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A Sailor's Tale
Rodger's story
As I climbed out into the cockpit to have one last glass of wine I knew I had probably overdone things a little. I had just eaten my favourite meal and I sat down to reflect on life before and after getting cancer. Exactly two years earlier I was in hospital awaiting the operation to have a tumour removed from my oesophagus. About six weeks prior to that I had just tried to eat the same meal, alone again but this time in St Katherine’s Dock in London. I wasn’t enjoying a glass of wine then but retching and heaving trying to remove the blockage in my guts. I didn’t know what was wrong but I knew it was serious.
Tonight was glorious. It was warm and the night sky was clear. In a previous life I would be dragging my students out with a sextant, identifying various stars and planets and working out where we were. A totally useless skill but very satisfying. I knew where I was, anchored in Runswick Bay, just north of Whitby. A special place for me, as the ashes of my mother and father are there, victims of variants of the same disease I had now to deal with. A terrible legacy and one I pray will be broken with regards to my own children.
As I lay in my hospital bed two years previously I was reflecting on different priorities. Words I had dreaded hearing were rattling around in my head. Cancer, malignant, 10% survival, affairs in order. I had a good job, a successful business running a sailing school, a family and all the other trappings of modern life. Those words didn’t mix well with what I had been used to, I knew things would never be the same again but for now I was in the hands of others.
I had just sailed from Scarborough in my boat that morning. She’s a 36-foot sailing yacht and she’d covered the twenty miles in just over three hours. My plans were to have sailed much further but I was tired and Runswick looked inviting, so I went in early and had a sleep for a couple of hours and felt much better. I had to ring home and my mobile couldn’t get a signal here so I had to row ashore to the phone box. That didn’t work either and an enquiry in the pub found that the only other phone was at the top of the hill. If you’ve ever been to Runswick Bay you will know that’s a big hill, so a beer later I was off up the steps. I’ve tried to keep fit as much as possible and the walk was fine, but it was hot and when I reached the top I was sweating and out of breath. Fortunately there’s a pub next to the phone box so I was able to have a cool one before ringing home.
Back out to the boat and I had the steak on. The onions and tomatoes were sizzling away and the veg cooking. I love single-handed sailing. You can be totally selfish and all you have to worry about is the boat and yourself.
My operation had been successful and the team at Castle Hill Hospital was excellent, but I was different. I was about as low as it is possible to get. My family was great and friends were supportive. My boat was sailing around the West of Scotland full of students, everybody helping me where they could. I looked in the mirror and saw a different person, and I felt sorry for that person, he looked so bad.
People tell me now that I look well and I feel OK. Out of hospital, recovery and chemotherapy took care of most of the winter. I felt I was improving, trying hard to exercise when I could. Getting the hang of what I could eat and what would upset me. It took about a year to get to grips with the steak again but I managed it and now I can eat just about anything. Tonight’s steak was looking good and the sauce was smelling beautiful.
My GP had always been great with me. Totally honest and happy to give his advice and opinions for as long as I wanted to talk to him about my situation. I decided to sell my business and retire from my job. The sailing school was sold and the boat ‘Ruffian’ became my hobby rather than my work. My job as a college lecturer would give me a decent pension. I had mixed feelings about being retired at 53. My two sons were both still at school and it would mean my wife working more hours but there didn’t seem to be an alternative. It feels a little strange sometimes still, not being out there looking forward, planning, anticipating the next opportunity.
My boat became a focus for me during the period of recovery. I needed to go cruising again and get the boat ready for short-handed sailing. Even during the dark days of chemotherapy, I was daydreaming of sailing around Britain again, visiting all those familiar beautiful places, Newton Ferrers, Padstow, PortPatrick, Tobermorey and many others, pacing the trip as the treatment continued. I've sailed a fair bit this year, to Scotland with a friend, across the North Sea to Holland with the family, feeling very proud as my boys crewed the boat through the busy shipping lanes.
Tonight watching the sky revolving around the North Star I could feel the wine going down my gullet. Too much black pepper in the sauce no doubt. I would probably be up in the night slugging Gaviscon. Oh well it’s a small price to pay. The night was calm with a flat sea. Ships passing the bay, their navigation lights clearly showing against the black sky.
Two years since the operation and things are still OK. I am still very much aware of the consequences of oesophageal cancer, and I dare not start saying I have been cured, I don’t suppose I ever will. I put a lot of time into my boat, both sailing and general maintenance. I try to keep fit, walking and cycling. My eating is nearly normal. I do have occasional problems with acid and finding a good position to sleep.
Tonight wasn’t the night to worry about things. I’ve learnt to accept each day as it happens. If it’s good - enjoy it, simple. And tonight was good.
Gwen's Story
I was diagnosed on the 21st December 1994. I had been experiencing severe chest pains and had wondered if I was having a heart attack. Unbelievably, I ignored it at first, thinking it was just one of those things. After the second severe episode, it dawned on me that both times it had happened just after eating. My GP sent me for an endoscopy. After the endoscopy there was talk of biopsies. I had already begun to suspect something serious because of the severity of the pain. They gave me two follow up appointments, for four days later, both on the same day. I was to have Barium meal X-rays in the morning, then to see the Gastroenterologist in the afternoon. In the event, I also had a cat scan. They had suggested I could bring someone with me. I had taken the hint and my husband was with me when they gave us the bad news.
A bed was booked for me for the following week. As it was Christmas, I had to wait until the day after Boxing Day to find out whether or not my tumour would be operable. By now, I was having real difficulty in eating, throwing food back unchanged and often making this happen, to relieve the pain. The surgeon said yes it was operable but asked if I would like to take part in a clinical trial involving pre-op chemotherapy. I said yes.
I had 100 hours chemotherapy (Cisplatin and 5FU) from 17th to 21st January, followed by a two week rest, then a further 100 hours from 8th to 13th Feb. Another rest and I then had the surgery on the 3rd March.
Two months later, we went on holiday to France. We stayed in a farmhouse, self catering. By this time I could eat most things, but in very small quantities. Up until then, I had been unable to eat bread, but I discovered that French bread was possible! I still could not manage cake. I had also developed some kind of phobia about potatoes, beef and sausages. It was because of sickness during chemo. I still do not eat beef or sausages.
A month after that, I began to have problems once again with food sticking, and suspected the worst. However, I rang the Humberside Oesophageal Support Group. Derek told me that it is often necessary to have a 'stretch.' That is to have the join dilated as scar tissue grows and partially blocks it. All the same, I was worried until after the dilatation. It was scar tissue and I was able to eat better again. I have been fortunate not to need any more of these, but I know some people need them regularly. After that I joined the group and have been with them ever since. I now run the committee, do the correspondence and am the webmaster.
I can eat just about anything I want to now, although I am careful not to eat too large a meal. Quality of life is almost normal - about 98%. I am thankful that I had such a brilliant team of people to help me, especially such a highly skilled thoracic surgeon. I heartily thank Mr Cowen and his team on Ward 7, Castle Hill Hospital, Cottingham and everyone on Harvey Ward at the Princess Royal Hospital, Hull where I had the chemotherapy, especially Dr Robertson who explained it to me so well.
I enjoy every day now because each one is a bonus. I am lucky to be here and am well aware of that, so I try not to waste any time being miserable.
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