Paul Scanlon, Cardiff
In October 2021 my London Marathon training was in full swing and whilst going to the toilet one day I noticed some blood on the loo paper, not loads but enough to make me think. I spent the next few days wondering what it was I was seeing. The day came for the marathon and I ran it in full knowledge of what was going on below. I came home to a hero's welcome from my family and friends.
The thought of going to the doctor was far from my mind: work was picking up and staff were coming down with Covid-19 on a weekly basis. We were fast approaching November and by this time I had started to get some real back pains, but I just carried on working and trying to run.
By the time November came I was finding it incredibly difficult keep running, the pain in my back had grown more severe and I had become more tired. The blood in my poo had become more frequent but going to the toilet was not a problem. I did start wondering if I should go to the doctor, but I put it off. On a visit to a pub one evening with my friend Graham he noticed I was going to the toilet a few too many times and he even told my wife to get me to a doctor. This was all in vain of course, because I was getting ready for my first big Christmas in work after restrictions were lifted somewhat. We were also planning Anton’s 10th Birthday in December. As the month came to a close, I had stopped running with my group Roath Park Runners but was taking up a more motivational role which I equally enjoyed.
With the end of the year in sight I was looking forward to seeing the back of 2021. Work was getting busier, which was welcome after the previous few months. I tried to do some short runs but just couldn't find the energy or fitness to do it. I tried walking instead but again was unable even to do this. Christmas came and went with my family and I having a lovely time together. By now, however, I knew something really was not right with my body: going to the toilet to poo was getting harder to achieve and the pain was really bad but still I didn't go to the doctor, the blood was more frequent than ever and was giving me real concerns. I started to think it may be piles as I was passing small nuggets of poo rather than going normally. I thought that the blood was just part and parcel of piles.
January 2022 dawned with my symptoms still present. I thought about calling the doctor but never got round to it. Plans with my wife and friends to travel to Gambia together became a reality. I was really excited but started to wonder if the issues I had were going to get worse. I thought that if I saw a doctor they may find something that would prevent us from going and we so deserved this break. So, I did nothing, put my head down with work and carried on.
We had so much to look forward to in 2022: Gambia in March, a canal trip in May and a twice postponed trip to Sri Lanka in August. Our new grandson Emyr Michael finally arrived on 20 January too! The year had started so well, and we had increased our family by one.
By February I was struggling with work, the pain in my back made it difficult to walk the aisles, putting stock out was causing me issues, picking for deliveries was also proving to be challenging. I was now also going to the toilet way too much and saw blood in the water on every occasion. I know my body was telling me to get help but again I ignored the signs.
In March, we went on our trip to Gambia. We had an amazing time but when we arrived home the pain had reached such a point I was unable to concentrate on anything. The blood in my poo was redder too. I knew I had to see a doctor now. I asked my daughter Kirsty to make me an appointment.
The doctor called at 12.35, we spoke about my symptoms, and he asked me to come in that evening. I remember telling my boss that I was going but I was sure there was nothing to worry about. As I arrived at the surgery I realised I had to come clean: my embarrassment had to disappear and I had to tell all, and that's exactly what I did.
My doctor explained that this was not piles and that he’d found a lump he wasn’t happy about so would send me for further tests. I asked then if it was cancer and he said ‘that's what they will look for.’
The day of my endoscopy arrived and Deb dropped me off at the hospital. I asked the nurse when I would get the results, he said ‘today as soon as it’s done’, well I wasn't expecting that. I was given a gown and a pair of shorts and went to lay on the table. Forty minutes later, I was taken to recovery and the doctor came to see me. He explained that he dealt with this every day and was certain of what he’d seen. He said ‘Paul, you have two very large tumours in your bowel’. I'm sure he said loads more after this but not another word can I recall. The nurse asked if I knew what was being said? I replied ‘yes, I’ve got two tumours...’ It's then that it hit my brain and my mouth at the same time. I blurted out ‘is this cancer?’
The doctor replied that it was indeed. He had taken biopsies but needed to do further tests to tell what stage it was at, and that I would need a CT scan which he was going to book right away.
My heart sank as it began to hit me that I actually had cancer. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I would tell my wife, my family and friends. The tears came almost straight away, and they wouldn't stop. Deb arrived with Anton, a nurse took him aside while I sat her down and told her what had happened. We both cried some more. After having my scan I was sent home.
Next came figuring out how to tell the children. Kirsty was away and it didn't seem right to spoil her trip so we decided to wait until she was home before we said anything. I did inform my work who have been brilliant – they took any job insecurity or financial concerns away from me, my Divisional director and HR have been absolutely amazing. My regional manager has been in almost weekly contact which has been lovely. I am so pleased to work for such a caring company. I did inform them I may be out of work for around a year which didn’t concern them, I was just told to concentrate on beating this and to take care of my family.
I also called my two sisters Alison and Kerry back in Stevenage who had been both worried sick by this point. Telling them their little brother had cancer wasn't the easiest call I’d ever made. To be fair to them both they have been in daily contact ever since. Deb and I sat for hours not knowing what to do. We were all alone except for the Big C that had now loomed over us both.
Deb and I told our children all together. I explained as best I could what was happening, and we hugged each other tightly. I didn’t want that hug to ever end. I knew that dropping this information on them had changed our lives.
Eventually the day of the MRI came, it went fine but it seemed to take so long to get the results. In the meantime, I’d been telling more friends and family, including my running group. Nic, Gareth and Marianne have been a great support and have all stepped up taking the reins and keeping the group going. I'm so proud of them.
