The 81st Entry
RAF Halton Aircraft Apprentices
Sept 1955 - July 1958

ISSUE No.20 - AUGUST 2009
81st ENTRY NEWSLETTER
Editor: Mike Stanley

A Time for Reflection
by Tony Birchenough

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times”

Well that’s how the last year has seemed to me at any rate.

It was exactly 6 months ago that my sister and brother in law took me to Guy’s Hospital ready for my laryngectomy the following day, which was to be followed by a course of Radiotherapy at St. Thomas’ Hospital, which was to take me up to New Year’s Eve.

Looking back, it was about this time last year that I first acknowledged my throat problem, thinking it merely a cold or minor infection. How wrong I was only became obvious to me in August, when a walk to the railway station on the way to see a Consultant at University Hospital Lewisham left me utterly breathless.

This came as something of a shock, as only a couple of weeks before I had been happily strolling around Silverstone for a weekend, followed by a reunion of my old RAF Apprentice Entry friends, with only my hoarseness being evident.” Don’t worry,” I said, “It’s nothing trivial”. Many a true word spoken in jest!

On 17th September, the day after my 70th birthday, I was driven to UHL by my sister and brother in law to have a CT scan and a biopsy, followed by a tracheotomy to enable me to breathe through a tube in my neck. At this time I was somewhat apprehensive (OK – I’ll admit it - bloody scared). Although cancer had not been mentioned up to this point, I think we all knew that’s what it was. If truth be known, I reckon they only drove me there to make sure I didn’t chicken out despite the previous evening’s celebrations! A couple of days later I was transferred to Guy’s Hospital, where I was to finally learn my fate. After a couple of weeks, I’m a bit vague on the actual timing, being in a far from fully aware state at the time. I thought that perhaps if I ignored the situation it would go away. Not the first wrong assessment I’d made regarding my state of health. Anyway, the diagnosis was made and the necessary action explained to us and I came home for a couple of weeks before the next phase.

Sheila and Alan duly took me back to Guy’s on 20th October for the laryngectomy the next day. A complication shortly after meant a couple of days at St. Thomas’ Hospital to deal with a gastric ulcer, which I didn’t know I had. Soon after I was informed that the Cancer had been completely removed and that radiotherapy treatment was to follow, but not before I spent another couple of weeks at home, to catch up on things and generally take stock of my situation, before going back to St. Thomas’ Hospital as an out patient for the dreaded radiotherapy. Once I’d recovered enough to get out of bed and look around I found that the view from Blundell Ward on my side of the building was most impressive, especially on a clear day. Being on the 14th floor, the vista of central London was obviously impressive, with the sunrise being particularly noteworthy. What a pity there wasn’t enough cash in the kitty to clean the windows. Fortunately I was able to qualify to stay free of charge at the Simon Patient Hotel attached to the Hospital, which saved me the ordeal of daily trips to central London.














As you can see, the view from my room of The Houses of Parliament across the River Thames was absolutely stunning, but those bloody bells – if the wind was in the wrong direction it was hell trying to sleep in there!

The treatment consisted of daily sessions; each lasting about 15mins, but it was a 5min. walk each way, which left me knackered some days. If I’d been there at a better time of year I could happily have played tourist, in what really is my home town (I was born in Guy’s all those years ago), but as my sister will tell you, I don’t like cold and wet, so maybe I’ll do it another time.

After 27 sessions in all, finishing on New Year’s Eve, off I went to come home again, ready to face the New Year and a much-changed life. I found things very difficult for a while, my movements being restricted by my physical weakness as much as my breathing restrictions. I’d thought that the standard of cooking had deteriorated during my stay in the Simon Hotel, but I soon found that that was not the case. My sense of taste had drastically deteriorated and I found it extremely difficult to eat anything for a few weeks (I know that at least 3 of you reading this know what I’m talking about here). Fortunately my taste buds finally reasserted themselves and I was once again able to start enjoying my food and begin to regain some of the weight I’d lost, which as you all know, wasn’t that much to start with.

So now I’m finally on the mend, though there are still days when I have my doubts. I’m seeing the surgical team every 6 weeks and they say they’re pleased with my progress, the dieticians also seem pleased with the way things are going and I’ve just completed my physiotherapy course, with only my restricted neck and associated jaw movements now causing me any discomfort. I start a series of 6 complimentary sessions with the Dimbleby Cancer Care Organisation in a week or so and have a series of daily exercises to do, which will help. I doubt I’ll ever get my full neck movement back, but that’s a small price to pay for my ongoing existence. As for my speech, I’m hoping to get kitted out with a new speaking valve by the end of the month, which will mean I no longer have to cover my breathing hole with my thumb in order to converse with anybody. I doubt it will make phone conversations any easier, but that doesn’t worry me too much.

Now a few final observations: -

A relative of mine (he knows who he is) calls me Braveheart – He couldn’t be more wrong – The fact is that I was even more scared of my sister’s reaction if I’d refused to go ahead than I was of the bloody surgery, and believe me I was really scared of that. Talking as we breathe is something we take for granted – to have to choose which to do can be a difficult choice to make. We take the ability to communicate with others for granted. To me speaking is damned hard work, but well worth the effort, even if people hang up the phone on me thinking I’m some kind of pervert or heavy breather. The up side of that is that cold-calling salespersons are far less persistent: the down side being the trouble I have ordering a curry. When we can do that on the Internet I’ll be well to the fore. Generally I’ve found people most understanding of my condition and don’t now feel too self-conscious when I stick my thumb over my throat to croak to them, although I do get a few black looks when I push a shopping trolley out of the way in Sainsbury’s. Throughout my hospitalisation I was most impressed with the quality and attitude of all the staff. They were all brilliant and without them I’d never have got through it. What a pity that the organisation and administration side doesn’t come up to the same standard. Also I have to thank all my family and friends for their support through what has been a very difficult time for me.

One thing I have tried to do is to maintain my sense of humour, which at times has not been easy. Of course, there are those among you who would argue that they should have removed that and left the tumour, but I hope that’s the minority.

Well, that’s all for now folks. I hope I’ve not bored you too much