I am posting this on the anniversary of my first appointment with the GP. On that very frightening day, I was told that the lump in my neck could be serious and I was immediately placed on a ‘fast track’ programme.

It turned out to be correct. The lump was 5cm, cancerous and stage 3. Yikes!

This is my story as recounted to those lovely people at Macmillan Cancer Support. Apparently, we blokes are crap at talking about our health. And if there’s anything I can advise anyone, do not delay when seeking medical advise. It saved my life and it could save yours too. It’s a long read, pour yourself a drink!

Nadio Granata Interview Notes …

Initial Symptoms / Diagnosis

On initial symptoms…

I had a sore throat over the Christmas (2020) period, but as a former lecturer, I was quite used to getting sore throats. This sore throat lingered for a while though. Living on a boat with electricity failing a lot, my power source wasn’t that reliable. I imagine that getting up at 4am in -6 didn’t help.

By the end of February (2021) I discovered a lump at the side of my neck. It was like an Adam’s apple and wasn’t a boil. I went to my GP, but because I’d moved on to a boat and I’m so lackadaisical with paperwork, the doctor wasn’t going to see me as I was no longer in their patch. I stood my ground and to be fair to them, they did see me.

Early consultations…

The locum there took one look at me and said that they’d get it seen to. I feel it was a stroke of luck because I’ve heard stories where during Covid, you couldn’t get seen. I remember it was one of the first days where they had put all the barriers up and yellow tape everywhere in the doctor’s surgery. It felt like Armageddon.

A funny thing happened when I left the doctor’s. Though I was obviously somewhat shocked and worried, my friend who had accompanied to the doctors also came with me to the local newsagents where I bought a desk diary.

Ironically, the diary was half price. This, according to Otto, was “only fair” as I’d probably only need it for 6 months. I still crease myself up when I think of that moment. I guess you had to be there ha!

And so, within a couple of weeks, I had an ultrasound and I remember she spent as much time on my right-hand side as my left, which had me very worried. The locum rang me up a week later and basically said that whilst they don’t know exactly what it is, ‘we know what it isn’t.’ I would have to go for some biopsies and a camera up the nose. It was around early April (2021) when the whirlwind started.

Family history…

Personally, I’d never been in hospital in my life. My ex-sister in law had MS since she was 21, she died when she was 58/59 and my father in-law had Parkinson’s, so we were actually quite used to visits to hospitals and treatments.

Diagnosis…

An old colleague of mine had throat cancer. So, I’d asked him what he thought to my situation. He pretty much warned me and said it sounds similar. So, by the time I was diagnosed, I was actually very relaxed. I was ready for that (news).

I went along with my now ex-girlfriend for the initial meetings with the surgeon and oncologist. I was with mygirlfriend for three years, she actually left me on the day I was diagnosed. But that was just a coincidence.

It was the surgeon who first told me that they’d found a tumour, it was cancer. I never asked for details, I didn’t want to know size, etc. He was brilliant, extremely caring, considerate, very gentle about it. Apparently, it was a ‘good form of cancer’ to get. Right.

Then when we went in with the oncologist, it was quite a surreal experience. Because we were having a laugh about it. The oncologist even joked that these consultations aren’t normally like this!

One thing that really sticks out, was the receptionist in the ear/nose & throat at Charing Cross Hospital. It was like a train station, with so much going on. We are all wearing masks and I’m hard of hearing, but the guy at reception made me feel like I was in a five-star hotel. That mattered. Still matters, a lot.

That day I must have had 4-5 appointments thrown at me. It’s a whirlwind, but one wrapped in care. Right at the point when you feel like your head is spinning, he (receptionist) literally grabbed hold of my hand and led me around for my bloodtests.

Bloody blood tests!! I had dozens of them.

Preparing family with diagnosis news…

The toughest part was when I got the results back from the (ultrasound). That was the moment when I Zoom-called my children. I’ve always kept them notified and had nothing to hide. My daughter is particularly vigilant and cares that I’m not neglectful. I am a bloke! 

So, when I had that phone call back to say that I need to be sent for a biopsy, I got the family together on a call. I get emotional thinking about it. 

My daughter was pregnant at the time with my first grandchild. Seeing those faces on the Zoom, I told them what had been said and that they had concerns. At that point, I didn’t know what it was, but I wanted to prepare them and reassure them that it would be treatable. That was one of the toughest moments. Their little faces staring back at me….

Macmillan support…

There was always Macmillan as part of the conversation. If I remember rightly, I think Theresa (Macmillan Nurse) was present on that very first meeting with the oncologist. Macmillan were that trampoline that were always there underneath me. 

I always knew Macmillan were there. Macmillan was ever-present. So, without Macmillan, I would be a trapeze artist with no safety net. I can’t even imagine what it would have been like. You just don’t get on the trapeze, do you?!

A particular low point for me was when I had a couple of viruses simultaneously after treatment. I didn’t know it at the time. I was washed out and exhausted and very, very sore.

One of my best friends who had throat cancer, he was due to go back to work but thought he had sciatica. It turned out that it was in fact his cancer that had spread to his spine. My spine had started to hurt, and I couldn’t help thinking I had the same.