At the end of April 2022, Deb and I got the MRI results. The doctor who did the original endoscopy walked in accompanied by a nurse from Macmillan. He explained that it was as he had thought: two large tumours along with a worrying lump in my lung. The next steps were for a full colonoscopy to be done, and then to reduce the tumours with chemotherapy and radiotherapy before having an operation that would fully remove my bowel and leave me with a stoma bag for the rest of my life.
This was like the biggest punch to my stomach I'd ever received, it knocked me sideways. I kept thinking: a bag, what, how? My head was now in a complete spin. We still didn't know what stage the cancer was at but to be honest I just wanted to go home. Deb started to explain about the holidays we had booked. ‘He's going nowhere’ the doctor said. All we could do now was wait for the next meeting.
When it came, I had a PICC (peripherally inserted central catheter) line put in on my right arm at the hospital. We met Professor Adams who explained what was going to happen and we were told my cancer was stage 3, and that I was to have 12 treatments of chemotherapy followed by five of radiotherapy with a view to it reducing the tumours enough for the operation to take place.
The next day I had my colonoscopy – that was intense, to say the least. They found two more lumps and removed one of them. Now we had to wait for a letter to say when treatment would start and the fight would begin.
The days passed by, each one seemed like weeks and the weeks seemed like months. My sisters had sent me a teddy we called Blisters to help me with my treatment. He was made up of their own shirts, this was such a thoughtful idea and very welcomed. When the date arrived my daughter Kirsty drove me to the hospital me and Blisters made our way onto the ward. We were met by a wonderful team of nurses who made me quickly feel at ease. I was shown to my chair and with the treatment fully explained it was time to start pumping the drugs into my body. It was at this time I noted this cancer was not just mine: it was also consuming the lives of my wife, daughters, sisters, family and friends. The guilt that came over me was intense: I had, by getting cancer, put a huge strain on the lives of the ones I hold so very dear. This didn't sit right with me, but what could I do?
After a few hours my time was done, and I was sent home attached to a bag that would be dispensing small amounts of chemotherapy over the next 48hrs. I went outside to be met by my wife and daughter both cheering me as this was day one of ‘kicking cancer's butt because it's got a hold of mine!’ Almost as soon as I got home, I felt sick and took an anti-sickness tablet. I felt it get caught in my throat, I was gasping for air and being sick. I was taken to bed by Deb and between the night both her and Kirsty would check on me. Later that evening I had a massive pain in my chest. Believing it to be indigestion, I took more medication and went to sleep.
By the mid-morning the next day, the pain in my chest became so severe that Kirsty called the hospital who in turn told her to dial 999 immediately. The next few hours I recall a doctor doing several ECG's on me in my living room then being taken to A&E by ambulance. I was quickly assessed and later admitted to the cardio ward.
The next morning, I was woken to be taken to a CT scan. Whilst I was in the wheelchair, a nurse asked if I was ok and I explained that my chest pain had come back. What happened next all happened so quickly: I was turned around, placed on the bed and put on a defibrillator. All I could see were doctors and nursing staff doing whatever they needed to do to stop me from having a heart attack.
After a while, I started to feel better even managed to eat two ice-creams a nurse got me. By this time Deb was at my side. It was wonderful to see her face again. For the first time in this journey, I thought I was going to die. But our wonderful NHS staff thankfully had other ideas. A doctor came to see us later in the day to explain what had happened: the chemotherapy had caused my heart to suffer from spasms which had nearly given me a heart attack. My heart values were checked and showed 100% clear. I had the CT scan eventually which showed blood clots on my lung, so then I was having daily blood thinner injections administered by Deb or Kirsty.
I was shattered when I got home but thankfully over the following couple of weeks, I was able to see my sisters, daughters and grandchildren. It was great to see them, and we went out a couple of times – even managing to visit Barry Island.
On the first of June 2022 I went for a meeting with Professor Adams who explained what happened. Basically, the part of chemo I took home was the issue so I can no longer have it. I wasn't overly concerned as I had really disliked this bit of the treatment. Carrying that bag was a constant reminder I had cancer. It was agreed the chemotherapy was to be paused. Instead, we were pushing ahead with radiotherapy which would now be five days a week for five weeks. I asked if the PICC line could be removed as wasn’t needed, which was done.
As I write, I have just had my third radiotherapy session. The side effects are that I sleep a lot and so far nothing else. I'm thankful that my wife and daughter manage my pain relief as well as they do. Soon I’ll be going for my fourth radiotherapy session, before finding out if my blood are ok. If so, we’ll be re-starting chemotherapy.
I miss my running friends, my group Roath Park Runners and walkers, but I will be back that's for sure. My aim now has turned into campaigning for better awareness of bowel cancer. I am trying to get hotels to put up a symptoms poster in all toilets as, according to Bowel Cancer UK’s research, half the adult population can't name a single symptom of bowel cancer and before I got it I wouldn't have been able to either.
I’ve written a poem with Bowel Cancer UK in mind:
Every time you go a loo,
Please remember check your poo
If you see blood or change in colour
Do not fear there's no need to suffer.
Go see your Doctor
Seek medical advice
On this clear message
Don't think twice.
Helps on hand
There is an answer
Get yourself in touch with
Bowel Cancer
To find out more about Paul’s journey, visit his blog Me & The Big C
