Feelings of a cancer patient.

 I cannot begin to imagine what kind of emotional and physical strain that the brave people I met last week go through on a daily basis when battling with their respective cancers. However, after talking for a while with a couple of patients, nurses and the doctors that know them about their experiences, I have begun to grasp some of the common hardships that are felt between patients with vastly different cancer types. Understandably some of them feel vulnerable, some feel lonely, some feel helpless. Some of them feel positive, others do not. The transition between an active, independent lifestyle to a nearly bed-bound state for many of the in patients can be upsetting. Even something as simple as washing yourself becomes a debacle when you need a stranger to scrub you down, which, although the nurses are exceptionally caring and understanding in their approach, it is understandable that some patients found it demeaning. It is something so simple that I had previously taken for granted, a registrar pointed out to me as we were doing a ward round that most people haven't been washed by someone else since they were a baby, and to return to such a state after a lifetime is often demoralising.

The registrar also voiced the fact that when you're in hospital, a doctor will walk in on a patient using the commode and apologise, only to have the patient, according to the registrar, say "It's alright, come on in." In everyday life for most of us this would not happen. Of course, the doctor-patient professional relationship is in place for a reason, as the doctors and nurses alike need to be able to asses the wellbeing of the patient and provide treatment, and this is often only possible by doctor and patient shelving their everyday attitudes regarding personal care, and proceeding with the best patient care possible.

Furthermore, I received a first hand account of how a patient can feel objectified. An in patient, who we'll call Mr Cox* told us how he felt as if he has become a list of symptoms to his doctor. Not all the time, he was keen to stress, but sometimes, and it was understandably very draining. The "endless" questioning he was subjected to about his final wishes, and his condition, Mr Cox told us, made him very depressed. Even though the doctors were asking ultimately for his benefit, he did not like repeating himself up to five times a day, particularly as he could rarely report  back any good news.

Despite this, during our conversation Mr Cox was quietly optimistic and good-humoured, even though he had decided to give up on the chemotherapy and live his life at home from now on, and he was looking forward to seeing his dogs every morning.

The moving conversation that we had with Mr Cox showed me how ignorant I was of what strains the patients are subjected to, completely aside from the vicious effects of the chemotherapy. It broke my heart to hear it, but I believe that Mr Cox is one of the bravest individuals I have ever met, I felt humbled and privileged to speak with such an inspiring man.

*All names on this blog have been changed to respect patient confidentiality.

I wish him all the best for the future, thank you for reading.