Seconds out . . .

Date published: 17 October 2014


Chronicle managing editor David Whaley unfortunately spoke a little too soon about his cancer’s demise...

IT’S BACK. Or to be more accurate, it never actually went away.

Sorry to report that our joyous celebrations six weeks after finishing radiotherapy treatment for a small tumour on my vocal cords have proved premature.

To be honest, it was only a couple of weeks after getting the good news that I was once again getting “croaky” when I talked too much in meetings.

It might have been a side effect of the treatment, but by the time we reached the next check-up — 18 months of such were planned — I knew all wasn’t well.

My wife Wendy and I went to the Christie team’s consultation sessions at North Manchester Hospital and as they made my eyes water by sliding the camera up my nose it was obvious from their tone that all was not as it should be. The team could see something.

Within a week I was back as a day patient, back under general anaesthetic and they were taking a biopsy.

As I came round on the ward, consultant Mr Murthy visited and was optimistic that the “thing” was softer than expected and might well not be a tumour.

Waiting to find out is mind crunching; you play all the scenarios through in your head.

On the day we went for the results we saw Mr Murthy leaving with an important-looking gent and I got it into my head the news must be good - since it had been left to one of his team to relate the news.

Not so.

Registrar Laura Warner explained that the radiotherapy had not been 100 per cent successful and the tumour was still visible on the left vocal cord.

As a non-smoker I was originally considered very unlucky to be struck by this particular form of cancer. With radiotherapy there was a 95 per cent chance of success. Welcome to one of the 5 per cent.

We weren’t going to get away with it that easily and the stakes are now higher.

Dr Warner and speech therapist Janice Long answered all our questions and we walked out to make calls to those awaiting news.

The big issue now is what is revealed by a forthcoming CT scan of head, neck and thorax.

Wendy and I went for a meeting with speech therapist Janice a couple of days after the new bombshell. As well as checking that my swallowing was not being hampered — it was amazing to see how complex the body is in doing something as simple as eating a biscuit — she made clear what lies ahead.

Best case scenario is that the small tumour is in splendid isolation and an ideal candidate for laser surgery. “Lift it and nick it off with a laser” might not be very technical, but we got the picture.

What we don’t want to hear from the scan is that the cancer has spread — especially into the voice box cartilage. If it has, the surgery must be more invasive and involve the partial or complete removal of my voicebox.

“I wouldn’t spell this out to all our patients, but you have asked the questions for your articles and it is only right that people know,” said Laura, smiling as she recalled patients walking in with cuttings.

I was glad my previous pieces had helped.

Whatever happens, they need to get it all this time. I have absolute confidence in the team to make the right call when they get together to study my case and the scans.

In the meantime, friends and family have been amazing in their support. The “Keep Smiling” motto under which I wrote the first series of articles has come back to me on countless emails. It really does mean a lot.

One simply said: “Seconds out, round two.”

We’re up for another fight and we’ll meet it head on. We’ll be positive. So now we wait

KEEP SMILING!