Everything was going well, almost too well. The only negative I could mention was the waiting about at the hospital for the treatment or being asked to come in earlier than the scheduled time. But they were minor gripes, the main thing was that treatment was going better than I thought it would. Then we hit the half-way stage and of course it all went to pot or ‘the radioactive chickens came home to roost’.

As you know, I am a friendly, but sometimes cantankerous, helpful person. So, as I navigate this minefield called radiotherapy, I will give you my top ten tips.

You are very welcome 😊

Top tip #1: You are about to be brutally and relentlessly bombarded with radiation. Ice cream is good, she is your friend, not the cheap muck either. Also, celebratory cake at the end of treatment is encouraged. Once again not the cheap mass produced supermarket junk. Anon Consultant.

Initially I was given a timetable for the month. Now trying to be productive and efficient I diligently wrote all the times on my wall calendar. However, after the first treatment, I was told that I will actually get a new timetable every Friday. All good. Just a new calendar I have defaced with useless times. Not a biggie. I got a call the first couple of days as they changed the treatment times, but luckily it was just those few times.

Top tip #2: Don’t plan your schedule too tight, the hours after your appointment. It’s likely to change.

I needed to make sure I was fully hydrated before treatments. So, with the varying treatment times I hit upon the idea of polishing off a litre of water, within an hour of getting up. Brilliant in theory, getting half of the issue out the way so early, however, terrible in practice. Unfortunately, on one particular morning, when I had dropped my son off at his grans for the school run, the treatment had a mind of its own. Even though a full bladder worth had been jettisoned not twenty minutes earlier, Mr Urinary Urgency (urinary urgency is where the need to pee goes from 0 to 100 in a very short time) decided to pay a visit on my return trip home. I was only five minutes from home and I was squirming in my seat wondering if I could make it back home. Some weeds sprouting out of a building wall called me over and settled the debate.

Top tip #3: Water is a necessity but it’s not your friend at the moment.  

I have to be there an hour before the appointment time. I give my name at the reception desk and the receptionist will tell me which part of the floor I should sit in. At some stage, generally about 20 minutes before the actual appointment time, one of the nurses will come out and instruct me to start drinking. But, you need to empty your bladder first and then start drinking.

This is where the fun begins.

I would have already consumed two litres of water before leaving home, but I have to reach that magic volume of between 200ml and 250ml in my bladder. Drink too much and you may be crossing your legs before you get a scan. Too little and they will ask you to go and drink some more and will have to do a re-scan.

About 20 minutes after the water call from the nurse you get called into one of the rooms for an ultrasound. Undo your trousers, hop up on the bench, they tuck a small sheet of tissue paper into the band of your pants. They then squirt some ultrasound fluid onto your lower stomach, directly above your bladder. Some of the nurses have heavier hands than others. One I can remember might as well have been the flipping hulk with how hard she was pressing on my bladder with the probe, like she wanted to squirt out the excess like the bottom of a toothpaste tube. A number of readings are taken as the speed of your bladder filling up is dependant on your current hydration. If you are well hydrated the bladder will fill more rapidly. If you are way over 250ml (like I was on one occasion coming in at a whopping 400ml), you will need to let some out. Let out too much urine and go back to ‘Go’ without collecting £200. If you strike it lucky the nurse will tell you to go and get changed and which room to wait outside. I would find out not to don’t drink too much because even though it was only two cups it could set off some urgency that would continue for hours later.

Top tip #4: Don’t overdrink at this stage and keep away from the peppermint tea. It is not that sweet innocent herbal hot beverage you may have thought it was.

There are about 10 changing rooms each with two sets of doors. The inner door leads out to the treatment corridor, where the radiotherapy machines are located. There is a bench and a stack of gowns in each room that you change into and a ‘bin’ that you return the used ones to. I made the mistake of not locking one of the doors one day and I unwittingly got one of those swift cold breezes that you would love on your face on a hot summers day. Now I do have a nice derriere. If I was to select an appropriate adjective it would be ‘sweet’, I could even stretch to ‘juicy’. However, the rest of the population may not be ready for it, appreciate it or even deserve to see it.

Top tip #5: There is a reason why there are locks on both doors. Keep your public guessing instead.

There are six machines, G1 to G6 and named after bands: ‘Red Hot Chilli Peppers’, ‘Rolling Stones’, ‘Radiohead’, ‘Buzzcocks’, ‘The Cure’ and ‘Squeeze’. Of course, they could never be so controversial, they went with the more gentile and inoffensive names of ‘Aster’, ‘Buttercup’, ‘Carnation’, ‘Daisy’, ’Iris’ and ‘Lupin’.

You take a seat outside the room you were told your treatment would be taking place in. There are limited seating outside the rooms. If they are running late, there may be a number of people already waiting before you. Think how they overbook airline seats. Speaking of seats, you need to find one as your bladder could be feeling a little uncomfortable by now. Sit on a hospital bed if you have to or the floor. I consider myself a gentleman but if I give up my seat to someone, I could be in trouble. I was tested though when a woman (my new mate Donna) came into the corridor and there were no seats. I couldn’t do it – I asked her if she wanted the seat. She smiled and said no, I double checked. I continued to cross my legs and think of the dessert. An old boy came semi shuffling into the corridor next and looked my way. Keep it moving pops, this ain’t the Titanic, no free seats here.

Top tip #6. Gravity is like that chick you never called back but said you would. You then bump into her again accidently. Find a seat and keep it.

I think there was only one occasion when I came straight out of the changing room and into the treatment. They are quite happy for you to use the toilet; you just need to let them know and they will ultrasound you again before you have the treatment. If you are under 200ml its back outside to have a drink. If you pass that part, you are good to go.

