One swallow doesn’t make a summer, but it had me beaming!

David Whaley with Frances and Prof Homer

The Chron’s managing editor continues his award-winning, week by week story of his battle with throat cancer

WHEN the super-cool Professor Jarrod Homer says “wow — that’s brilliant” and “fantastic” during a filmed camera test, you sort of get the feeling things are going your way...


That was his reaction during our first meeting since I left hospital, five and half weeks post-op.

I had gone to Manchester Royal Infirmary to see him and after a quick chat he was down to business — or more accurately up for business, as the camera’s eye-watering entrance to the throat is by way of the nose!

Everything is beginning to settle down following the surgery, and the Prof was keen for speech therapist Frances Ascott to test my swallowing abilities (you might recall relearning to swallow is a side-effect of the surgery).

First I tried water, coloured with a blue dye so the liquid that failed to make the right place would show up on camera.

I swallowed. He paused. “Have you done it yet?” he asked quizzically as he looked at the results on the monitor over my head.

I nodded - well as best I could with a camera up my nostril. Not a hint of blue. The Prof was getting excited and I was getting gleeful eye-contact from the ever-encouraging Frances.

Custard swiftly followed and I was able to reproduce a similarly clean view, even if I did need a follow-up second swallow.

Once the camera was removed they played back what they had witnessed and explained how the body naturally tries to heal itself, and the changes taking place.

One of the two muscles left behind when my vocal cords were removed has become dominant. If they were 50-50 and came together there would be a gap down my windpipe, but the dominant right side overlaps the left and the result is far better closure of the gap as I swallow - so no food in my lungs.

Biology lesson over. Real progress, and more good news was to follow.

We asked about the drug regime I was on. He axed them all. Then he cleared me for driving (and said a holiday to Portugal in five weeks, booked when I got the all-clear months ago, was a definite “yes”).

He even predicted that a month from now I might not be having any food by way of the feeding tube, thogh it will be a while before they remove the tube, just in case.

His one word of caution? Patience will be needed before work can be done on restoring my voice. At present I whisper. I can wait, not that I have a choice!

I think I floated out of the room. Wendy was somewhat embarrassed at my two arms in the air goal salute as we came out. Those waiting were a little taken aback...

I had arranged to call in to work for a “brief” meeting and was overwhelmed by the greetings from the team. The meeting went on longer than planned and I was almost poured back into the car to head home, drained. But it had been a helluva day.

Saturday was another big day. Under supervision from Wendy I got behind the wheel of my car for the first time and drove to Werneth Golf Club. I wrapped up warm, put my golf shoes on and walked out for a pre-arranged date on the 14th tee with the new captain, to walk the last five holes.

There were waves and shouts of encouragement from others on the course and as we walked down the 18th I was itching to have a go.

Captain John gave me his wedge and a ball. I swung and the ball sailed away, not exactly close to the flag, but who cares? Once I’d hit it I lost my balance and almost fell over. Once the captain and his partners had stopped laughing they pointed out my substantially-reduced rear end - I’ve lost quite a bit of weight - was causing balance issues.

“Why do you think I play so well in the wind,” said Nigel, pointing to his more than ample balance aid.

Back in the clubhouse I caught up with friends and had an emotional reunion with the legend in local golf that is Les Lawton.

The ever-young Les is one of the most warm-hearted men I know. He came through the doors from the snooker room having heard I was in the club with his eyes streaming and he hugged me so tight I thought I was going to burst. He openly admitted crying as he reads my weekly offerings. He skipped back to his card school a happy man.

I have to say that keeping my emotions in check is proving difficult at times. Not receiving big news or in tense situations. I sat alone with tears streaming down my face as I watched Sky’s “Race of Remembrance” a programme of how motorsport embraced injured soldiers in a race on Remembrance Day last year. That’s what I call being positive about a bad situation.

And it was cue waterworks later when Spandau Ballet appeared on Ant and Dec’s “Saturday Night Takeaway” and sang “Gold” — a song that will always be synonymous with my “last supper” night with friends as we stomped on the dancefloor. I don’t imagine many people have cried at Ant and Dec!

I recovered my composure the following day to hit 50 balls at the driving range and I await meetings with the dieticians this week in a bid to further boost my fitness.

The Prof’s instruction to up the oral food intake has already seen me having soggy cornflakes for breakfast, leek and potato soup for lunch and mashed up cottage pie for Sunday tea.

As I write this, with snow on the ground outside, I’m grateful to young Hayley in our accounts department for the loan of her exercise bike so the weather needn’t hold me back.

I have decided to exercise my way, in effect, to the home of golf — St Andrews in Scotland — a mere 452km from my front door, so I won't be walking.

And I’ll aim to do it by the end of March when we fly to the sun.