‘Grey, gaunt and swollen’: How I keep working with cancer like the King
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Last week, I found myself vomiting in the bathroom of a rather beautiful London skyscraper in the heart of the City.
It wasn’t a tummy bug causing the problems but the day-to-day havoc of cancer meds.
Down the hall was the shadow chancellor, along with my Channel 4 News crew. Cameras rolling, waiting.
It had taken weeks to secure the interview. And for a few very miserable minutes, I contemplated the horror of having to stand up Labour’s second in command.
Would my producer have to take over? Or, ashen-faced, have to apologise and pack up our cameras?
Would they come looking for me, and how bad would that humiliation be?
In the end, I was saved by the sandwich circuit diplomacy Rachel Reeves is so famous for, as she was holed up longer than expected with the bigwigs of the City – and I made it out before I was truly missed.
The interview worked out – and my editor was happy. Proof you can still work and be in the midst of cancer treatment.
But as many around the country will testify, it’s a bumpy ride.
Feeling vommy or having wild diarrhoea is part and parcel of most cancer medication, along with a whole catalogue of other things I will skip over for now.
But it gets a little tricky to manage when you have a high-pressure job. Or indeed a public-facing job.
Luckily, as a journalist you are mostly behind the scenes. Not so the monarch.
The King’s message of positivity about his forthcoming cancer treatment was a beacon of hope to many around the country. It was a much-appreciated optimistic stance of strength, signalling that people with cancer don’t always want to be treated like the walking wounded – the kind of Windsor grit so widely appreciated.
His audiences with the Prime Minister will continue during treatment and he will still oversee the red boxes of state papers. The King has also expressed a desire to return to full public duty as soon as possible.
Around the world, half the people diagnosed with cancer are of working age.
And here in Blighty, a survey for the Institute for Employment Studies showed 72 per cent of respondents returned to work after treatment – though most complained of fatigue (93 per cent), brain fog (68 per cent), pain (54 per cent) and anxiety (60 per cent).
Employers’ ability to reduce duties and offer flexible hours had a huge impact, with two thirds of people saying they had a phased return to office life, as I was lucky enough to have.
The most striking red flags were people with terminal cancer who said they were struggling with support for returning to work.
Gemma Peters, the chief executive of Macmillan Cancer Support, tells me that the charity hears every day about the impact a diagnosis has on people’s lives – including in the world of work.
“Just as the King wants to continue to carry out his state duties, we understand many people either want to – or have to – continue to work during their treatment.
“Macmillan can support people with this,” says Peters.
The charity offers a confidential support line with trained nurses who can give practical advice around money as well as just being a listening ear to people who need it.
For me, it was the hard yards of chemotherapy that were the worst. Somehow you look grey, gaunt and swollen – all at the same time. Plus, the lack of hair is definitely a drawback – especially the eyelashes and eyebrows.
I had a mastectomy for Stage 3 breast cancer, back-to-back with chemo, radiotherapy, hormone therapy and now biological therapy. The last part is a two-year course and I’m halfway through.
Mostly I forget all about it. The day-to-day of my son’s nursery packed lunch or the demands of the news diary cancel everything else out.
But sometimes you’re just too rashy, or too poorly with a bad gut, or struggling to talk because the mouth ulcers get too much.
You’re mostly anaemic and always immunosuppressed – which means you’re a sort of sitting duck for all types of other viruses.
Kisses and cuddling “hello” and “goodbye” are definite no-nos – something my Middle Eastern brain finds hard to adjust to.
But working gives you purpose and focus that’s bigger than thoughts of your own health, which is critical with cancer – and even without it.
Coming back to work has been incredible for me and I’m lucky enough to have a very sympathetic organisation behind me which has supported me throughout the ups and downs. And which, critically, has allowed me fallow periods so I have the energy to ramp up when the news gets going.
But it is a challenge to work with physical limitations when you’re used to operating in an environment where excitement and adrenal in normally keep you sharp.
My tips for making it through:
Make yourself say what’s happening to your boss and colleagues around you – if they don’t know, they can’t help you.
Part of the emotional and physical rollercoaster of cancer has to be done by just you alone – the muggles will never quite understand. But it’s important not to sink into isolation, especially if you want to be working.
Some of the challenge is also making peace with the feelings of guilt you have when you’re not at your best, as a professional, as a mother, wife or husband. Perhaps as a King?
When my son looks sad when I’m poorly, I tell him I’m not feeling great but repeat the mantra that “Mummy is strong and brave”. Even gaslighting a four-year-old is not healthy, according to the family therapist we saw when things got really rough.
My little boy may be little but he can see when I’m green around the gills – so better to admit you’re not 100 per cent and look to the future with a “wholly positive” outlook, just like the King.
Helia Ebrahimi is the economics correspondent for Channel 4 News
