To think just a few months ago I had done a 10k race and here I am struggling on the first couple of hundred yards of my run. I remember once seeing elite athletes training with chains wrapped around their waists, tied to lorry tires. This is how it felt. Eventually after a few weeks of this I decided to weigh myself. My version of weighing scales has a speaker, and it prompted,

“Stand one at a time please. But if it’s only one person you are one fat git mate.”

I looked down at the number and it said 14 stone 10lbs. The heaviest that I have ever weighed. Now if you were the evil sort, you could say what do you expect from eating ice cream every night, chunky boy? Well, I had stopped that a while ago, but it was not good enough obviously.

It was world cancer day not too long ago. I personally didn’t know such a day existed to be fair or I had forgotten. I was manning an outdoor awareness stand with my good friend Kevin. Now it was sub-zero temperatures, the wind was blowing cold razor blades and it was situated in sunny Peckham. Anyone of those factors could have doomed the day let alone all three together.  To say the day went slow is an understatement. We could engage with some people who passed by, but most were more interested in the free food that was available. Towards the end of the day the health professionals interacted more and more and I wandered over to the women who were doing blood pressure readings. I sat down and they put the cuff on my upper arm and they did their thing as they talked to me. When the first reading came through they went quiet and said they would just take another reading. They took another reading and went quiet again as they looked at each other.

“What am I a dead man walking?” I joked.

They shared some nervous laughter.

“Do you get headaches?” One of them asked.

I told them that I was already on blood pressure medication and had been taking it for a while. I promised them that I would call my doctor on Monday, and I did. They prescribed me another type of blood pressure medication to take in the mornings and I needed to take blood pressure readings in the morning and evening. They also took some blood and ran some tests. I got a call from the surgery about two weeks later. It was about my liver. They asked if I drank or had been abroad recently. No to both and the follow up and more tests to follow.

I slowly got back into the running. Some of the weight gain could be blamed when a little while ago I had injured myself and could not run. One bright morning I was getting my kit on and questioned why I was still ‘tooled’ up with the bag of metal bolts and the noxious liquid in a squeezy bottle which I was still carrying after my run in with a fox a couple of years earlier. I left the bag of nuts but left the squeezy bottle.

As you may be smiling, you know what’s coming next don’t you?

About 15 minutes into my run some scruffy embarrassment of the fox world decided to watch me as I was running and as I got nearer decided that I needed investigation. A hard stare wasn’t doing it and the wretch was getting closer. I took the bottle out and the silly thing could only shoot a couple of feet ahead of me and the fox just dodged it and looked even more lovingly at me. I continued to run and eventually it lost interest. The next time I ran I went looking for my friend suitably armed. Of course, a foxy no show.

I had arranged with the lovely Danielle to talk to a number of the practices that she looks after. Our journey goes way back when she was in charge of a single practice to now being an area manager. I had agreed to cover two surgeries, a day apart, to get the ball rolling. The first surgery on the list was my very own. I got there and the place was packed. I had to do a double take and make sure I had not arrived at the wrong day or the wrong place. I hadn’t and I ended up robbing the individual doctor’s offices for every available chair. They just kept coming. I enjoyed the talk and the feedback at the end was heartwarming. Some men wanted to tell me about their stories, but most shared a thank you and a handshake. There is nothing better than seeing men with their phones taking photographs of slides so they can follow up. 

Travelling to the second talk of the week I admitted that I may have been a little too hasty to do two talks the same week. You know when work can be a little too taxing and you want to just go and put your head down.

One of those.

Still, I made it there and if I thought the day before was packed this was a can of sardines with a fully grown shark shoved in it. The surgery was only a little bit smaller than the one from the other day. There was even a queue at the door to get it. I had to explain that I was the one giving the talk to enable a pathway to enter. Once inside there were men lined up against the walls. You couldn’t burp and not knock someone over. Unlike the other day it wasn’t going to start as smooth. Now, I have had a number of first’s with these talks. The first time a giggling geriatric wanted to slobber me, the time I got a group of guys flushed out of the betting shop, the first heckle. This would be another one of those where guys were actually turned away because the room was too full. After a good 10 minutes or sorting out the projector I was ready to start.

“Men get prostate cancer from the food they eat” A guy with a crutch loudly and confidently announced to the room looking at me.

