as my voice was awful o the day. My days are spent walking my dog, dreaming up new recipes to feed the Current Mrs C (40 years and counting, I like to keep her on her toes) when she gets back from the hospital and photographing anything I cam find of interest. My friends and family respect me for what I am, they don't look twice. I'm a great advocate for Hands Free HME's if they're suitable, they make me far more confident talking to strangers. I avoid "Noisy" social events these days as I can't really make myself heard.
Life as a Lary isn't always easy, but...... It's better than the other option.
