July 18 last year was meant to be a normal day of work. Court in the morning, meetings at party HQ in the afternoon and Joseph Calleja’s concert at the Granaries in the evening. Little did I ever expect that in the afternoon, at 5pm to be exact, I would receive the phone call that would change my life.
The phone call was to immediately go to hospital because MRI results of a few days before had shown there is a tumour under my right shoulder, a massive tumour, 15 centimetres in diameter.
The days that followed were the most difficult of my life. Test after test led to one negative result after another. Results revealed that my tumour was a cancerous one and needed to be addressed immediately.
I was advised to leave soonest to the UK and undergo 25 sessions of radio therapy to be followed by surgery.
I inquired and got the answers I dreaded. This was a race against time, hoping that the cancerous cells are contained and not ‘allowed’ to spread to other organs.
I immediately understood that the road ahead was uphill and arriving at the destination – recovering – was a possibility but not a certainty.
I went through the harrowing ordeal of radio therapy sessions in London.
In situations like this the biggest challenge is not to despair
Twenty-five sessions which led to swelling, burns, bleeding, tiredness and pain. Twenty-five sessions spread over five weeks.
On the morning of October 20, 2014 – the day scheduled for surgery – my surgeon explained once again that he will do all it takes to remove the tumour. I consented and gave the go ahead to ‘do all it takes’ and even remove my shoulder blade in the process.
Eight hours later I woke up from my operation. Without a shoulder blade but, more importantly, without a tumour.
A year on, these are my reflections.
First. How fragile we all are. You wake up in the morning to go to work and by the evening you are made aware that you have cancer, a deadly disease with a 50/50 chance of survival.
Secondly: why not me? Like most readers, I knew a number of people who went through the cancer ordeal. I always thought it could happen to anyone but not me. When it does happen to you, you go through the angry process asking: why me? Looking back, I realise that the pertinent question we should all pose is not why me but, rather, why not me.
Thirdly, I have learnt that in situations like this the biggest challenge is not to despair. The first days were the most difficult. Too difficult. I tried to put up a brave face in front of my family, my closest friends, the public. However, in solitude I cried and prayed to God to give me the strength to accept the situation, pick up the pieces and move on. Incredibly, my prayers (and, probably, your prayers) were answered.
My fourth reflection: what a wonderful family I have. My wife, my three sons propped me up all the way. They are the reason, probably the only reason, I was determined to live. They handled the situation marvellously. So did my brothers, sister and spouses. So did my father, a stoic man. So did my mother, who, from heaven, did her part as well.
My fifth reflection: What an amazing nation we are. We are a nation which truly believes in solidarity. We have managed to create a health system that supports so many in desperate situations like I was in. I attended clinics and hospitals all over London and, incredibly, in every waiting room, in every ward, I came across Maltese patients receiving treatment, funded by the government, the Community Chest Fund, Puttinu Cares, The Hospice Movement and so many other organisations. Please, be generous towards such organisations. They do save lives and, one day, they could save your life too.
A year ago, questioned by this newspaper, I had said that I will fight cancer, however, I didn’t know if I would win. A year later, if asked I would give the same reply.
I have gone a long way. All doctors advise that you are not out of the woods completely before the lapse of five years. In the meantime, I struggle on. I take the treatments I need and, as you realise, try to live a normal life.
The other day, walking down Republic Street, Valletta, an old lady I don’t know turned to me and exclaimed: “I prayed for you so much.” I thanked her and promptly replied: “Thank you, but please don’t stop praying yet.”
Believe me, I still need your prayers.
Beppe Fenech Adami is PN deputy leader