So, I was very concerned, but I knew I could email 24/7. I always wrote to both my oncologist and copied in my Macmillan Nurse. There were a couple of times I would also email after-hours to the oncologist and nurse. I would always feel that whatever I was asking, it was useful for them both to know. If I ever had an injury or query, they would respond. Theresa (Macmillan Nurse) would take me to get seen. It’s a big hospital, easy to get lost especially when you are not thinking straight.

Macmillan also put me in touch with masseurs at Charing Cross, but to be honest, by the time I’d made the effort to get there, I was so exhausted. So, a massage at home instead would be brilliant, just to help you relax and sleep, as well as take the pain away.

Treatment & Effects

Treatment…

I had six weeks of radiotherapy, five days a week and two lots of chemotherapy.

You’ve got 3-4 stages. Pre-diagnosis, shitting yourself that there’s something wrong, you’ve got a lump where you shouldn’t have a lump, so you fear the worst. You then receive the diagnosis, where you are then thinking, ‘okay I’ll deal with that.’ Then you have the treatment and post-treatment. 

I didn’t feel I wanted to ask too much of the doctors and nurses. They are busy, you can see that. My oncologist is rammed with appointment, after appointment. So, I don’t want to take up their time. I knew my condition wasn’t life threatening.

I didn’t know it was stage three and I didn’t know my survival chances. When I was strong enough in myself to finally ask, I then asked the question. That’s when I found out it was stage three and I had 75% survival chance. My oncologist laughed and said, ‘knowing you, you know that your glass is three quarters full!’ Actually, I thought I was 99% full! So, I was a bit disappointed it was only 75%. It knocked me for six for a while. Would you jump off a cliff if your chances were 75%?

Side effects/lasting effects…

The worst was my neck, it was so blistered and would ooze goo. So much so, on a morning, my face would be stuck to my neck. I had to take some morphine to kill the pain, to then get in the shower and wash it off. 

I think I’ve listed about 32 different side effects in total. I think today, I can still count around 12. I include in that, anxiety, such as financial anxiety, my career. For instance, after our chat, I have a full day with a client for a workshop and will my voice survive the day? I often wonder, are they going to keep employing me if I can’t hold a conversation?

My mouth is still dry particularly in the morning, but I now tape my lips together at night, which forces me to breathe through my nose, which is apparently better for you anyway.

I also lost three stone in weight in three months. To be fair, I did need to lose a fair bit of weight. I was badly overweight. I actually chose not to over-eat, which affected my energy levels to a certain extent. It meant that I lost weight and I feel better for it. 

I’m fairly active and I was always active throughout, apart from those days when I just couldn’t. I remember one day I couldn’t make it to the end of my pontoon, I just didn’t have the energy. That was scary.

I can play tennis and play as well as I’ve ever played, but the next day I’m not myself and it can wash me out for the next 24 hours. I played six sets of tennis the other day. Tennis has been a huge salvation for me. The people I play with, matches I’ve played and lost, but fuck it, I still played them. Then there are matches I’ve won!

The mask fears…

Pre-treatment, my friend started telling me about what I could expect. He told me about the mask. I suffer from mild claustrophobia, so it already had me fearing the mask more than most.

The mask was something I feared most. When I went to have the mask fitted, whilst it was nice to have the care and attention on me, I got myself into the zone, but then the confinement arrives. That starts to come as a wave and when that starts, I had to find a way to stop it.

As you then get underway with treatment, the mask really is scary. The first time I had it fitted, they had to remove it early, I just wasn’t ready. Then I just had to put up with it, although that next time I was really scared.

I was going in five days a week. I got through it though and just had to have a stern word with myself. ‘This mask is saving my life and this is my friend.’ So, when they started putting the mask over my face, I would push my big roman nose in to it and meet it, both physically and psychologically, half way.

They would always put on some music, so I could listen to something to a certain extent. The music was good, as I liked the Beatles. Tracks like ‘Hey Jude’ go on forever and it’s good because it was one of the last ones (before end of treatment), so I always associated the song with that.

Coping mechanisms…

I would walk to Charing Cross hospital along the river, one of the most beautiful walks to a hospital you can have. I’d be pretty tired when I got there, flake out on to the bed and they would put my Beatles soundtrack on. It was the only routine I’ve had in my entire life, but that routine gave me a purpose.

A couple of tricks I developed. Do not count down to zero. I learnt the hard way to count up instead of down, because when you reach zero and you don’t hear the footsteps for them coming to undo the bolts on your mask, you begin to panic. Also only count when you’re fed-up with it. If you start too soon, you’ll be counting for too long.

I would also often think over business ideas and how to solve problems. I would find that easier to think about than happiness. So, when people say to me, ‘put yourself on a beach.’ I had cancer and feel shit, so I’m not going to picture myself on a beach!

Moving forward / Life Post-Cancer

Coming out the other end…

I believe I haven’t got cancer anymore. I’m on three monthly check-ups. (Cancer) It’s given me purpose. It’s been a massive boost, but, I wouldn’t recommend anyone gets it. Of course I wouldn’t but it’s not the end of my world.

