Like me, you may have had or might face cancer someday. I consider myself fortunate to be in Oman, where thanks to an excellent team of Omani doctors, I am now cancer-free.
The cancer I had was in the lower digestive system, specifically in the colon. It’s a topic many shy away from because it’s embarrassing to talk about, but for me it was a wake-up call. When I received the diagnosis, I experienced disbelief. I had always joked that I planned to go quickly, possibly with a heart attack. However, the reality set in during a visit to my consultant, because I felt unusually fatigued. He suggested I undergo an endoscopy and colonoscopy, which I initially thought was over the top.
In the UK, my NHS GP might have simply prescribed iron tablets, as GPs there often have to operate within strict financial constraints that prioritise budgets over thorough diagnostics — an issue rooted in the broader failings of our health service. In Oman, I was fortunate to see highly qualified specialists. My Omani consultant gave me a knowing smile when I mentioned my concerns about his cancer related questions. The day before my colonoscopy I fasted and took the liquid laxative. Under deep sedation (which I advise always to accept) I then had the colonoscopy.
The gastroenterologist, a well-respected and familiar face, entered the room during my recovery. He told me there was nothing wrong up there — my stomach was fine — but that "down there", he found something "sinister". The word "sinister" caught my attention. I thought of its Latin root meaning "left", but since I was no longer teaching Latin I decided not to elucidate. I inquired instead if he was suggesting something malignant. Yes, he confirmed — cancer. I asked if it was serious, but he could only say it was quite well-hidden. It was surreal, as if I’d entered a new world.
Everything else, my book writing, writing for the Observer, my UK property business, all became insignificant compared to this news. That week was filled with Google searches about survival rates, treatments and prognoses. The prognosis for colon cancer can be grim, especially if it’s aggressive. My biopsy confirmed I had an aggressive form, one that was out to get me. The day of surgery arrived. I wasn’t afraid, knowing I was in good hands. My surgeon was renowned in Oman and internationally. He initially planned for a laparoscopy, but because the tumour was large, he had to open me up. I discovered that the true extent of a cancer’s stage can only be known post-op after the pathology report.
On the day I sat waiting to hear the results, I felt faint with nerves, low iron or both. I was about to learn whether I faced stage 1, 2, 3, or 4 cancer. By then, I had become an expert googler on colon cancer. The moment came. The surgeon, surprisingly, started chatting about life in general. I pressed him on my stage, I needed clarity. He simply waved his hand dismissively and said, “Oh, Stage Zero.” Stage Zero? I’d never heard of that. Like a rattlesnake curled up, ready to strike, it hadn’t moved. Colon cancer is becoming more common, even among younger people. If you’re over 45, I strongly recommend getting a colonoscopy. Early detection offers nearly 100 per cent curability. It’s a serious health risk, but it’s also one that can be effectively managed if caught early.
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