One last challenge - The Great North Run

At the ripe, wizened old age of 60, when most are eyeing a racing green convertible to blast through their mid-life crisis with the top down and dignity up in the air, I've taken a path less travelled (and arguably less comfortable). Yes, instead of prowling the streets in a sports car that screams "I'm still relevant!", I've decided to dust off my running shoes for the 2024 Great North Run. This decision comes nearly two decades after cancer decided to redecorate my body, taking with it half my upper body and neck muscles, and a good 22 years since I last thought running 13.1 miles was a good idea.

Why, you ask, would a seemingly sane person choose to chase after their youth in such a sweat-inducing, lung-busting manner? The answer lies not in a quest for lost abs or a misplaced sense of invincibility, but in a cause that hits closer to home than the finish line—I'm running for dementia care. This pivot from mid-life crisis cliché to charity half marathoner is inspired by my mother's decade-long tangle with Lewy Body Dementia, a journey that's been about as fun as running in lead shoes. It's been a saga of love, loss, and learning to find the humor in forgetting where you've put it.

Amidst this backdrop of an emotional marathon, there's a beacon of hope—my daughter, soon to be the family's first Mental Health Nurse. Her graduation isn't just a proud moment; it's a symbol of hope for every family navigating the choppy waters of mental health challenges. So, in a plot twist no one saw coming, not even me, I'm trading the mid-life crisis sports car for a pair of running shoes and a fundraising page. This run isn't just for kicks; it's a stride towards making a difference in the lives of those affected by dementia, a condition that's as challenging to explain as my decision to run a half marathon at 60.

Join me in this comedic quest, where every step is a laugh in the face of adversity, and every mile a testament to turning a potentially embarrassing mid-life crisis into a cause worth sweating for. Let's show dementia care that we're in it for the long run, proving that the only thing more unpredictable than my running pace is the impact we can make when we channel our crises into causes. Here's to running towards a future where every step is a stride towards understanding, support, and maybe, just maybe, a less clichéd way of dealing with turning 60.

https://ajbellgreatnorthrun2024.enthuse.com/pf/nigel-gooding-40aeb

Cancer never escapes your mind

Eighteen years ago, I closed a chapter on my experience with mouth cancer, a chapter I naively thought was sealed forever. But life, in its unpredictable rhythm, has brought me to the threshold of new medical investigations for the same illness that once consumed my world. This time, the journey is less about physical endurance and more about navigating the complex corridors of my mind that reflect and bring fear founded or unfounded of a repeat of the treatment that left me physically scared for life. 

Last week I noticed some untoward features of my already damaged mouth and throat and needed urgent intervention and investigation with the usual UK Cancer Pathway GP – Acute Hospital – Biopsy.  I saw the GP within 2 days of my new concerns within 4 days I saw the ENT Consultant who was positive but suggested we check her diagnosis with a biopsy.  This will be undertaken next week, just 13 days from my initial interaction with the NHS.  This is in stark contrast to 18 years ago.  I have written before in the blog about Gordon Brown's government introducing the two-week cancer pathway which for those of us who meet the threshold has become a lifesaver. 

It was surreal walking through the corridors of a hospital that two years ago today I work my last shift as an HCA in the Emergency Department.  A corridor that today was full of people but a corridor that at 4am looked very different that night two years ago.   I reflected that I knew every part of that hospital either as a patient or a former employee. 

The challenges of the mind that this period conjures can be summed up as traumatic.  Those of have been through this themselves or with loved ones will recognise those feelings that I have developed in the last few days.  

These include:

The Weight of Waiting

There's an inexplicable weight that comes with waiting for medical investigations, especially after years of being cancer-free. The sterile smell of the hospital, the hushed tones in the corridors, the sympathetic glances from the staff – they all resurrect a sense of unease, a reminder of a past I thought I had left behind.  I cried when I left the consultation room knowing that initial consultations were positive but next week my biopsy will be undertaken by the same consultant who saved my life 18 years ago.  This will be surreal for us both.

In these moments of waiting, my mind becomes a theatre of 'what ifs'. It's a space where dark thoughts play out their performances, uninvited yet insistent. The anxiety is less about the physical implications and more about the mental toll of revisiting a place of vulnerability.

Echoes of the Past

The echo of my previous experience with mouth cancer reverberates through these new investigations. It's not just the fear of the disease itself, but the apprehension of the unknown. The past becomes a mirror reflecting my current anxieties, magnifying them. I know the treatment; I have dreamt that at least this time I will not be fed by a tube.

The Silent Struggle

One of the most challenging aspects is the internal struggle. It's a journey that's often silent, unseen by those around me. To the outside world, I am going through motions and routines, but inside, there's a constant negotiation with fear and hope.

Finding Solace in the Present

Amid this turmoil, I've found solace in the present moment. It's in the small joys, the everyday interactions, and the simple pleasures that I find a reprieve from the worry. These moments are precious, not because they are an escape but because they are real, tangible, and grounding. 

I made homemade soup, granola, and rice pudding tonight, a simple pleasure but a distraction it was an unplanned event but now I know my mind was telling me to be busy. 

Sharing the Journey

Writing about this experience is not just about sharing my story; it's also a way to process the complex emotions that come with it. It's a way to connect with others who might be on similar paths and to offer a sense of solidarity in our shared, yet unique, experiences.

