Richmond mayor back on duty following third cancer diagnosis

I WOULD like to make it clear from the start, I am not after sympathy or a medal. The reason I am writing this is to convince people to get tested early, and to instil hope and confidence.

The phrase no one ever wants to hear is “I am afraid it is cancer”. It's a phrase I have heard three times.

Back in 2014 I went to the doctor with a minor problem. The doctor was young and keen and said, “because of your age, I will do a routine blood test”. Two days later I was called in, to be told I had early-stage prostate cancer and I had three options: Wait and see how it goes, an operation to remove the prostate or radiotherapy. I opted for radiotherapy. After a few more tests, some involving long fingers, I was put on a course of chemo tablets to shrink the tumour and then 37 consecutive days travelling to the Endeavour Centre at James Cook University Hospital for the radiotherapy. It wasn’t as bad as I thought, in fact it became quite a social event meeting with others with the same problem on a daily basis, counting down the days and having a little celebration as those who started before me finished their programme.

A test, a month after my 37th treatment, showed that the treatment had worked, and the cancer had been stopped. I was relieved and elated thinking “That’s it, I have had my share, I can now relax”. How wrong can you be.

In January 2019 I had a rough patch on the side of my nose and the doctor said those words again “I am afraid it’s cancer, but fortunately benign”. It was what is often referred to as a rodent ulcer. I had a minor operation to remove it on the day before the first lockdown started. Which was quite handy for me, because I didn’t really want to be seen with a big orange dressing sewn on to the end of my nose. The dressings were removed ten days later but it took four months to completely heal over.

In November 2020 I developed hiccups every time I ate. Quite normal, I was told, they usually go away quickly, but can last two or three weeks in some cases. By Christmas it had got worse, and was not just the hiccups but reflux into the oesophagus, causing considerable discomfort.

Back to the doctor, this time I was sent for an endoscope inspection. Three days later I heard those words again “I am afraid it is cancer”. I had cancer where my oesophagus joined my stomach. This time, there was only one option, an operation. In 1999, my 82-year-old father had a similar problem. He survived the operation but died a week later of heart attack. The shock really hit me this time, but I thought I've beaten it once, I will do it again

The confirmation of cancer came the day after I was nominated to be mayor of Richmond for 2021/2. I had to make a decision, whether to take the appointment or step down. Much to my family’s original displeasure, I opted to take the post as I felt it would give me a reason to get out of bed and not feel sorry for myself. Eventually my family agreed, and my council colleagues were very supportive.

It was explained to me that it was a very big and complex operation and that I would need to be fit enough to withstand the procedure. I was placed on a nine-week course of chemotherapy, once again to shrink the tumour. I expected to be in a bad way after three sessions, at three week intervals, of seven hours on a drip, but surprisingly, apart from hair loss, I felt very well. A bout of food poisoning after my second session put me back two weeks and then after all the chemo, when I thought I was okay, a pre-op check of my heart showed a narrowing of the left coronary artery, so two days later I had a stent fitted, which put me back another two weeks.

Eventually in September the day came, and I was admitted to James Cook hospital again. As they wheeled me to theatre, I had the dreadful thought that this may be the last journey I take. However, six hours later I woke up in intensive care. The relief was indescribable.

I must admit that the following two weeks in hospital was not a pleasant experience. There was considerable pain, an inability to do anything myself for some time, and no visitors. It was very depressing – especially as I contracted an infection which required my isolation. Five days on my own in a side ward. The staff were great but didn’t have time to sit and chat, I only saw them when they did my regular observations.

Finally, after having the staples removed from my wounds on my chest and side, I arrived home. Still very fragile and needing quite a bit of help. But I started to improve. The operation had been successful.

I can’t thank Doctor Sinclair, my oncologist and Mr Davis, my surgeon, and their teams, enough for what they did. Also, the staff of the various wards of James Cook and Friarage hospitals for looking after me. Eleven weeks on and I am now able to return to duty, if only light duties. My deputy has had to stand in for me on the more active events, but I was determined I would officiate on Remembrance Sunday, that was my goal. Unfortunately, I couldn’t walk the whole route and had to use a car. But I did it.

Mayor of Richmond Bob White lays a wreath during the town's Remembrance Sunday events this year

Now, the real reason for this article. If you are over 50, especially men, get yourself regularly tested. If you develop anything unusual, get it seen to. Catch cancer early and it can be treated. The worst thing you can do is sit back and think it will go away. It may appear to, but it won’t, it’s just getting bigger and bigger. Okay, the tests can be uncomfortable at times, but not painful. For prostate cancer it is a simple blood test.

If, like me you have been regularly tested and you have caught it early, it is not the end of the world. It can be successfully treated. I am living proof of that fact, three times, and I am still here. Medical procedures and treatment have improved no end in the past few years. Testing is simple and straight forward.

You can survive cancer if you catch it in the early stages. Get tested, get treated and survive.