Earlier this morning I paid a visit to my Facebook account to look at some photographs that had been taken at a family wedding back in September. As I was scrolling down my newsfeed, I spotted a post by one of my late dad's cousins stating that she had been diagnosed with stomach cancer. I then read it had been caught early, and that she was about to undergo an operation to remove it. The prognosis looked good. In addition to feeling upset and concerned for my dad's cousin, the positive prognosis had also touched a raw nerve.
In September 2018, my dad had also been diagnosed with stomach cancer. Although it was fairly advanced, it hadn't spread. The plan had been for my dad to have a course of chemotherapy to shrink the tumour, followed by an operation to remove it, and then a course of post-operative chemotherapy to reduce the risk of cancer returning. I am sure that most people will be in agreement that the NHS was struggling long before Covid came along. In my dad's case, his tumour was operating on a different timetable to the NHS. By the time he had been due to start his pre-operative chemotherapy (more than 2 months after his initial diagnosis), the tumour had grown and was deemed inoperable. This left me feeling incredibly angry because I felt the system had failed him. My dad had been offered palliative chemotherapy to buy him more time, which had been due to start in January 2019. From my perspective, he was far too unwell. Although it broke my heart, it came as no surprise when my dad announced on Boxing Day 2018 that he'd had enough and couldn't see the point in prolonging the inevitable. He died in March 2019.
So, going back to my dad's cousin. She has the advantage of being able to afford private healthcare. Whilst I hope she makes a full recovery, I also feel bitter that the medical treatment she has received has happened at what seems like lightning speed. In her case, she was operated on 6 weeks after her diagnosis.
Apologies if this post has upset anyone. I just needed to have a good old vent.
