And so, it happened. The virus that I have been trying so hard to outsmart since my cancer diagnosis caught up with me. I have COVID.
It feels very odd to write that given everything we have all been through the last eighteen months, and the collective efforts that we have taken to avoid this virus. For some strange reason it feels almost shameful to admit – perhaps because on testing covid positive you instantly become a social pariah. A public enemy. A walking, talking biohazard. An effective biological weapon. Perhaps because somewhere deep down, that little part that us that is afraid of being judged (well, actually, in my case it’s quite a big part) fears being found somehow inadequate for having contracted the virus.
Of course, that is all total and utter garbage. There is absolutely no shame in contracting covid.
I have been assiduously careful since my diagnosis, knowing that I have been significantly immuno-compromised over the past six months and so potentially far more vulnerable to catching COVID. I have also been afraid of the impact that contracting the virus could have on my intensive treatment programme.
And yet, living with three unvaccinated and sociable teenagers, at a time when COVID is spreading like wildfire through our young, it has frankly felt only a matter of time before I would contract the virus. All children and young people have had terribly challenging time of things the last two years, and many have had a far worse time of it than my kids. Nonetheless, they have had their own challenges to overcome on top of COVID – adjusting to an uninvited relocation (for them) at a time when building new relationships has been incredibly hard, followed by my diagnosis and treatment. These have been tough times for them. I simply could not have kept them locked inside this summer, and I have been relieved to my core to see them spreading their social wings again.
While I have definitely felt poorly with COVID, I have thankfully not been drastically ill. My sense has been that (so far…), I have got away relatively lightly, and that my vaccine has been helpful in keeping things at a manageable level. I do know from the experience of friends that this can be a many headed virus which can bite back, so while hopeful I’m through the worst, I am taking nothing for granted.
This cautious approach was backed up yesterday by an unsolicited call from the local paramedic team. They informed me that because of my cancer status and treatment I had been logged as a highly vulnerable covid case. I was told in detail about the potential risks for me and advised to seek immediate medical help if any of my symptoms or my oxygen saturation levels drop even slightly in coming days. I was also talked through the dangers of me acquiring secondary infections. I was given a hotline to Paramedic Tim. While the information was not especially surprising in many ways, Tim did not mince his words. It was a salutary call which has made me sit up (metaphorically at least!) and take extreme notice of the need to focus on rest and recuperation in the coming days.
Getting COVID is not fun. And getting COVID in a time of cancer is even less fun
But, getting cancer is not fun. And getting cancer in times of COVID is even less fun.
I know I have been one of the fortunate ones, and to date the direct impact of the pandemic on my medical treatment has been marginal. My diagnosis was quick. Because of the nature of my cancer, and the fact it is unresponsive to many drug therapies, there was no possible plan b to keep me in a pre-operative ‘holding pattern’. As a result, I immediately jumped to the front of the queue for surgery and, despite an acute squeeze on operating capacity, I had a very short wait for my mastectomy. There were no significant delays to starting either chemotherapy or radiotherapy.
My radiotherapy has now been put on hold for a week because I have COVID. For some cancers, an interruption in radiotherapy such as this could potentially have a significant impact on clinical outcome. For my type of breast cancer, while not ideal, I have been reassured by the oncologist that this should not be detrimental. Again, I feel relatively lucky.
There have of course been other impacts - getting my diagnosis on the phone, having to attend appointments and treatment alone, the absence of face to face of support groups, never seeing the bottom half of my oncologist's face and the regular need to self isolate because of my treatment protocols. These have all taken their toll and magnified the sense of isolation that a cancer diagnosis brings with it. But the fundamentals of my treatment have not been adversely affected and for this I am grateful.
I absolutely know though this has not been the same for everyone. Many people living with cancer have faced devastating delays in treatment. For an insight into the catastrophic day to day impact of the pandemic on our health system, I highly recommend watching the BBC’s Hospital programme aired earlier this year. It is a heart-breaking but important watch, which shows doctors forced to make life or death decisions between patients needing critical operations on a daily basis thanks to the continuing impact of COVID.
I am ongoingly incredibly appreciative of the treatment that I have received and the NHS staff who continue to give their all to help their patients, sometimes at their own risk and always in the face of incredibly challenging circumstances.
Sending love and strength Bethan xxxx