light at the end of the tunnel

A few years ago I was driving each day to Oxford for radiotherapy treatment.  Some of my appointments were around the same time - early afternoon - which allowed me to listen to the afternoon story on Radio 4.  

One of the stories I heard was a serialisation of ‘So much for that’ by Lionel Shriver.  If you’ve not read it, it’s set in America and tells of a man who has accumulated a nest-egg so that he and his wife can retire to an island in the Indian Ocean.

However - his wife has cancer and their medical insurance will no longer cover her treatment.  And so he is now having to dip into the nest-egg to cover the medical bills.  Her prognosis is not good - the treatment is not working.  And therein lies a dilemma; the longer he tries to keep her alive, the more his chances of retiring to their dream island diminish. 

Each day the story would start with a summary of the husband’s (dwindling) bank balance.  I would listen open-mouthed as he writes yet another cheque for thousands of dollars for each session of chemotherapy.  And I would think about this as I lay under a £250,000 machine that fired a laser at my tumours.  And how I could lie here every day for four weeks without ever having to worry about the cost.

It’s not a morbid book but an honest and open account of what cancer does to partners as well as those with the disease.  And Anniemay and I know all about that.

Today we’re in Oxford again; we’re finally given the news that I am to be discharged from the care of the Oxford Cancer Centre after 10 long - and at times, heartbreaking - years.  There is no longer any sign of the disease.  We’re not celebrating yet because it hasn’t really sunk in.

In those 10 years I’ve had major surgery for cancer five times and five more operations for the consequences of cancer.  As well as chemotherapy and radiotherapy.  I couldn’t begin to imagine the financial cost of all this.  But I do understand - and ‘So much for that’ reinforced it -  just how lucky I’ve been to be cared for by the NHS.

My treatment is not quite over yet - I’m due to have a heart procedure in the summer to sort out the arrhythmias that resulted from the last cancer surgery.  But my own personal tunnel has light at the end.  The NHS is in its own dark place right now - I hope that what lies ahead is daylight and not an on-coming train.