I was sat outside in the garden having a cigarette. Sunday meant an early night for me, I would be up at 04:20 to walk down to the station so I could get the first train into the city. I’d been having stomach grumbles and believed it was IBS. That evening was no different, my stomach was grumbling away but with an increased frequency that had begun to worry me.
I’d been experiencing the grumblings for about five weeks and I’d spoken twice to my GP in the weeks previously about my concerns. I had seen a medical assistant once at the surgery, after a physical examination she also suggested that it was IBS. It was a funny time as my tummy was making noises like it was constantly hungry when I wasn’t. Not to mention growling that drew attention in a quiet room so all eyes turned to look at me.
I had been losing weight as well. However, I was covering around eight miles a day walking and I had begun to eat food that is generally considered healthier. So the two stone weight loss didn’t strike me as being suspicious. Just to make sure, the GP referred me for a scan and I was scheduled to attend in four weeks’ time, but at that particular time, this suited me as I only had minor concerns. I wasn’t in any pain, and it wasn’t impacting my quality of life, so it didn’t occur to me my life was about to change dramatically.
I put out the cigarette and stood up and then it happened. I felt, possibly heard something drop inside of me. Drop like an anvil and within a second I was in excruciating pain. I managed to get myself into the house and I called out to my partner that something was very wrong with me. She was asking me what it was, how could she help me. I was twisting and turning on the floor trying to find a position where the pain would eased or even abated. I couldn't find one and this scared me.
I called to her “I need an ambulance!” This was the first time in my life I had ever uttered those words. The pain was so profound, so unrelenting that I just knew crawling into bed and hoping it would go away was not an option. I had no idea what was going on, I just knew I needed help and I need help immediately.
My recollection of the time that followed is at best sketchy, at worst completely unreliable. So, to ensure accuracy I will relay what my partner conveyed to me after I came out of hospital. I had somehow managed to pull myself into a chair. I was sweating as if I was in a sauna and my breathing had become shallow and yet rapid. I had stopped verbally responding to her and I had lost all colour from my face. The ambulance arrived in under ten minutes and when the two paramedics looked at me, I was quickly moved into the ambulance.
The paramedics spoke to my partner and asked her whether she wanted to say goodbye to me as there was little chance, I would make it through the night. My partner was shocked and speechless. It took her a few seconds to respond before she said that it was only IBS, and she couldn't comprehend what was happening. For her, it was a terrifying moment. I had been my normal self all day, no complaints of pain, not off my food and certainly not put off from having a few drinks during that afternoon. As far as she was concerned it was just another Sunday for us both. I was driven to the hospital and was taken straight through into A&E. The staff fought to stabilise me while various surgeons were called in.
I have no memory of what takes place now or for the next eight days. I need to refer to various sources of information, the nurses, the diary that was kept whilst I was in critical care and the visits from the surgeons post operations. If I do have any recollection of this period, all of them that I remembered were proven to be hallucinations and inaccurate. I suspected it may have been my mind closing down and trying to protect me from the reality. Then once out of surgery for the first time I strongly suspected the morphine contributed greatly to the false memories that my mind was creating. As my journey meanders on I will include some of these hallucinations as to this day, they are a complete surprise to me.
So what happened? Cancer happened.
Bowel cancer to be precise which had metastasised to my liver. The thump I had felt standing up earlier that evening had been a part of my intestine breaching my stomach lining. This meant all sorts of material had flowed into my stomach which my body, just like your body, was not at all happy about. The pain that I had felt, that had me terrified me, was the start of sepsis. Sepsis had begun to shut down my organs. It was now killing me, I was dying.
The lady paramedic that night recognised this. I am thankful to her and her colleague as they did everything they could to get me to A&E. This was why she had asked my partner whether she wanted to say goodbye to me then and there. Statically speaking, survival rate of a sepsis attack is low, and sepsis remains one of the highest killers in the UK.
That night the paramedics saved my life.
You will notice that I write this quite a few times as I document my journey and it is because of the initial fast reaction of those paramedics, the many nurses and surgeons who kept me alive when I was so close to passing away, that I am able to share this with you. They will always have my eternal gratitude and thanks for doing so. I wasn't ready to die, and they ensured I got a chance to fight on.
I was now waiting for the surgeons to make it to the theatre as I was transport on a trolley for emergency surgery. They began operating on me at 03:25 Monday morning. They had their work cut out for them because when they opened me up, it was shit show and pun intended.