Story no.2

Five years ago, on Friday the 11th of November, 2011, after waiting and waiting for the results of the test I'd had in early September, the surgeon's secretary read me the letter she was to post that day, which told me that the microsurgery procedure I'd had in July had been successful and that I had no trace of cancer.
This was the end of a strange year. The back story is this.
At the beginning of the year we were already concerned, confused and worried about son-at-home's problems. On New Year's day, I had a recurrence of symptoms which told me that I might have a return bout of a long-standing health issue with ulcerative colitis.
After visits to the doctors, hospital and various tests which went on for a few months, I was told that I had a stage one rectal tumour. My background of colitis meant that the only option the surgeon would consider was an ileostomy.
This shocked me to the core, not because I was afraid of the operation. I would have absolutely hated it but would have gone through with it had I believed that it was the only option but I couldn't do that.
There were two main reasons for my reaction. Firstly, I had many responsibilities, family and otherwise, and many activities that required me to be in top health.
Secondly, and probably more importantly, I had spent years and years learning how to take maximum care of myself, through healthy eating and as much walking as I could find time for and I couldn't accept that that would count for nothing.
The first surgeon was extremely rude and more or less washed his hands of me. He did however refer me to another surgeon who understood my family situation and needs and said she would do what she could for me.
After further tests she came to the same conclusion but said she had a colleague at Good Hope hospital in Sutton Coldfield who might be able to help me. My close friend P came with me on the train. After a very uncomfortable examination, the surgeon said it was something of a long shot but that he would perform micro-surgery to remove the tumour.
When I told him that Placido Domingo was coming to sing to me at the O2 Arena on my birthday, he fully understood the importance of that and gave me a date in mid-July to give me a couple of weeks to be ready for Placido.
I was on a total high after the procedure but when he visited me the next morning, he said it had not gone too well due to a high level of inflammation so he couldn't be too sure that it had been successful.
I had a few long dark nights of the soul when I realised that the stats indicated that there was a possibility that there might be serious consequences.
Two people influenced me in the making of the choice to wait and see. The first was my doctor. On a follow-up appointment, we went through the points for and against. As I stood up to leave he said these crucial words. " If you follow the advice to to have the operation, it could be wrong and you may not have needed it. If you follow your own choice, you could be wrong in which case you should have had it. Which of those results could you live with best".
I knew immediately that I would rather live with my own choice and be wrong than live with the bitterness of knowing that I'd had life-changing surgery unnecessarily. Talking it through with husband in the middle of the night, he said that he would go along with whatever I chose. "After all," he said, "we've lived this long and had a good life so why not".
That was it. We decided to wait and see. In Sept I had a final colonoscopy.
And so I came to make that phone call when I could wait no longer to hear the results. Although it exonerated my decision and said that there was no trace of cancer to be seen, I do not feel in the least bit exultant because I know the advice given to me was medically and statistically correct.
I feel grateful that I was given the chance by life, by the skill and care of surgeons, nurses, anaesthetists and others to have the busy healthy life I have now. I also do everything I can to stay healthy, by eating well and even joining the gym, where I do a minimal but regular routine ( 20 mins, 4 days a week and 15 mins 2 days a week and Sundays off of course!).

I have now had over 5 years of healthy and hectic life. In that first year alone, when two of us had cancer, with all that entailed, we also had three grandchildren arrive on the scene, son, S's wedding, a significant surprise birthday party for husband, at least 4 theatre dates, arranged before we knew what was about to ensue, and two holidays abroad (one postponed from the year before because Athens was in uproar!!).
Do I remember to be grateful every day of my life; no, I'm afraid I don't but am I afraid of dying any more; no, amazingly, that has gone. For that and all that life has given me I should be on my knees forever.