It’s been six days since I received my bowel cancer screening kit, five since I replied by sending a sample of my … er … waste material. I do not propose to go through the procedure involved for participating in this important health check – I hope you can work it out yourself – but I feel more relaxed about it today than I was the first time I did it.
Because of my advancing years, I am entitled to participate in the screening exercise until I am 74, in the unlikely event I make this grand old age, and given how bowel cancer has taken so many friends from my life, in unimaginably tragic circumstances, these days I tend to respond to the request by return of post, where possible.
I remember only too well the first time I was sent a kit and, being a typical bloke, I just left it lying around for a few weeks. There were clearly far more important things to do, than potentially save my life. Then, a man I knew quite well was diagnosed with bowel cancer and had been told at his first hospital appointment that it was incurable and that the treatment would be palliative. A fine figure of a man in his late fifties was cut down, if not in the prime of his life then in a very good place, and his decline was at first gradual but later rapid. As soon as I learned of his diagnosis, I took the test and sent off the sample.
The two weeks waiting for the results were the longest and most anxious of my life. The odds were that everything would be fine, but like many cancers, bowel cancer can creep up on you without you noticing. Before you know it, the cancer has a hold on you and it’s too late.
I worried about the results, especially in the early hours when everything was silent. The days went by oh so slowly until one day an envelope arrived, marked ‘NHS’. Here it was, then. Would I live or would I die? I would soon find out. My heart was racing, I felt my hands shake. I ripped the envelope open and there it was, with careful wording that went something like this: ‘Dear Mr Johansen. Your results indicate that you do not have bowel cancer at the moment, which doesn’t necessarily mean you haven’t got it, but probably does. Keep an eye on (sorry if you are reading between eating) your poo and if you feel anything unusual with your nether regions, see your GP.’ The relief was palpable. Of all the things that could kill me, bowel cancer, at least that day, was not one of them.
So now I am in that stage between taking a test and getting the results and while I am a little nervous, I am not anywhere near as bad as I was the first time. My theory, which is based upon pure guesswork, is that if I have developed bowel cancer, it will be easier to treat given I’ve had numerous negative results in recent years. The current me, who feels his mortality in all manner of ways, is keen on extending my journey on this Earth for as long as I can.
In 2025 alone, I have lost two friends to bowel cancer and it’s been heartbreaking. One had a cancer that just crept up on him with only the warning of back pain, the other ignored the poo tests and symptoms until it was far too late. I do not say that one deserved bowel cancer and the other didn’t because that would be just plain stupid and, frankly, repulsive. The world doesn’t work like that. Most of us are at least concerned about getting cancer and the initial thought can be: what if the medics find something? People seem to die quickly when cancer is discovered. Maybe I’ll have longer if I just do nothing? Don’t mock it because the brain acts in mysterious ways. Maybe the symptoms will just go away?
Looking from a more optimistic standpoint, another old friend did have unusual symptoms, went to his GP and then hospital and he did have bowel cancer. But hang on, this is a good news story. Doctors removed the cancer, without needing to do anything catastrophic to his innards and he is now cancer-free, albeit subject to six-monthly checks, quite possibly for ever. He gave himself the best possible chance of surviving cancer by facing up to it. I am so happy for him and I am hoping that, in the next week or so, I will be happy for myself, too.
There is no fun in being checked for cancer because the fear is that you will have it. I totally understand why people simply don’t want to know and hope for the best. I know because I was that man.
Something is going to get us all one day – no one here gets out alive – but from my point of view I’m going to do my best to delay that fateful day. Hell, I might even eat some fruit and vegetables later on.
I’ll blog about this subject when I get my results. I’m hoping you won’t be getting rid of me just yet. Here’s hoping.
