Home from Homer... but no quick fix

Jarrod Homer - the amazing surgeon who has built Dave a new voicebox

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Chronicle managing editor Dave Whaley continues the saga of his fight against neck cancer

I SUPPOSE we have all done it — sent a text whose misinterpretation has caused all sorts of consternation in the recipemt.

It is one of the modern-day curses of the digital age: you can’t get the inflection of the words you would have understood instantly had you heard them spoken face to face.

But I chose probably my biggest news - and I’ve had a few landmark announcements over the last few months — to confuse people.

The senior cancer team at Christie had been discussing my case while I continued to recuperate at Manchester Royal Infirmary. The histology results came in after my surgery and to the delight of top man Professor Jarrod Homer and his team, they had got all the cancer and the margins around for healthy tissue were A1.

Head nurse Philip Bryce hot-footed back to give me the good news and we shared a goalscoring arms-in-the-air moment and an embrace.

I reached for the mobile — the signal in such a hi-tech environment as this really has been woeful — to give Mrs W the fantastic news.

“Histology — as good as it gets!” I sent. Silence was the reaction. Turns out Wendy wasn’t doing cartwheels but asking her colleagues what it meant...

Some - like her - read “as good as could be expected in the circumstances”; others realised I meant it was a mega-win.

So Mrs W answered diplomatically: “...and how do you feel about that?”

Unsuspecting me at the other end had no doubt: “Over the bloody moon!!” Cue cartwheels - actually I’m not sure she can, but you get my meaning.

It was a lesson. If I was doing it again I’d be more emphatic: “The results are back and they reveal nil, zero, zilch, nothing. Yippee!”

The same senior management team put the cherry on top by telling me I could go home, three weeks to the day since the operation. Three weeks since I’d had anything to eat or drink as I get used to the world of feeding-tube sustenance.

In that three weeks I have been in awe at the standard of care given by a group of nurses committed to an unbelievable level.

It’s clear that the whole system is creaking at the knees. But when you have dedication to work some incredibly anti-social shift patterns and long days and nights to provide continuity we, the patients, are indeed blessed.

When I first took up residence in Bay 13, I vowed to walk around an internal courtyard - the view out of my window. I didn’t get to do that (because they couldn’t find the key for the door. But I did get to walk down to the front door. The cold air took my breath away.

When I went to the doctor last March with a croaky voice, I had one piece of paper in my records. I was not a drain on the system.

Now that file probably has to have wheels on it.

I wonder what that three-week stay cost the NHS? From the surgery to the care, the back-office function to the auxiliary cleaning. thank God for the NHS.

There were hugs; there were tears as I left the building to go home.

By the time I got home I was weary. By the time I got up the stairs to bed I was completely exhausted. There’s no quick fix.

KEEP SMILING...