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Men need to overcome fear, stop joking around and take prostate cancer seriously

Aberdeen Royal Infirmary has been placed on Code Black amid a surge of Covid cases. Picture by Kenny Elrick/ DCT Media
Jeremy is grateful to the staff at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary for his great care (Photo: Kenny Elrick/DCT Media)

Mid-October last year – it was a Thursday – I damaged a knee badly enough to need treatment.

So I checked in with my local practice online, because of Covid. A GP from Ellon health centre got back to me rapidly and a fix was prescribed. Short of face-to-face, the service could not have been better.

We got chatting – it was the pastoral care bit, as I’m retired and was by then terrified of the Covid thing.

We discussed the MOT I had requested mid-June 2017, just after retiring from the P&J and the GP thoughtfully told me it was time for another. I agreed, but something niggled. I happened to have heard something on the radio that day about the prostate cancer test (the PSA) and the importance of getting one.

Wind the clock back around 15 years and a doctor had, in fact, put me off the idea. He said the test was unreliable and that if I felt fit and healthy then there was probably nothing to worry about. I parked further thought about that with relief.

A cancer diagnosis at the peak of Covid lockdown

Back to the present; my friendly GP (I wish I could remember her name) noted, too, that the PSA had not been a part of the 2017 check-up but that it would be this time.

The starter pack for this MOT would be blood tests. They were booked for the following Monday and I was instructed to phone for the results on the Wednesday.

Except that, on Tuesday morning, Ellon called me. It was Dr Brown.

“Your bloods are fine except your PSA count is through the roof. Can you come in today for a check-over?”

“Er, yes,” I quavered. And so I did.

After treatment Jeremy is learning to live with prostate cancer (Photo: Kami Thomson/DCT Media)

Dr Brown did the classic (uncomfortable) check, then told me I had a prostate gland problem and that he would refer me to oncology at Aberdeen Royal Infirmary (ARI).

Oh crap – we were in the midst of a Covid lockdown. The NHS was at full stretch; it would surely be months before I was called in. Worrying to say the least.

I could have not been more wrong. Oncology at ARI moved swiftly. I was in front of a consultant within just days.

Upshot of the initial consultation, first scan and then biopsy in short order was that it was not a nice prostate situation – a “Gleason 8” it was called – but that, as the first of four scans showed, my bones were apparently OK (famous last words).

Starting a journey that won’t end

And so, from late October last year, a journey started from which I suppose I’ll never be clear.

A series of tests and scans, 20 shots of radiotherapy involving learning to precision pee to ensure optimal bladder volume for zapping the cancer bit by bit… I kid you not. Quarterly hormone injections, and so on.

The months flew by. I felt strangely detached and unafraid all the way through the treatments.

July 19 was a red letter day. Consultant Dr Graham Macdonald phoned. In a nutshell, he said I was through the worst but that the quarterly injections and PSA tests would continue for a further year or so. I was too shattered to celebrate!

I’m lucky. Bloody lucky. I feel like a fraud, too! No pain, no bits cut out – hopefully ever. Perhaps if that had been the situation I would have been downright frightened

Now, to the nub of why I’m writing this.

NHS Scotland and, very particularly, Ellon health centre and ARI rescued me at a time when the UK was largely paralysed by Covid.

In England, especially, I would not have been so lucky and could still be waiting, like my brother who, having been promptly warned, cannot get a PSA test for love nor money where he lives, even nine months on.

I have been embraced by the magnificent charities Maggie’s, Macmillan and Friends of Anchor like the most amazing comfort blanket. Unexpected and so very, very welcome.

I have encountered the most wonderful people of my entire life – professionals who managed to work tirelessly, with love and great humour, despite the Covid hell that is still continuing.

I’m lucky. Bloody lucky. I feel like a fraud, too! No pain, no bits cut out – hopefully ever. Perhaps if that had been the situation I would have been downright frightened.

Two fingers up to the ‘old man’s disease’

Prostate cancer is often referred to as the “old man’s disease”. Two fingers to that. I’m 70 but very far from old, though I struggle with tiredness and have been for nearly two years. Perhaps that will subside.

ARI’s ambition was and is still to get me to a situation where I can live with the condition. I have nothing but praise for the NHS.

Us guys really have to overcome our fear of the PSA test and get past “finger up the bum” pub jokes.

That said, the NHS should ensure that men are offered a PSA at key threshold ages.

I know people who have had horrid experiences with cancers and are now dead. But others have been incredibly fortunate in their experiences of the Big C.

Like the oil and gas investment banker, Colin Welsh, who had a serious battle a bunch of years ago and won through.

Colin was to play a pivotal role in raising money for the Aberdeen Maggie’s cancer care centre between 2010 and 2015. There were even ads featuring his mugshot on the back of city buses.

It seems daft, but I now can’t shift them from my mind and very much hope he remains in rude health.


Jeremy Cresswell is emeritus editor of Energy Voice and former business editor of The Press & Journal