“No, they don’t, but food could be a factor” I answered smiling.

“Yes, it is, it’s in the food” He replied even more definitely, he was doubling down.

“Look! You don’t know what you are talking about. Maybe you want to take this talk instead and we can listen to you” My smile had quickly left the room as I stuck out the computer clicker to him. He was getting some of the days weariness. I was fully alert now.

He took stock. Mumbled to himself, like a petulant child that has to get the last word but doesn’t want to prolong the discussion. He sat down and didn’t say another peep.

It was another great talk. They were engaged, asked lots of questions and most importantly they were asking how and when they can get tested.

I got a call from the team that looks after the ‘one to one’ talks. I was asked if I had spoken to a particular gentleman. The reason for querying was that his case nurse had reported that his mental health had taken a big hit and they had previously asked me to talk to him but didn’t know if I did. I have been taking part in these for a while now and they have been pretty much straightforward. I didn’t recognise the name but when they reminded me of his case details the alarm bell rang loud and clear.

I had spoken to him a few weeks earlier and it was the hardest story I was yet to hear. He said that he had been diagnosed with prostate cancer, but he was on active surveillance. His PSA was slowly creeping up. However, his employers do not believe his condition is serious. He said he had to take pictures when he went for his appointments and send it to them because of their doubt.

There was worse to come.

His accommodation was also part of his job and they had hinted that they needed someone reliable to do the job. When he asked me about the likely recovery time for the prostatectomy operation and I told him that I was off for nearly 3 months he went silent. I could feel his stress and I even took some of it away after the call.

I have not spoken to him since.

The last crazy of the period started innocently enough. I was manning a prostate Cancer UK awareness stand with Mr H. The event was an evening of black themed entertainment for charity. We would be manning the table before the performance and during the interval. There were also about 10 other vendors including book sellers, health food and others. Now, if the event had been held on a boat it would have capsized very quickly on one side with the amount of people visiting the ‘trinket’ side of the hall in comparison to our side. Even taking into account the weight of the ‘male forcefield’ around our table the disparity was actually amusing.

We spoke to the few people that ventured our way, with the women posing much more interesting and thought-provoking questions then the few men that visited. One guy did hog the table a bit. He started off well enough and then he went off into some rambling tangent and I slowly sidestepped leaving him in the company of Mr H. I didn’t completely glaze over however, I heard and saw him gesturing to his friend that apparently knew much more about the topic of prostate cancer and men’s health.

Then I saw who he was gesturing to and my heart sank and blood pressure went right up.

I am going to call him Mr C. That would be because there are a number of interesting words that begin with that letter and I’m on my best behaviour. I had heard of him in passing before I had the pleasure of meeting him. It was one day at one of the cancer groups that I attended that he was going to be the guest speaker. From the minute he got there until the moment he finished talking, he had the room, except you know who, eating out his hand. Like an extremely well-seasoned snake oil salesman he peddled, made up, and extended every well-trodden health conspiracy that was ever invented. I sat there quiet and stunned, wondering what kind of cultish cavern I had mistakenly walked into. The experience stunned me for a while and only strengthened my loathing of these people. These people that with a degree from the school of google they preach to the weak and desperate.

Now he was here again. I wanted to walk off and with hindsight, it would have been a perfectly timed toilet break but unfortunately, I didn’t.

“What do we have here then” he said inspecting the table. Mr H answered him, I wasn’t paying attention at that point.

“All cancers can be cured with red onion.” He announced.” That was his mic drop moment. That was it he had cured the world right there and then.

“So, what’s your connection to prostate cancer” he asked Mr H. Mr H explained his role within Prostate Cancer UK and then added that I had a lived experience. Of course that lit up his face.

If he recognised me, he didn’t show it.

“Don’t tell me that you had the prostatectomy operation?” He asked, shaking his head and tutting.

“Why did you do that? You shouldn’t have done that.”

By now I was incensed and indignant. I was raising my voice and didn’t realise it.

“My prostate had a lesion on the left-hand side.”

“You shouldn’t have done that” he was still shaking his head and tutting.

Then he walked off, completely satisfied with himself.

I had a lot of choice words for him in my head,

Shortly afterwards the interval was over and it was back to the performance.

Crazy seems to follow me like beans to toast.