This time last year as our lovely fine wine shop in Whitehaven was just starting to recover from COVID, I was going through the the initial process of discovery that led to a diagnosis of cancer with only palliative care to look forward to.
The process of discovery included multiple scans, a camera where the sun doesn't shine and so many blood tests, I thought there would be none left, and then in about May came the news that nothing in life can prepare you for. The news that your clock is ticking downwards and that all future treatment would be palliative.
Ive served in the armed forces, the fire service and nearly 20 years as a magistrate, but the news floored me, physically and emotionally.
To say it's hard to take in would be understating the matter as Im sure anyone with a similar diagnosis can confirm. You start to question everything. It all seemed so unfair, as were the thoughts that haunted me; my wife Dianne is far to young to be a widow, my lovely pal Louise who Ive worked side by side with for over 20 years wasn't ready to run the business on her own and every discussion we had about it ended in tears. Every birthday of a family member became an emotional anvil because it might be the last I would celebrate. I found myself wallowing in sentimental torture when looking at things id collected through life like the old model army truck on my bedside cabinet that Ive had since I was about 5 or the multiple US Navy friendship coins id collected during the Festival years.
Then the treatment started and my energy sapped, my tastebuds disappeared and the feeling of 'why me' became stronger. Between April and September, I went from having one massive inoperable tumour in my pelvis and one in my stomach to having secondaries on my pancreas and lung and the feelings of despair were almost overwhelming. Then something remarkable happened.
I discovered I could still taste vanilla custard, vanilla cheesecake and most of all, vanilla Ice cream and bit by bit with incredible support from Dianne, Louise and my family, I managed to pull myself back together and enjoy life and if anyone is just starting this hell, please focus on that last sentence because you need something to cling to when it all feels dark and lonely.
At the start of this year, depression crept up on me and I added anti depressants to my ever growing list of tablets to take every day. Ive been there before after my last bout of cancer 11 years ago and I recognised my own symptoms this time, not that it makes the diagnosis any easier to accept. Still, even with cancer and depression, we've managed to have fun days and long may they continue.
As time has passed we've even managed to make jokes of it all with Louise telling me not to play the cancer card to get out of serving customers. It's the sort of military humour that gets you through the day and thats how you manage, one day at a time.
If you are just starting this journey, know that there will be good days and bad, but the good ones are actually great and they will come. If you know someone who is starting this journey, be close and be patient but for heavens sakes dont tell them stories of a friend who had cancer and has recovered because there's no simple garden variety out there and every one of them reacts differently to their human host. Dont tell them to fight it because it's the most patronising thing you can say; everyone fights it but some are just unlucky enough to succumb.
If you want to help, bring them a vanilla Ice cream and dont say a word!
Anyway, we're well into a year I didn't think id see and as well as running the shop, we've got a full package of events with our friends and colleagues at Whitehaven Town Council stretching all the way to December, so life goes on.
PS, by way of an update, my last scan showed that none of the secondaries were visible anymore and the main tumour, that problematic lump in my pelvis has shrunk. The fight continues folks!
