“I realised how vital early diagnosis and quick action were. Richard’s story could have ended so differently.”

Richard had been complaining about indigestion and very dark urine for a few weeks. Then, he started losing weight. Being the typical man, he thought it would sort itself out. Fortunately, I insisted he saw a doctor as I felt it was better to be safe than sorry.

He was reluctant, muttering about how he’d never get an appointment with the GP. “If you don’t try, you certainly won’t get one,” I insisted. After much prodding, he finally did an e-consult. They prescribed proton pump inhibitors (omeprazole) and that was it. I found it shocking that what we now know to be clear symptoms were dismissed so easily. Was it a person or a computer that reviewed his case? I hoped it wasn’t a person because they should have known better.

He didn’t like the medication, and nothing seemed to change. After Christmas, around 28th December, I insisted he try again for an appointment. This time, he managed to secure a phone consultation with the GP. During the call, Richard mentioned he thought he had jaundice. I was sceptical at first, thinking maybe he was just tired, but he was convinced. And thankfully, he was right.

The GP took him seriously and asked him to come in immediately. Within an hour, he was at the local surgery being examined.  They put him on the cancer two-week pathway – ‘just in case’ but in the meantime did some tests to rule out gallstones and hepatitis.

Bear in mind, this was around the Christmas and New Year period but from our first point of call with a ‘real person’ we never had more than 3 days without a call or an appointment. He had an ultrasound scan early in the new year where they couldn’t find anything conclusive, but they knew they needed to look further. When they said they couldn’t see his pancreas, my mind immediately went to the worst-case scenario. It seems almost unethical to hope for one type of cancer over another, but I remember thinking that if it had to be the c-word, please let it be anywhere else – just not the pancreas. I didn’t know much about the illness but had heard a few horror stories.

We soon had a CT scan scheduled for about ten days later, a few more blood tests looking for cancer markers, and monitoring his jaundice in the interim. They also introduced us to the cancer nurses at the hospital at this stage – again, “Just in case”.  We were told it might be two weeks before we got the scan results, but two days later, we got a call at 2pm “Can you come into the hospital at 4pm, don’t worry if you’re early.”  I kept trying to tell myself that it still might be OK but knew deep down that this urgency could only mean that things were very serious.

It was 19th January 2023, when Richard got his diagnosis. The doctors had already sent his results to QE Hospital in Birmingham, where specialists were reviewing his case. The Surgical team there was already thinking they could operate on him.

The idea of surgery hadn’t crossed my mind. When I thought of cancer, I thought of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. But the doctors’ said surgery was the best option.   The Doctor who broke the news to us said that that they might be able to operate in just over a week. We were in such a daze, and it was hard to take so much in, but true to form, appointments in Birmingham then came thick and fast. More scans, tests and an endoscopic ultrasound. Luckily all these showed that the tumour was very small and as a lovely doctor put it, “You just need to get it out – and unless we get a liver transplant in, you’re at the top of our list!” That was good to hear!

Just under three weeks later, Richard underwent the surgery, and they managed to remove the tumour. The speed and efficiency of the various medical teams from our local surgery in Cheltenham, to hospitals in Gloucester and Birmingham were astounding. It was the opposite of what I had come to expect from the NHS portrayed in the news. Our emotions didn’t have time to catch up with the rapid pace of medical interventions. One moment we were grappling with a diagnosis, the next we were navigating post-surgery recovery. But so much better to have it this way round than have the endless worry of waiting.

Recovery was tough. Richard had already been taking Creon (an enzyme supplement) since the point of diagnosis, so he had to continue with that, and it was tough working out what he could eat while trying to regain the weight he had lost. But he was resilient. He made good progress and was back at his desk job within two weeks. Luckily Richard has also been very physically fit prior to the illness which was a huge advantage. By May, he was nearly himself again. The doctors recommended chemotherapy to ensure any remaining cancer cells were eradicated.

The chemotherapy, Folfirinox, was harsh. From May to September, Richard endured six rounds, with breaks in between due to adverse reactions. Despite this, he managed to do a sponsored walk during treatment. It was a testament to his determination and strength.

The emotional toll was immense. At the beginning I thought I would lose him. The rapid progression from symptoms to surgery left little time to process anything. We found comfort in small joys, planning days out even during chemo. These moments were lifelines, helping us navigate the uncertainty.

Throughout the ordeal, our emotions were a whirlwind. One day, we were told it might be cancer; the next, we were preparing for surgery. The fear of losing Richard was paralyzing. I kept thinking, “I should have 35 years left with the love of my life and then suddenly thinking, have I even got 35 days?” The rapid succession of medical appointments and procedures left little room for anything but survival mode.

Richard’s recovery felt miraculous. He was healthy, and we will be eternally grateful to all the medical staff who made it possible. The ordeal taught us the fragility of life and the strength of love and hope. As he regained his strength and weight, we began to plan for the future again. We took joy in the simple things, knowing how close we had come to losing everything.

By the time his chemotherapy ended on 1st September 2023, apart from his weight Richard was nearly back to his old self. The sixth round was particularly tough, but he had something to look forward to – a holiday in October, one that had been postponed due to COVID. It was a rejuvenating trip, and Richard just sort of blossomed, he regained weight and started to look like his old self again.

Looking back, I realized how vital early diagnosis and quick action were. Richard’s story could have ended so differently. The efficiency and compassion of the medical staff, the support of friends and family, and our unwavering determination to stay positive pulled us through.

We have emerged stronger, with a deeper appreciation for life and each other. The support from the medical team was incredible. The surgeon in Birmingham who worked to ensure the two-week deadlines for pancreatic cancer patients were met played a pivotal role in Richard’s swift treatment.

We now cherish every moment together, knowing how close we came to losing it all.