Shaun's Story
Before my cancer, I was really shy. People I meet now have real difficulty believing that. I didn’t really speak to many people outside my immediate family. My journey started in February 1999; I started getting severe headaches and double vision. I remember thinking it was to do with my eyesight. I was worried I would need glasses; no 18 year old ever wants glasses. My GP prescribed painkillers but they didn’t seem to do anything so I just kept getting stronger and stronger doses.
On one visit at the end of March my usual GP was off and I saw a local doctor who told me I couldn’t get a stronger prescription and instead I was to relax. The next day I was feeling so poorly my parents wouldn’t let me drive them to Livingston and instead took me to the Western. There I was put through a variety of tests. They referred me to Gartnavel where they carried out the same tests and an eye exam. After looking into my eye I was sent immediately to the Southern. They were so eager to get me there quickly they didn’t even let me wait for the ambulance and phoned me a taxi instead.
I had a CT scan at the Southern. It showed I had a growth in brain. I was 18 and had no idea what that meant. I can remember thinking about the Celtic player Darren Jackson. All the newspapers were saying he had a growth in his brain and was going to die as a result. I asked the nurse “could I die from this?” At first her response was to say that was a daft question as I could leave the hospital right now and get knocked down. At a further push she admitted that “if you don’t get the fluid drained, it could be curtains”.
They told me that the brain is split into four parts, my tumour sat right in the middle on top of these four parts. The way I thought of it was to imagine that the tumour was a plug in the sink and the fluid was someone leaving the water running. To remove the fluid surgeons used a plastic tube to act as a straw, sucking all the fluid out my skull. This was all done under general anaesthetic, it took an hour and I could feel blood trickle down and the surgeons asking for the staple gun. It was weirdest feeling.
A biopsy revealed it was cancerous; I was transferred to the Beatson for an operation to remove the cancerous half of the tumour. I also had chemotherapy which gave me uncontrollable tremors. A scan later revealed the tumour had started growing into the space left by the cancer. An emergency operation was required and doctors warned my parents that I could lose my memory. I was so scared this would happen I memorised my pin code in the hope that if I woke up and could remember that it meant I wouldn’t forget all my family and friends. My mum quickly pointed out the flaw in my logic.
The operation lasted 22 hours. When I woke up I still had the plastic tube they use to help you breathe down my throat.
My road to recovery was a long one. I was sent to the G4 rehabilitation ward at the Western to learn how to walk again. It was like being trapped. Mentally I was fine but physically I was really struggling. Their main purpose was to get me fit to live independently. Two months later I was able to leave the ward in a wheelchair and moved into the Springbank Centre for Independent Living. This was when I began to visit Momentum Scotland, a Rehabilitation Unit for people with brain injuries, where I learnt various interview techniques. It was also where I met my ex wife. We had a son together, Jack, who is now 9 years old. Surgeons told me after my Chemo, I had a 1 % chance of fathering a child. Jack is proof of how I will never be just another statistic.
I love working with children. I volunteered at Yorkhill Children’s Club, caring for siblings of sick children. I also still volunteer in Drumchapel every Tuesday.
I first heard about Contak in 2000, when my mum was working at the Beatson. The group co-ordinator April Walker introduced herself to my parents and told us to come down. Their office back then was on University Avenue. We got there and April announced we were going to have a guided tour of Ibrox, I am a Celtic man myself, but even that didn’t bother me and I have been going ever since, to Cancer Support Scotland obviously, not Ibrox.
Contak used to do all kinds of activities like that and it was amazing. I felt a real comfort in being with people that understood what I was going through. They didn’t ask me why I sometimes slurred my words or why I now looked different. No one treated me like I had cancer. Now Contak is more like a family than a support group or even a group of friends. I am keen to get younger people involved and be as active as we used to be.
People think that just because you’ve had cancer your problems have all been solved. Far from it. I live with the consequences of my diagnosis everyday. I get regular hassle from bouncers and police men who assume that my poor balance and the fact that my pupils are always dilated is down to being drunk. I don’t drink alcohol and I tell them this but yet I still find myself waiting 45 minutes for radio confirmation that my blue badge on my car allows me to drive.
I still have to live with the problems caused by my cancer everyday but that does not mean I let it affect who I am and what I can do. My son, Jack, proves that.