A Quiet Resilience

As I await the results, as I walk through this familiar yet different path, I recognise a quiet resilience within me. It's not loud or bold, but it's there – in my willingness to face each day, in my capacity to hold hope and fear in the same breath.

To Those Who Understand

To those who have walked this path, who are walking it now, or who might one day walk it know that your feelings are valid, your fears are understood, and your courage is recognised, even in its quietest form.

Keep attacking!

18 Years on

So today marks 18 years since my cancer diagnosis, and I always mark this as the day I am "cancer free."

I have in the last 18 years lived for now, facing the sun shadows can only fall behind you.  I have had a busy year, walking the Inca and Queen Charlotte Trails, completing a Post Graduate Certificate in Higher Education and trying to live each day as my last. 

I try and forget the anniversaries of my cancer days.  I am reminded of them every day as the lasting side effects of radiotherapy and head and neck surgery badger me everyday, and will do until the day I die.  However this year I promised myself no tears and gentle slide into June until I heard the news that Councillor Kevin Mitchell is now the Lord Mayor of Exeter.   I read this and wept. 

For those who have read my blog will be aware that during my cancer treatment I own a depth of gratitude  to four people, my late sister Pat and her husband Ron, my dear friend Orpah and a nurse who at the time was working in Yeo Ward, one Kevin Mitchell.  

I was a regular stayer on Yeo ward in 2005 at the Royal Devon & Exeter Hospital, for those who do not the hospital well, Yeo ward is the oncology ward.  Kevin was one of many nurses who did amazing things in a ward that was blessed with serenity when discharging their care, alas some of it palliative care.  I told many stories of my time in that ward, but one story of Kevin's humanity and care is worth repeating.

Radiotherapy meant that I could not eat, drink or take medicine, I was rapidly losing weight and the chemotherapy meant that I could not have a peg tube.  The only answer was to have a gastric nasal tube fitted, which meant a long tube inserted through my nose into my stomach.  I was scared, but weary as I had not eaten for days, Kevin was on night shift and we had become good friends on my many stays on the ward.  The tube insertion was planned on a different ward at 0900, there was no nurse or HCA available to go with me, so Kevin gave up his own time and stayed on, unpaid to go with me.  The process was painful, his jokes, reassurance and even at one point I had to grab his hand as the tube was inserted stayed with me as a selfless act of nursing that went beyond the realms of what was expected. 

Kevin and his Yeo colleagues was the reason I signed and worked as an HCA during covid. 

His charity FORCE was also were crucial in my acceptance and support during a difficult time. Exeter should be proud to have such an amazing man as Lord Mayor.

https://news.exeter.gov.uk/new-lord-mayor-of-exeter-cllr-kevin-mitchell-chooses-force-cancer-charity/

#keepattacking 

D-Day - 17 years cancer free

Ask anyone who has had or has cancer will know what the importance of dates are then you will get a clear understanding of how a simple anniversary can provide a mental trauma.  Today marks 17 years of my diagnosis of cancer and as there were so many dates in 2005 I use this one as my D-Day, diagnosis day.  You live through the experiences of 17 years ago today as it were yesterday.  

The year I decided to deflect my thoughts of the past, after all they are not a life sentence and I will next week embark on a hike up the Inca Trail with a visit to Machu Picchu, the deflection strategy has worked a treat. 

This years clinical update brings to you the final demise of my teeth on my lower left jaw through Osteoradionecrosis.  As I written before with many cancers the after effects of the treatment bring lingering side effects and now with the lower left jaw clear of teeth I hope things will settle down in terms of head and jaw pain.  My left shoulder and neck, are holding up as I changed my exercise regime to do less weight bearing exercises which were building muscle to compensate for the lack of muscle in my left neck.  My hearing in my left side has gone for good following the same radiotherapy that killed my jaw, but hey "we go again" for another year.

On a personal level it was a good year, my son finally graduated, my daughter went to University to become a student nurse and I acquired a new dog Beau or she acquired me. 

#Keepattacking everyone let us hope I will report back next year! 

Readjusting life and work goals

Field Marshal Helmuth Karl Bernhard Graf von Moltke is credited with the quote that "No plan survives contact with the enemy" 

Today my son finally graduated (Covid delays) with an upper degree in German and Japanese from the University of Manchester. 

Those who follow my blog will remember my plan post-cancer was to keep well enough to see my children now 23 & 20 to 18.  My plan was never to be here to see them graduate, it was more of an aspiration and as a result, I made life and business plans accordingly.  

You set yourself short goals post-cancer for obvious reasons.  When I was undergoing radiotherapy the trauma to my head, neck and throat meant that I had a score chart marking off each day.  My plan is to get through the 30 plus days of treatment and then the 3 months of recovery of vocal cords and the ability not to be fed through a nasal tube and count off the days I can return to work. 

I take my personal life learning into life.  Getting both my children to graduation is a new goal, one down, one to go.  It was never in my plan.  It was never in my work plan to have a business that in 2022/23 will achieve a 7 figure turnover, 5 plus people relying on me and so personal and life goals have been changed. 

I am teaching my students at Plymouth Marjon University this week the theory, the research around work-life balance. Whatever you do in life and business always be prepared to rip up the plan and start again as my plan is to ensure that in two years' time I see my daughter graduate as a registered nurse.   Remember the balance in life. 

#Keepattacking