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The Ripples From Cancer Stretch Far And Wide

2017 started off like any other year but little did we know what lay ahead. Mid April and we  arrived at the hospital a little anxious but on the whole full of hope – after all we’d been here before. On the last occasion the suspicious lump Julie found was nothing more than a cyst, so a routine appointment we thought. The same process: a mammogram, followed by ultrasound but this time was different – things slowed down a bit, ummm, a bit of waiting around, a wander down the corridor for a biopsy … ok, this is definitely different to last time … then more waiting around…  I remember Julie saying when we were finally called to see the doctor, the more people in the room the worse the news – last time there was 1 person awaiting us. 

As we were led into the room the swing of the door revealed 6 faces all looking our way, not what we were hoping for. Now I’m a blokey bloke: I have tool boxes full of spanners, saws, bits of wire, battery drills, an assortment of hammers, nuts, bolts, screws, washers and stuff that one day will come in handy. To be honest I make Bob the Builder look like an amateur.

So back in the room the faces were saying stuff – no need to worry … blah blah blah … it may be nothing … blah blah … here are some cancer leaflets, no need to worry, results in a couple of weeks. 

Don’t get me wrong, the team was wonderful – very caring, very professional – but the blokey bloke was well out of his comfort zone and feeling pretty helpless. My reassuring comments of: I’m sure it will be fine and don’t worry, just drifted off like breath on a frosty morning. 

An agonisingly long 2 weeks later and having just attended the funeral of a close friend who had taken his own life, we had the diagnosis nobody wants to hear; like so many others life suddenly looked different. It was quite obvious I was not going to be able to fix this and with everything happening together it all seemed very overwhelming. 

Throughout Julie’s treatment the care we received was first class. It was a bit of a roller coaster ride – an  initial operation, followed by another go, then came the real shock: Julie needed a mastectomy. We were convinced the second operation would be the last, we really didn’t see that coming. I was developing a dislike to 2017…

All this time the tool box had remained firmly closed and I was reduced to optimistic comments, trying to avoid TV programmes that might mention cancer, not to mention the cancer charity TV advertising campaigns we’d never even noticed before. Even the soaps seemed to be running cancer-related stories; I was hoping Ken Barlow was going to have another affair so at least it wouldn’t be cancer related.

The whole process was difficult for Julie – she seemed to be just getting over one operation only to hear she needed another and another.  I felt useless, helpless and hopeless. I was a fixer: I’d previously repaired leaking taps, I’d hung doors, I’d built walls, installed a heating system, tiled the bathroom and hung wallpaper, but this was beating me, this was overwhelming. Big hammers and those tiny little screwdrivers were of no use at all, even Bob was having second thoughts.

I was trying my best, but it felt like I was trying to drain the ocean with a colander. I felt I had to stay strong and be supportive, whilst feeling about as much use as a chocolate teapot.

By now Julie’s treatment had moved on to radiotherapy, a daily 60 mile round trip meant we spent a fair bit of time in the car talking crap. We chose the early slot to try and beat the traffic. The WRVS café became a daily treat and we even pushed the boat out a couple of times with a toasted tea cake. Once the tea sundries were dispatched it was a quick dash home and back to work for me.

I selfishly needed a bit of down time, time to clear the head, just time. I’d been running for a few years – I’d done the London marathon twice – so running was my go to, it was my escape. parkrun was now my Saturday morning family, my comfort blanket. Julie would come along to Saturday morning parkrun, sometimes to run it, sometimes to volunteer and sometimes she would stand on the side encouraging others. She became an inspiration for others with her never give up attitude. Following surgery we found it difficult to get advice of when she could run or exercise again, so we just did what we thought best; what we would have given then for 5k Your Way.

Julie and I already had entries in the 2018 Brighton half marathon. We could have cancelled or just not turned up, but that would mean giving up the fight against cancer and this was a huge mental step forward toward recovery. Julie completed it just 5 months after surgery. The next challenge was October’s Great South Run, a wonderful 10 mile event held in Portsmouth. We used these events as a focus, something  positive, something other than cancer; in fact both our daughters joined us for the Great South – to watch the 3 of them make it across the finish line was a very moving experience.

The ripples from cancer stretch far and wide in all directions. The care is quite rightly centred around Julie: with friends and family rallying round with support and best wishes, often asking how she was, how she was doing, how she was feeling, I became a buffer. At times I felt isolated, frustrated, useless and I suppose at times without identity – I became the husband of.

We’ve got through it and we’ve come out the other side, possibly more resilient. I had needed something, something to cling on to, something that I could use to pull myself out of a pit. I could and did throw myself into work but that just brought more pressure and stress. Running was my crutch, I could push myself, I could exorcise my anger, I could really hammer myself on a run; maybe it was me taking back a bit of control – cancer had no control over my running. It probably drove Julie mad but in a twist at least she was focused on being cross with me and wasn’t thinking about cancer.

Almost 8 years on and we still parkrun on a Saturday, Julie completed the 2020 virtual London Marathon with absolutely no training, walking the whole thing and then the 2022 Great North Run, crossing the line along with 2 blokes carrying a model of the Tyne bridge. I’m currently training for this year’s London Marathon. We are proud to be ambassadors of 5k Your Way and will continue to do what we do.

Sometimes life is just a shit. 2017 will go down in the family album as one to forget, but there is always some little part of you that you can cling on to – no matter how small, a positive is a positive, any win is a win and there is nothing more satisfying than sticking 2 fingers up to adversity.  

The support of everyone affected by cancer is so vital; it may be a small pool of people or an extended network of contacts, you can guarantee when the impact of cancer lands those ripples go far and wide and can affect people in different ways. If this has taught me anything it’s that a step – no matter how small – is progress.