Miracles Do Happen. How Do I know? Read This

There was once a UK prime minister who famously said that a week is a long time in politics, and how true that is. However, I am going to declare my hand and say that this last seven days, for my very own life and times, has indeed been a remarkably long week. I have experienced the very full and wide range of human emotions, from deep-rooted fear and trepidation all the way through to what I can only describe as elation and joy.

And let me tell you just why, my dear reader friend: this was the week when my world was quite simply turned upside down. Let me give you some context. On 15 September 2018 at 10:48, Yvonne and I were told that I had Stage 4A bowel cancer and I was whisked straight to Warwick Hospital for emergency life-saving surgery, which took place on 18 September, where my life was literally saved by a wonderful surgeon called Miss Karen Busby. She also gave me a stoma bag, which is where your bowel is brought out so that you can use it as a waste-disposal unit for the purpose of discarding human waste. They then give your bottom a P45 and it is effectively retired from active service; it is then filled in, not unlike a Barbie doll, and sent to a retirement home in West Sussex with nice sea views.

That is when the journey began, so let’s fast-forward to 30 September 2025. Since those early, heady days I have undergone the following: a second major life-saving surgery where two highly skilled surgeons spent five hours thirty minutes “gutting me like a fish”, in an operation that took place at the very start of the COVID pandemic. When no hospital beds were available anymore on the NHS, I had to pay for the operation myself, which my family’s kindness paid for — all £51,817 of it. Amazingly, it worked.

On two occasions I have experienced the sheer joy of being told by my wonderful oncologist and friend, the brilliant Dr Peter Correa, that I was, against all the odds, actually cancer-free. This incredible man has guided me on this seven-year journey from the very first day until today, accompanied by the two fantastic senior cancer nurses Graham Day and Zoe O’Neil and their fantastic teams at the Stratford and Warwick cancer wards. Only to be told, now on three occasions, that the cancer had returned, so we had to go back into chemotherapy.

As a consequence, I have now completed a grand total of 120 doses of chemotherapy. Some lasted five hours, some ten. If you ask me, that is a huge volume of chemicals over the years, which has left a vast array of awful side effects. These include appalling skin viruses all over my body; I have gone bald three times; I have survived three sepsis attacks which nearly killed me, but they did not. I had numerous embarrassing public incidents when my stoma bag has exploded in public places, causing widespread humiliation to me and abject disgust and horror from those poor members of the public who had to witness said unpleasantness. Oh yes, from the freezer aisle in Morrisons in Rubery, Birmingham, to some of the finest hotels in London, I have experienced what I shall politely call “accidents”. Yes, I have been there and dealt with it, because quite simply you have no choice.

And so the journey has continued. When, in February of this year, one of the two tumours started to grow again after several years of being controlled by the frequent chemo, Dr Peter advised me that a series of radiotherapy sessions were needed to see if the cancer could be destroyed by means of the laser-precision of today’s modern, incredible technology. And so, three months on, after six doses, just yesterday I got the results of the CT scan and found out my fate.

To be perfectly honest, I had a bad feeling about this one, and I did not sleep well for three nights beforehand, with part of my brain whispering to me in the dark early hours, “Is this the day when Dr Peter says, ‘I am very sorry, it has not worked’?” I quite simply did not know. Truthfully, I went into Dr Peter’s office, my emotions were raw. And then he told me that the treatment has worked: it has done its job. The scan showed no sign of the cancer. Well, it was a monsoon of joy and relief; tissues were used, and hugs exchanged. Wow. Just wow. But I was not out of the woods just yet: Dr Peter told me that I needed to do a blood test just to make sure all was well. At exactly 13:43 I got a message from the good doctor that said my blood tests were “really good”. I was finally cancer-free.

Bang! Just like that. No more chemotherapy. I could now, at long last, have both my hips replaced as a matter of urgency, as my mobility has been decimated. From nowhere, could I possibly be cured of this wicked, evil and vindictive disease, against all the odds? The answer is yes. It is quite simply a miracle, one that maybe I do not deserve, but one that has been bestowed upon me.

So yesterday I went down to my local, beautiful village church, which dates back to Norman times, with all the lives over the centuries that have walked through its hallowed doors, where I just sat in the empty and silent church and simply said thank you to all who had got me to this unique and special place in which I find myself, including, of course, the good Lord himself.

But the long week did not end there, oh no. On Tuesday 24 September I found myself in the rather grand Guildhall in Portsmouth, where I was attending the UK Bus Centre of Excellence conference and awards, where, much to my enormous delight and surprise, I was awarded a Lifetime Achievement Award for my services to the bus and coach industry. Truth be told, I really don’t know what I have done to deserve it, but I accepted with good grace and dedicated it to my father and mother, my heroes.

Receiving the BCoE Lifetime Achievement Award

I do not know why, but at the time I was reminded of something a friend of mine once said to me when I was fortunate enough to win a different award: “Austin Birks has spent his entire career just walking around making friends, whilst at the same time mostly making himself laugh. He then introduces his new friends to his old friends, who then go off and make good things happen.” Sounds about right to me!

So, there we have it. I have gone full circle. Who knows what the future brings, but just for now I will cherish the present and respect the past. And, as The Jackson Sisters famously sang, my most dear reader friends: “I believe in miracles.”