When Joe Briscoe found out he had cancer, he decided to be positive and do everything he could to survive. More than 20 years later, this positivity has stayed with him
I REMEMBER so well how it started. It is over 20 years ago, but it’s still very clear to me.
In fact it was 4 o’clock on a Thursday in February 1989 . . . that’s how clear it is.
I am a dentist by profession and I remember I was in the middle of a normal day, washing my hands between patients.
Then it began. Just a feeling, hard to explain really. Not only was I not feeling good, but more importantly I just didn’t seem to be getting the same “kick” out of life. I couldn’t call it depression. It was just that I felt physically “down”.
It was if my body was talking to me.
Some months later I retired and it was during this time that I developed hoarseness. It wasn’t present when I got up in the morning – but it would appear by late afternoon.
As time progressed the hoarseness would appear in the early afternoon and eventually it was with me all day.
I felt it only natural to put all my problems, the lethargy and the hoarseness, down to the fact that I had retired. I was walking away from a way of life that had lasted a full 40 years.
Both my family and myself expected that these “stressful symptoms” would disappear as soon as I had achieved the peace and stress-free space that would eventually come with retirement.
Weeks went by and my hoarseness had not lessened. In fact, it had got worse. I was now hoarse all the time and the problem was noticeable not only to me and my family but also to other people.
More ominously I didn’t feel “good”. It’s a feeling that even now I have difficulty putting into words. I can only repeat that it was as if my body was trying to convey something to me, as if my body was talking to me.
I mention “body talking” again because I now have a deep conviction that our bodies, or parts of our body, do convey messages to the brain when something is out of kilter.
I suggest that people should “listen” when their body talks. We often hear of people who eventually went to their doctor only to find out that if they had got there sooner the treatment would have been more effective.
Invariably, people who have been in this situation will confirm that they knew something was wrong but didn’t do anything about it.
I went to my doctor, who referred me to an ENT specialist. I was scheduled for surgery immediately. As my late father had a history of polyps we all hoped that my problem was just a case of a simple benign growth.
But somewhere deep inside I had this feeling (or was it my body talking?) that this could be a malignancy, and I said so to my wife.
I awoke after the operation and I felt no great discomfort. Later, my specialist came to see me and after a few pleasantries, told me that he was fairly sure that what he had removed was a malignancy, but of course this would have to be confirmed by lab tests.
He also told me that he was reasonably confident that he had removed all the growth and that my prognosis was good. In fact, I had a very good chance of full recovery, but I would have to have radiation treatment.
The conversation took place in the space of four or five minutes and then I was alone again in my room . . . just my thoughts and me. How well I remember those first thoughts! Debbie! The last thing I wanted to do was to upset my wife.
But how could I be truthful and not upset her? When it comes to cancer there are no easy options. And my sons! (Both our sons are doctors and living abroad.) They would go “bananas”. We are a very close family, always have been.
How awful for them being so far away, feeling that they should be here supporting their mother and, I suppose, supporting me.
It was only then that I started to think about myself. How glad I was now that I had retired. How would I have coped if I were still practising? Any doubts that I had about retiring vanished in those few hectic moments.
Then CANCER! How strange. Over the years I had tried to visualise the way I would die. A coronary, a stroke, an accident? I had never thought of cancer.
But was I going to die? No! I had too much to live for. As yet we hadn’t any grandchildren and I wanted to see my grandchildren. I wanted to enjoy the rest of my life. There are so many things to do, so much to see. I decided to be positive and do everything I could to survive.
The next few days are rather hazy. I went home and prepared myself for my first visit to St Luke’s and my radiation specialist.
I well remember that first visit – sitting in the waiting room and looking at all the other people there, thinking to myself, all these people have experienced cancer. They seemed pretty normal to me and all were quite remarkably healthy.
I wondered if I looked healthy to them? I also wondered if this was their first visit. Were they looking at me and thinking similar thoughts? Men. Women. People of all ages. All different. And yet we all had this one common denominator.
The specialist outlined what was in store for me. He was a shy and modest man, very quietly spoken but most of all his humanity was so obvious. Importantly for me, he was not patronising. A list of appointments was made.
Interesting is perhaps the wrong word to describe radiation treatment. However, it was not as unpleasant as I had expected. But that may have been because I had made up my mind that I was going to be positive and take without complaint whatever treatment was necessary.
I was lucky – if I had been born 20 years earlier this sophisticated hi-tech treatment would not have been available. I refused to feel sorry for myself and I can honestly say that I succeeded in this.
Sure there were many times when I was very uncomfortable, but I kept on repeating to myself that I was fortunate; negative thinking was never a factor.
Everybody in St Luke’s was kind and considerate and very “matter of fact”. Nobody patronised me and I did not feel at any time that I was anyone other than an ordinary patient having ordinary medical treatment.
Did I say that I didn’t feel sorry for myself? Well, this is not quite true. On just one occasion I did. One morning I decided that I was going to stay in bed.
After all, I was having radiation treatment and I was now experiencing a fair amount of discomfort.
I had been very positive since the diagnosis had been made, so I decided that I was entitled to be just a little negative this once.
My dog Riley decided otherwise. He came into my bedroom and started to paw me until I got out of bed. How he knew that I was feeling down I shall never know, but even animals can give you support at times like these.
Most evenings I went for a walk with my dog. It was in the middle of winter, but even so I started to look at trees and see them in a way that I had never seen them before.
And not just the trees but also the stars, the moon and all that surrounds us – all the things that we see and tend to take for granted. This appreciation is still with me as I write these words.
The months rolled by and the treatment was finished. Now it was a question of waiting for the check-up results. As I got stronger (because radiation does sap your energy) I realised that my encounter with cancer had given me an appreciation of nature and people.
So much of what surrounded me was part of every day and I hadn’t seen it.
That spring I saw the earth coming back to life and the words of the late Louis Armstrong singing What a Wonderful World came booming back. Yes indeed, what a wonderful world.
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