You are given a blue, thin, fabric mat which measures about 35 x 15 inches and sits between your bottom and the metal table of the machine. You have a footrest to keep your feet in place and a transparent headrest. The machine emits laser beams, which in conjunction with the tattoo marks and the blue mat, ensures they pull and push you into the exact position. You fold your arms or clasp your fingers together to keep them out of the way.

The rest of the machine resembles an old analogue telephone handset cut in half, which sits above the metal table about 7ft long and 2ft wide. There are always two nurses who confirm the measurements and positioning. The table rises up about 3ft and about a foot inwards. They then exit the room and the door automatically closes. The machine first shows them that the bladder is in the correct position, the weight of the fluid drops the bladder protecting the intestine. They see a real time image of your rectum and if it’s full they will stop the procedure and you have to do a bowel movement. I had seen online that other patients are given a disposable enema. However, here that is reserved for the tough cases. The first line of defence is the humble peppermint tea.

Who knew?

Well, that’s ruined it for me and peppermint tea now. It has a very gentle but quick effect. Now they did say that one of the first changes are the stools and that would be correct. Gone are the menacing, rugged blockers and in are the (if I can say it in this day and age) skinny, little, smooth girly things. I got caught out twice and it was the second time that ensured that I would never be caught out again.

Cue harp reminiscing music:

Years ago, as a little nipper my mother like all the old Jamaican’s had this thing about having a regular ‘wash out’. So, sweet mum fooled us the first time with this Satan in a packet called Brooklax. It was packaged like a dark chocolate bar but smelt horrible. “Here, have a polo with it to take the taste away afterwards”, she would tell us in her sweetest voice. It would be a few hours before you could hear and then feel the gargling and growling of your bowel. This was the prelude to – the Italians have a great word to describe it – ‘brutale’. Today, it’s function could be considered a form of child abuse. It was actually exhausting and lasted a couple of days. To this day I cannot eat or smell dark chocolate without bad memories.

Anyway, back to the story at hand.

The second time they stopped the treatment, my rectum was too full, so I needed to empty it. A cup of peppermint tea and ten minutes later, like a sweet English gent my bowels gently whispered it was time. There are only two toilets on the treatment side, so I had to wait a few minutes. One toilet opened up and this short, attractive woman who looked about 40 odd years old came out. She smiled, hurried off and looked back once with a strange look on her face.

Top tip #7: If someone hurries out of a toilet and looks back at you strangely, DO NOT ENTER THAT ROOM. Let me repeat that. DO NOT ENTER THE ROOM.

It wasn’t that something had died in there. Something was bludgeoned, killed, resurrected, bludgeoned again and then burnt at the stake. As much as I needed to go (I was already at the crossing leg stage) I took one step into the room and couldn’t do it. I staggered back out and it tried to follow me. I had never smelt anything as horrific and to think it divided from that cute little woman.

This was a DNA altering event.

A woman was looking for a toilet and marched in its direction.

I was in two minds to say anything, I was still trying to clear my lungs and my eyes were watering. “It’s a little warm in there” I warned her.

She smiled and locked the door. I had moved further down the corridor towards the other toilet. My immediate urgency had been cured. The woman I warned came back out, red and flustered and said “Oh I see what you mean by being warm in there”. The smell followed out and around her like mist on a Scottish glen. I moved further down the corridor again. I never saw her again, I only hope the DNA reversal didn’t turn her into an amoeba.

Top tip #8: Don’t wave at the radiotherapy staff while you are in the middle of a treatment.

I was sitting there one day, waiting for the treatment and the two nurses flew out from under the curtain like the SAS, armed with a spillage mat and a selection of cardboard containers. I overheard them say to the hapless patient they thought he needed to go because of his waving. They have the patience of the saints that they are. Nurse Ellis might not have been so forgiving and he might have needed to go to the cardboard extraction ward next door.

Top tip #9: Check the floor before climbing onto the machine.

Some old boy didn’t make it to the toilet in time, as there were droplets on the floor one day I went in for treatment. Luckily, I spotted them at the very last minute and I got on the other side.  No to being an unwitting mop.

Finally, you have made it. There is the correct amount in your bladder, the peppermint tea has done its bit and you have avoided the DNA that someone may have left for you to unwittingly mop up. The short plate retracts and it’s on. The machine does two slow rotations clockwise and then two slow rotations anti-clockwise, with a short stop with the heat directly underneath. This must be the main chestnut roasting part – I am thinking electric hob verses ninja air fryer. You don’t feel nothing at all as it’s doing its thing. Then as soon as you get comfortable it’s all over.

I had two consultations with the radiologist, at the half-way and penultimate marks. The half-way was really to see how I was coping. Luckily, other than the really bad episode of fatigue I had in week three, I have not suffered at all.

As such.

The fatigue is not so bad, now, but that’s because I am managing it with a half hour snooze at lunchtime. I am not sure if it’s the procedure and/or the fact that I get up frequently in the night that I’m still feeling it. It’s the urinary frequency that does my head in – I have to plan journeys by reducing my intake and/or knowing where I can use a toilet and occasionally it leads to urinary urgency.

At the final consultation she did warn me that it will get worse before it gets better as my body will continue to react to the radiation for a number of weeks/months afterwards.  The big test comes in three month’s time, when I will have the next all important PSA test to see how effective the treatment has worked.

Top tip #10: Go easy on yourself.

I made the mistake, early on of thinking that going for a run, exercising and trying to max out my day with activities was OK. After being told off by a number of people I finally did just that – I took it easy and have not looked back. Power napping is king.

I dropped off ‘thank you’ chocolates for the radiology department staff of Guys hospital. The receptionist smiled and said:

“I hope I never see you here again”

Ditto.