Souper to see angel Jane again

The cup (of soup) that cheers: my first real food in five weeks

Chronicle managing editor Dave Whaley continues the story of his fight against throat cancer

AS I turned the corner our eyes met. There was that split second of surprise, that moment of recognition and then the dash to embrace a warm, caring coming together that made my eyes moist and the heart warm.


“I nearly didn’t recognise you with your clothes on,” said the diminutive blonde. Hardly “Fifty Shades”, since we were in the soup aisle at Shaw Asda. But a magic moment for a reunion with one of the angels who had seen me through the darker shades of my personal grey at Manchester Royal Infirmary.

It was a face that Mrs W knew not. Jane had been on nights in those first two weeks when I made it down to the head and neck speciality ward and she was new to such intricacies. I was the guinea pig patient on which she learned the ropes. At least the introductions meant our hugs were now explained.

Jane lives in Milnrow and her appearance was a beaming smile on a grey day.

She explained how staff often get little opportunity to see the progress patients make once they leave.

I’ve written about this before; it’s something the NHS needs to consider; a move that would surely help to raise morale.

Jane was very complimentary about my progress.

It was a chance meeting since I had gone into the supermarket in a state of euphoria following my first post-hospital assessment with speech therapist Frances Ascott.

I had managed to advance myself in that time from half a teaspoon of water to a full one, educating myself in a steady, aim, fire routine that is second nature to all of you, but which I now have to learn again - to avoid sending the liquid down my now-open windpipe into my lungs.

Being up to a teaspoon meant, Frances said, that I could now treat that as a sip from a cup. I can’t tell you how good it felt to raise a cup to my lips for the first time since the op. I did it. I did it again, and again, and again.

We talked about pitfalls, progress and where I was at. Frances was impressed. I was all smiles, Wendy was relieved.

Next step, smooth soup. The tomato variety, in fact, being careful to avoid soups with fibrous particles and lumps. Hence the supermarket sweep on the way home. I was determined to have my moment collecting my first real food in over five weeks.

Within the hour I was tasting 12 teaspoons of warm (but not hot) Heinz cream of tomato soup as it slid down. Heaven.

Otherwise, rehab continues apace. We are now up to a two-mile circuit around the roads at home and the pace of that is picking up too.

My sprightly 78-year-old mother has taken to coming to check on me now that Nurse Wendy has gone back to her day job. As well as overseeing my eating and drug regime, she is testing my grey matter with a daily dose of dominoes. She’s good, too!

I’m itching to get back on the golf course, but realise my fitness has to rise markedly for that.

I have had to satisfy my need for golf with regular putting stints on the lounge carpet. Mrs W is far from impressed that I am using one of her candle holders as the hole.

The good news is that the loss of around an inch and a half of neck cartilage has not affected the eye-lines for the putter.

I arranged for two of my colleagues from work to visit for a meeting. When they left I had my dinner and slept the whole afternoon. Note to self, don’t rush it; the road is long.

Keep Smiling!