7. Camden Calling

Camden Town, my home for the next four weeks. Busy, vibrant, and full of tourists.

I arrived a day early, hoping to avoid the travel disruption that tends to accompany island life in the middle of winter. A sensible decision, as it turned out. Flights the following day were indeed affected. One small, rare victory.

The company responsible for my treatment, offer a selection of apartments as part of the package. This made securing somewhere to stay much easier and came with a very healthy discount.

Win, win.

Or so I thought.

The apartment itself was lovely, but one small detail had been omitted from the brochure: the train. The one that runs directly outside the bedroom window. All day. All night. Every day. Every night.

Absolutely perfect. Francis Bourgeois would have been thrilled.

After investing in some earplugs, day one of treatment could finally get underway.

As mentioned previously, my radiotherapy would be delivered using proton therapy. I’ve been asked more than once what that actually means. I know it’s more targeted, but I’m not a scientist — so I looked it up.

Proton beam therapy works slightly differently from conventional radiation therapy. Rather than using X-rays, proton therapy is administered using a particle accelerator, which speeds up the particles to very high energies. These protons are then directed into a beam and aimed at the tumour, releasing most of their energy precisely at the tumour site, sparing the surrounding healthy cells. This precision significantly limits the dose of radiation to the normal tissue, meaning that patients may experience fewer long-term side effects and a better quality of life.

In theory, anyway.

Mask On

Not an ideal start for my first session, as things were running an hour late. The mask that had been crafted some weeks earlier was immediately tighter than I remembered. My face may have changed shape, probably due to the reduced swelling now that it has had some time to recover after surgery. I could see it to be fair, but the truth is it felt quite the opposite. If anything, it felt more swollen, likely due to the lat muscle that had been relocated to my face and was still finding its feet. I was also back to swearing at myself in the mirror.

Once bolted down on the bed, there was a great deal of repositioning, measuring, and photography. After more than half an hour, they decided they weren’t happy and I was sent back to the waiting room while a plan was devised.

Another half hour later, we were ready.

It’s an impressive looking machine, like a cross between the Hadron Collider (which makes sense) and something you might see on the USS Enterprise. Bolted back in place and we’re off.

The first thing I notice is the bright sparks, as if Alex Owens is stood off to my left and is bang on time for her latest shift. There is an oddly satisfying medicinal smell and my hearing immediately feels as though it’s changing, time will tell.

The process itself was completely painless, apart from the time it has taken, although in fairness, that may be down to my reduced lack of patience. In at 4 and done by 7. Hopefully not a sign of things to come.

Early Optimism

By day three my skin was beginning to dry and the hair behind my ear was already on its way out. I’d also noticed a change in my bite. Despite that, I was still eating normally and managing to keep my calories up, which should stand me in good stead.

The physio was happy enough and reassured me my bite was, in fact, aligned. He did, however, want me to stand in front of a mirror pulling faces at myself. I’ll add that the many, many daily exercises I am expected to undertake.

Alongside the proton therapy, there were regular clinics, blood tests, and multidisciplinary meetings. The days were full and long and another job while in town was to start treatment to strengthen my bones.

There were two options for this, both of which come with pages upon pages of possible side effects. The one that is ultimately chosen has side effects which could include a fractured femur, and wait for it, cancer.

I am not making this shit up.

On the plus side, it was administered via a quick injection to the abdomen rather than a couple of hours on an IV. My oncologist also described it as ‘reassuringly expensive,’ which was oddly comforting.

The Dip

By the start of week two, I was tired. Whether that was the treatment, not sleeping in my own bed, or that fucking train, I wasn’t entirely sure.

Seven sessions in and my taste buds were fading fast, down to about 20%. My throat was sore, my skin a little pink, but overall things were holding up.

By the end of week two, based on what I’d been told beforehand, I began to think this might actually be a piece of piss.

Halfway there.

Mel and the kids came down to see me over the weekend. The complex I’m staying in has plenty to keep everyone occupied; bowling, cinema, arcades, and more eateries than anyone could ever need. The time was short, but we packed plenty in, including London’s only underground rollercoaster. It may have been on the smaller side, but I still had instant regrets.

Having essentially viewed London through Harley Street and its surrounding areas, I think it’s fair to say that Camden opened Mel’s eyes a little. Not quite what she was expecting and more what you’d expect from big city living. Bags and phones secured a little more tightly!

Reality Bites

Week three arrived and I may have gone too early with my initial assessment of the treatment. Things were beginning to get a little grim.

The hair on the left side of my face stopped growing entirely, meaning daily shaving became a necessity, something I’ve never been particularly committed to. My hearing began flickering on and off like a faulty light switch, though clearly stuck in energy-saving mode and my skin reddened by the day.

By the end of the week, the inside of my mouth looked like it had been attacked with a chainsaw. Eating became difficult, despite the increased pain meds and an impressive array of pre and post meal mouthwashes. Creativity would once again be required to keep my weight stable.

That weekend I travelled to Manchester to watch the girls swim. I was exhausted and probably grumpy, but it was worth it. It was great to see some familiar faces and once again the pool reinforced a little sense of short-term normality. Both girls smashed their swims with PBs and smiles all round. Seeing them in their happy place was exactly what I needed.

On the train back, my thoughts turned to the week ahead. Almost there, just one final push.

The Long Goodbye

In truth week four was really just a case of ticking off the sessions, counting down as I got closer and closer to the finish line and a return home.

You get to see a lot of the same faces in the waiting room, all of them undergoing their own battles, and some clearly in more distress than others. I have questioned many times why this cancer decided to make one of its homes in my face. That said, there are clearly people worse off than me and the one thing that will genuinely stick with me is seeing children going through the same treatment. Each and every one of them an inspiration. It very quickly puts things into perspective and has me reaching for my big boy pants.

Just as I thought the final week would pass quietly, the back pain returned. No sleep at all the night before I was due to leave. The pain was a solid nine out of ten.

I had a flight booked for Friday night. There was no chance I wasn’t going home.

I head to my final radiotherapy session early the next morning, full of relief. Once again, the care I have received throughout has been second to none, but I’m glad it’s over. Upon finishing I am congratulated and handed my mask to keep, I will find somewhere to display it when I get home.

A meeting with the oncologist followed and an X-ray was ordered. I was asked if I planned to wait for the results, but almost before they had finished asking the question, they knew the answer. The steroids, which I had been weaned off for the previous two weeks are re-instated and ultimately the results showed no change in the bones, which is good news.

I’ll be back in London next week to celebrate my birthday with another injection and more meetings. A CT scan is also scheduled to see what changes, if any, can be seen in the cancer that is more widespread, throughout the rest of my body. A plan can then be formulated for those.

Until then, it’s goodbye to London and as I look back on my time in Camden, I can’t help but wonder what it is that draws the tourists. One can only assume it’s a search for abject disappointment.