I started my treatment in June (2021) and went through my treatment as a machine. My only concern was to just get through it. That’s all I needed to do and it’s what I did. By the time I came out of the other end, psychologically that was tough. I was looking around thinking, ‘okay I’ve recovered from the treatment, now what? What’s next? However, I don’t sit in sadness, what else can you do?

I’m beginning to enjoy the boat again now. I started decorating it and making it my own, doing the stuff I would have done a year ago. It (the boat) had been a hospital ward for me!

Cost of living/financial impact of cancer…

I knew there was financial support available. I probably needed the financial support and should have applied for it, but I’m rubbish at filling out forms.

I would say to anyone dealing with cancer, or anyone who can support people living with cancer, you need that financial support. 

It is expensive, dealing with cancer. I became self-employed two weeks too late to be furloughed, so missed out on that. I did manage to get Universal Credit and managed to pick up some consultancy work with clients.

Just last week, my electricity bill has just come in and it’s doubled what it was. It’s money I have to find. I don’t mind admitting that I’m not a wealthy person. I should be at my age. I’m a wealthy person in spirit and lots of other things, other than what’s in the bank. 

I feel the cold twice as much as I used to, so my heating’s on 24/7 and I definitely feel the cold a lot more (since diagnosis). Although my treatment was during the hottest days of summer in 2021.

There’s insurance too. I went on holiday recently and didn’t even insure myself. I started filling out the form online and it got so complicated, I thought, ‘I’m only going for three days!’

I’ve lost my sense of taste, which in my case has resulted to trying to source something I like. Your fulfilment isn’t quite the same, so you do end up wasting food, but still have to eat. So, there are those hidden costs too.

The Podcast / Relationships with friends…

People promised to come and see me and never did. If I want to see you, I’ll ask you to come.

I’ve upset people, some my nearest and dearest, so I’ve lost a bit of friendship as well as family, because they were least able to deal with it to a certain extent.

Anyone who knows someone with cancer, please don’t waste your breathe and waste their time on platitudes and bullshit stuff, because we have far more important things to deal with. It’s called tough love.

In general, writing the blog has been a brilliant cathartic thing for me to write, but it’s also been a wonderful thing for me to experience, particularly when I return to Huddersfield. People stop me in the street having read my blog or mention that they’ve passed it on to someone. That’s a wonderful feeling.

I never wrote the blog in an organised way. It was middle of night, 3am, I’d woken up and want to get it out of my head. 

The toughest blog I wrote was about the Sherpa idea, which came from my good friend Mandy, who sadly died. When my girlfriend left me, I remember saying to Mandy, ‘I’ve got a mountain to climb and I’ll climb it on my own. I’m okay with the idea of that.’ When I climb that mountain, I don’t have to leave foot-holes for anyone. If it crumbles after I’ve climbed it, I’m not bothered by it. But Mandy said, ‘we are all your Sherpas.’ I thought Wow! She was special.

Male Audience…

I’ve had a lot of men come forward and say, ‘good on you, well done for saying that.’ I think it’s enabled conversations with men that wouldn’t necessarily have had those conversation before.

I also had one lady come forward and say that she hadn’t any idea what her husband was going through until she read my blog. That was special. He’s died.

Sharing experiences…

When you have cancer, you are in the club, people talk more about it to you. Like when you buy a car and then you keep seeing the same car on the road afterwards. 

I know my friend who is going through oesophagus cancer, he’s having a tough time and going through hell. I can’t help but feel conscious that his journey is very different to mine. 

His treatment, at a hospital which I won’t name, has been very different to mine. They are under-staffed, with a stretched workforce and his treatment has not been joyous in any way, shape, or form. Mine, was very good in comparison.

My friend diagnosed with cancer of the oesophagus is my tennis doubles partner and was diagnosed the same week I was. He rang me up after I left hospital having had my biopsy, with something to tell me. He said, ‘I have the same you!’ I said, ‘what, a bad forehand?!’ He then told me about his cancer. We laughed and he said he couldn’t think of a better person to go through it with!

People said to me, ‘if anyone’s going to get cancer, it’s you Nadio. You are the best person I know to get cancer.’ It’s weird.

COVID-RELATED

Dealing with the pandemic…

Whilst wearing a mask with throat cancer isn’t ideal, my experience (during this Covid period) was a relatively good experience. Apart from my initial check-up, more often than not, the hospital wasn’t that busy.

I’m used to living with Covid. Living on a boat, I was used to locking myself away and communicating with people online. I’m busy and entertained and don’t feel lonely in anyway. But, I’ve since found that people weren’t visiting doctors and you were lucky to get in when you did.

I had lots of notifications that I was severely at risk, so I probably didn’t get the visitors that I might have got and didn’t go to places I might have visited.

I did actually get Covid myself until recently. I went to Spain for a few days and managed to get Covid. This was before Christmas, post treatment. I was laid low for two weeks, and just had little energy. But I wouldn’t close down a nation for it, or put people out of work for it, destroy the economy on what I had, so let’s crack on.

Interview finished. Interview by: Nick Dines