Three years ago, I visited my GP with what I thought were just acute gastrointestinal symptoms. She referred me to a specialist who arranged a colonoscopy, suspecting ulcerative colitis. With no family history of bowel cancer, we expected it to be a fairly routine diagnosis.
When I woke from the anaesthetic, I was taken straight to the doctor. His words were blunt: “It’s not colitis, it’s cancer, and it’s really bad.” My wife, who was with me, broke down in tears. I felt strangely numb. I remember thanking the doctor, but not much else. I wasn’t angry or even sad in that moment, more a quiet acceptance that this was happening, and that I now had to find my way through a health system I’d hardly ever needed before.
Braking the news to friends and family was daunting
Very quickly, the conveyor belt of appointments began. I had surgery to remove part of my colon, and my surgeon explained that because of the tumour size, he believed they’d been growing for at least five years. The diagnosis was stage IV, with the cancer already spread to my liver, lungs and lymphatic system.
Breaking the news to friends and family was daunting, but I chose to do it by writing a long text, laying out the facts clearly. It felt easier to share everything openly and then be available for questions.
Since then, I’ve had five different treatments across three years. The hardest parts have been cumulative side effects building up, setbacks when low blood counts delayed treatment, the disappointment of unfavourable scans, and hearing that a treatment was no longer effective.
However there have been bright spots too. I’ve experienced the relief of starting a new treatment and feeling better, the joy of good scan results, and the kindness of the many people I’ve met along the way. I’ve also learned to celebrate the small wins, especially on the harder days.
When my other treatment options ran out,
it wasn’t a difficult choice to make
I had known about clinical trials in general, but not the sheer range of trials being conducted worldwide, or how coordinated they are. At first, I felt a little apprehensive about joining one. But when my other treatment options had run out, it wasn’t a difficult choice to make, especially as my oncologist spoke so highly of Linear.
Being part of a trial has been a lifeline. My first trial was ultimately unsuccessful, but I believe it’s the reason I’m still here today. You can’t put a value on that. If someone asked me about taking part in a trial, I’d tell them to seize the opportunity with both hands if it’s available for their cancer type.
More time,time that otherwise
may not have been possible
For me and my family, a clinical trial has meant more
time, time that otherwise may not have been
possible. And beyond that, it’s meant meeting some
truly wonderful people. I can honestly say I enjoy
coming into the clinic.