Ethnic Minority Cancer Awareness Week, 3-10 July 2010

 

I was diagnosed with prostate cancer at King's College Hospital in South London in April 2007. It came like a thief in the night.

My wife, Leila, held my hand. A mild squeeze. I could only think of death.

The consultant examined and cross examined me.

“Has any male in your family in generations past been diagnosed with prostate cancer?”

I was sweating profusely, my mouth had dried up. I could not hear, see or speak.

And then I remembered that my dad had died from the disease, his father too. It was made clear to me that the disease was hereditary.  

Leila absorbed all the information the consultant politely offered. I remember very little of it.

I had to tell my children. I babbled on that the doctors had discovered frail cancerous deposits and I would be ok.

Within days Leila and I took for Barbados. I remember nothing of the flight. Days and nights came and went. I was absorbed in sessions of sweet silent thought. I finally decided to return to England and would know then whether the cancer had spread to my bones.

I was at the lowest ebb at the point when I entered the MRI machine. The scan revealed that the cancerous cells were contained within the prostate and a prostatectomy would save my life. Tests revealed that I was healthy and my organs were in fine shape to withstand a grueling five hour operation.

And now I am struck by my swift and effortless recovery thanks to the gentle and kindly surgeon who has given me a new lease of life.

Only hormone treatment, a three monthly implant remains. The cancer has disappeared and I am back in the gym twice weekly.

Middle aged men go get tested. Demand it of your GP particularly those of us from West Africa, Black America and the Caribbean. We are three times more likely to die of the disease than anyone else. Only early testing saves us from the silent killer.

And the millions all over the world who viewed the opening of the FIFA World Cup in South Africa would have noticed Archbishop Tutu who danced elegantly in the spirit of a new Africa. He is a survivor.

We’re reminding men like Darcus they are not alone. They can come to Macmillan for information and support.

Image courtesy of NHS Choices|