Capn Nickers
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Greetings from Bristol and a quick travel through the unexpexpected challenges of my fifties.

Capn Nickers
Posted by
20 Nov 2014

My name is Nick Davis. I have just celebrated my Silver Wedding Anniversary.

My wonderful wife for the last 25 years Lyndsay has been my rock throughout my health challenges having reached my half century.  We have two great children Alex and Chloe who have endured Dad's crappy health challenges throughout their A levels and University careers to date. 

Unfortunately it hasn't quite been the nifty fifties I was anticipating.  I was never someone who sat still or stood around for long unless it involved watching sport particularly rugby and cricket at Clifton RFC & Stoke Bishop CC (ironic smile to be recounted later).  Having had a lengthy playing career, followed by coaching age groups from 7 to 18 and running the London Marathon and the Bristol half a few times I was reasonably fit.

Anyway, it all started about five and half years ago when I was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer. An unexpected surprise as I guess, is every Cancer diagnosis to all of us who have been in receipt of such news. 

After consulting Specialists and friends I elected to have my Prostate removed as the tumour was still within the capsule but if left it could potentially move beyond the Prostate itself and into my bones which would/could lead to more serious consequences.  Not before I took a jack hammer to part of our brick built bomb shelter in the garden to remove a previously un breakable blast wall in sheer frustration thinking the Cancer was going to suffer from the noise and vibration. I wanted to let it know that it had picked on the wrong person because I wasn't going to give in or provide it with a semblance of a further toe hold where it could develop.

A GP friend of mine described it in a way that helped me decide - "with an operation you cut it out and can throw it away; with anything else it is unseen and might come back".  An interesting scenario because not every Cancer surgery is clearly definable by a specific anatomical boundary (more of that later).

Having made a clear and decisive decision the standard three or four day hospital visit was far from straight forward. After an apparently successful operation I was lying in recovery quite bloated and leaking through the staples where the incision was made, my catheter wasn't emptying my bladder but with some careful moving and re-positioning of the catheter some pressure was relieved by my first encounter with an Angel.  The nurse who helped me get through this early problem was the wife of our opening batsmen at the cricket club! We had many laughs about this when I caught up with them outside of hospital.

Unfortunately my bladder was leaking into my pelvic girdle and I was filling up with my own urine. An emergency operation to put in stents didn't resolve the situation and I was transferred to intensive care. I underwent a further operation to insert tubes into my kidneys which drained them of urine before it got to my bladder.  So now laden with three bags instead of one I started a recovery that kept me in hospital for 30 days and off work for 6 months.

The following year I was cycling to work, stopped at a pedestrian crossing on Blackboy Hill, the one by Tesco. I was just about to set off when someone crossed at the last second and I had already clipped into my pedals. Stopping for the pedestrian but not getting my shoe un-clipped in sufficient time being almost at a standstill I gracefully toppled over onto the pavement grazing my left hand and knee and bumping my hip on the raised kerb - what an embarrassment!  No big deal and wanting to get away from such a scene of cycling incompetence I got up and back on my bike and went to work.

Later, my wrist was throbbing and I went to casualty ending up with a cast for a fractured wrist.