Acclaimed North East playwright Ed Waugh's Christmas message is for people to get themselves checked out as he tells of his traumatic year fighting cancer
THE Christmas that we have been enjoying was defined and described by Charles Dickens in A Christmas Carol, but it is the opening line of A Tale of Two Cities, his story about the French Revolution, that rings out to me: "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times."
This quote sums up my life perfectly over the past year.
The best of times this year has been having five of my plays professionally performed and toured and two books of play scripts produced, while the worst of times saw the death of my father on New Year's Eve, the passing of my beautiful daughter-in-law at the age of 34 in April, and my own cancer prognosis in January followed by major surgery in March.
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The best of times saw the continued success of two plays I wrote with Trevor Wood 20 years ago touring the UK and Ireland and even heading for New Zealand, while my self-penned plays Hadaway Harry and Carrying David toured the North East, the latter playing London to huge acclaim.
The 1845 boat race section of the Hadaway Harry play will be included in an American book next year about the greatest-ever sporting moments.
Added to that, Wor Bella, the incredible story of the women footballers from Blyth Spartans Ladies during the First World War, received tremendous accolades when it premiered in March.
I only saw those last two plays once, and on both occasions I barely remember what happened. I saw Wor Bella at Playhouse Whitley Bay a week after I was discharged from hospital post-surgery while Hadaway Harry ran during my recovery where I was, unfortunately, more concerned with internal bodily matters than what was happening on stage.
It was when I was in London with Carrying David that I noticed my bowel movements were more regular but I put that down to the increased alcohol levels that come with being on tour. To counter a sudden need to go to the toilet, I consumed excess diarrhea tablets. They seemed to work. All was good.
The day after the last show of the run at Barnard Castle I tested positive for Covid. This meant no socialising for 10 days and no boozing. The runs, however, continued and were getting worse, with toilet visits increasing to three times a day even after taking the magic tablets.
This was late September and by October, the figure had jumped to four times a day.
Obviously, bowel cancer briefly crossed my mind but I'd had an annual test in the April that was negative. I looked up Irritable Bowel Syndrome (IBS) – the most common disorder of the digestive system – and it seemed to sum up my predicament caused by the stress with my father and daughter-in-law bravely battling their own cancers. Up to one third of the population experience symptoms of IBS, so I just presumed...
A few more weeks went by but up to five or six toilet visits was the norm, plus my pumps (for those outside the North East, the translation is "farts") stunk. Something felt wrong.
I contacted my GP surgery; blood and faeces tests followed and within two weeks I was face to face with my doctor.
I wanted him to say: "There's no problem, Ed. All is well. It's IBS."
But he didn't.
"Your blood count is a bit high and there appears to be blood in your faeces," he said sympathetically. "Don't worry, it's probably IBS. I'll send you for an endoscope."
The Christmas holiday was mostly spent with my dad at South Tyneside hospital. He sadly passed on New Year's Eve. Four days later I was back at the hospital having my endoscope. I'll spare you the details but it involves a large black tube containing a camera being pushed up your backside while staring at your own innards on a TV screen. Fascinating!
Suffice to say there were nodules and blood in my bowels. It didn't look good even to this non-medically trained eye. MIR and CT scans followed within days.
Ten days later, on January 18 – my 63rd birthday and the day before my dad's funeral – I was informed: "There's good and bad news, Mr Waugh."
"Bad news first, please."
"You have bowel cancer."
I was expecting that prognosis so it never really came as a shock.
"The good news is it hasn't spread."
It was stage two, so we'd caught it early. The relief! I now had a fighting chance of beating this iniquitous disease.
She continued: "You'll need to undergo surgery to cut out a length of bowel but there's no need for chemo or radio therapy at this stage. Hopefully never."
After a cancellation because of Covid, I belatedly underwent surgery on March 18. I was fitted with an external stoma bag to protect the stitches where the brilliant medical team joined my bowels after taking out the cancerous cells.
I am now lacking 18 inches of intestines. We start with 15ft of the stuff so it's no major loss once it heals. In the next week or so, I’ll undergo tests to see if a stoma reversal is feasible. Fingers crossed.
It will take up to two months to recover from that procedure, so hopefully by the spring I'll be back to full fitness thanks to the fantastic skills of NHS staff, my GPs and the nurses at their practice, stoma nurse Amanda Logan, the coloplast clinical nurse specialist (Sunderland and South Tyneside Trust) and of course, my family and friends.
So I had a rough six months, but there were still the best of times: in October, a readthrough of a radio sitcom I co-wrote with Trevor for the BBC called It's Grim Up North took place at the Lit & Phil in Newcastle as part of the Hadrian's Wall 1,900 years celebrations; in November, my book of plays called Geordie Plays Volume One was officially launched as part of 2022 Books on The Tyne Festival.
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In helping me through the worst of times, in particular I want to pay tribute to the bravery and tenacity of my selfless daughter-in-law Rachelle. Her fortitude and encouragement inspired this soft clart during his darkest days. I can honestly say I was never fearful once. Not once.
But this isn't about what I can gain. The most important thing is for anyone who is undergoing similar symptoms to get checked out asap.
Fact: the likelihood is it's IBS with only a very small chance of cancer. However, the key to beating this insidious disease is catching it quickly enough. Hesitation costs lives. It could be your life – or that of a loved one!
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