Scrabble option the one for me?

Chronicle Managing Editor DAVID WHALEY continues his “Keep Smiling” throat cancer journey

YOU can liken being on a cancer journey to sitting on a rollercoaster as the highs and lows come around thick and fast and you have absolutely no idea what is around the next bend.

I have already documented my pain (mental not physical) at finding out that laser surgery had not proved the panacea we had hoped for and that removing the voice box altogether was now becoming a real option to maintain a quality of life in eating and drinking even if it means losing the power of speech.

Well, just when we were getting our heads around that concept, we go around the next bend to find not only does the track go up but it turns you upside down as well.

The man responsible for such dramatic change is a Professor Jarrod Homer, an ENT cancer specialist based at Manchester Royal Infirmary.

I was unnerved to say the least when I was introduced to the “Prof” at Manchester Royal Infirmary to find that he had a striking resemblance to old school friend and Old Trafford Cricket Academy boss John Stanworth.

Now the thoughts of “DIY Billy Botchit” Stanny getting anywhere near surgery on my vital bits (no not those!) would be enough to have me running for the hills.

Within minutes, Prof Homer had us at our ease as he enthused about the complexities of the throat, reasoned why the laser surgery had not been successful (lasers only go in straight lines) and outlined his proposed route forward.

I’m no scientist — though I have to say I think my late dad was over critical when he thought I was going to become a singing vicar when choosing Art and RE for ‘O’ level all those years ago.

Prof Homer explained all via a scaled-down model and diagrams and in a way that we could understand — even if he did use some big words along the way.

The operation he is proposing is a supracricoid partial laryngectomy with cricohyoidepiglottopexy, which got me thinking I don’t fancy having to play this guy at Scrabble. I looked it up and cricohyoidepiglottopexy is actually worth 47 points — and that’s just the value of the letters before you count any triple word scores!

It’s hard to say, never mind perform, and Prof Homer tells me in no uncertain terms that this is no easy option.

But, if I can retrain my body to do things differently using a reconstructed throat pathway and work hard with the speech therapist he sees no reason why I cannot function well without the need for breathing through a whole in my neck for the rest of my life or the need for a long-term feeding tube and artificial voice aid.

When you put it like that it’s an option which requires serious consideration.

He describes yours truly as an ideal candidate for such surgery as I have something going for me — not words I have heard much so far having defied the 90+ per cent success rates as a non smoker and still failing to see off this tumour through radiotherapy or laser.

My general health is top drawer and the fact that I have no other underlying conditions means I should be able to take on the battle back to fitness as a single-issue fight.

The tumour is not growing alarmingly so the urgency is not immediate and we would be looking at a New Year date with the knife that might just mean we could sneak in a break in the sun to recharge the batteries (Wendy’s of course, my games of golf would just be to keep my mate company).

We asked some questions — goes with the territory of being a journo — and when I articulated what I thought my options were Prof Homer described my grasp of my plight as “better than some first-year medical students”.

Damn, maybe I should have done biology and chemistry with Minnie Palmer at Chaddy Grammar after all!

We will get more answers when we meet up with the speech therapist later this week and maybe also get a glimpse into this new world as a man who has “been there, done that” some two years ago has agreed to meet up.

Later that evening, Wendy put it succinctly when, on the phone to a relative, she described her feelings as “being nervous about daring to be optimistic”.

Of course we have to be optimistic.

It really is an emotional rollercoaster. I recently got an insight into how much this affects others. My sister, Christine, called round for an update and we went through the above, cracking the odd joke along the way, as we do, to lighten the mood.

At one point it went quiet for the briefest of moments and she just burst into floods of tears at the very thought of her “big bruvver” spending weeks in a hospital bed when he has hardly ever been to the doctors prior to this discovery.

It dawned on me that there are lots of other people doing the worrying for me while I get on with a smile. And I am very, very, very grateful for that.

One of those is current Oldham Mayoress Tanvir Hussain and I owe her an apology.

Having done as she suggested and sourced herbal teas I have yet to open the packet. Sorry, Mayoress — I will make a special effort this week, promise.


KEEP SMILING :-) (20pts @ Scrabble)