MODS: I'm posting this here rather than starting a new thread. Feel free to move it if appropriate.
Just over 3 years after the radiotherapy referred to above I still hadn't my voice back to where it was pre-cancer. I was no longer able to sing a note, sadly - I was no Pavarotti, but I've always enjoyed belting out a good tune in a musical, music hall or even, God forbid, a church! - but I could speak well enough to start treading the boards again if I was careful about which part I took on.
Anyway, in November I had a the occasional bout of breathlessness, which culminated with me struggling for breath so much one afternoon (Sunday 21st) that I was on the verge of panic. I dialled 111, the NHS helpline, rather than 999, but the lovely lady on 111 could obviously hear that I was in trouble and sent an ambulance. They got here fairly quickly, which was a releif as I'd read some horror stories about response times due to Covid, gave me oxygen, did assorted tests and whisked me off to the nearest A&E, about 8 miles away (in Worksop). As far as I recall, they gave me anti-inflammatories and adrenalin to open my airways and transferred me to Doncaster, where the ENT specialists who'd treated my cancer are based.
They kept me in overnight and kicked me out after lunch on Monday. One thing we never got round to discussing, God only knows why not, was the cause and the follow-up. I slept like a baby* on Monday night, most unusual for me, and got on with things. on Tuesday afternoon I felt it all starting up again and phoned my GP's surgery. Spoke with a doctor (my own GP was off duty) who prescribed a ventolin inhaler and arranged a phone call from my own GP on Wednesday. My GP contacted the ENT team at Doncaster and told me to get my arse to A&E sharpish. I grabbed a few bits and pieces and did as I was told.
Sorry, this is turning into a saga... but in for a penny...!
After loads of intrusive tests, shoving cameras down my throat, etc. they told me that I was in serious trouble. The tumour in my throat had been at the top of the larynx/trachea (the windpipe) where it sits next to the oesophogus (the food pipe) - hence the occasional choking fit when something 'goes down the wrong way', an inherent design flaw if ever there was one! The soft tissue scarring caused by the radiotherapy had shifted causing the airways to constrict to such an extent that I was effectively breathing through a tiny slot (hence the struggle for breath), which could close completely at any time. Not an optimal outcome...
The only solution, I was told (and by now it's late evening), was an emergency tracheostomy. I've had a few reminders of my mortality during my life (amoebic dysentery at 30, 2 heart attacks at 40, a DVT at 49, lymphoma at 52, throat cancer at 61, type 2 diabetes), but this was a belter. I'm quite vain and self-centred (well, not much point in sugarcoating things at this stage, is there?
) and my voice has always been a focal part of who I am. Immediate images sprang to mind of emergency tracheostomies in films using a biro tube (I've even performed one on stage!
), Bond villains holding a cigarette to their trachy tube (or is that just my imagination?), and the sound of a Dalek croaking "Exterminate"...
Given the absence of appealing alternatives, I signed the consent forms** and was admitted to ward S12 of Doncaster Royal Infirmary, may God bless her and all who sail in her. In spit of the doom and gloom-ridden consent forms, I survived the surgery and was wheeled back to my private room
, breathing easily but unable to talk until they changed my tube a few days later.
We're up to Thursday 25th November. I'm knackered now, so I'll continue this later...
*Why do we use that expression? Most babies I know wake up at all hours demanding attention...
** Consent forms: you have to love these things. Anaesthetists and surgeons have to cover their backs and be seen to have informed the patient of all the possible ways in which the procedure could go wrong, but starting off by saying "We're going to cut you open, and here's a list of all the ways the operation could go wrong and kill you" doesn't really inspire confidence...