Well, seven years on from my cancer diagnosis, I’m still here. What a journey.
- Austin Birks
- Sep 19
- 7 min read
Well, who would have thought it: seven years ago today I had the phone call that changed everything. Life would never be the same again and, to be fair, it has not been. At exactly 10:47 I was fast asleep in a house in Solihull, in fact it was an annexe. I was flat out when my phone rang. I did not know the number, so I answered. The voice was not familiar: “Is that Austin?” “Yes.” “Hello, this is Dr John, we met at Nuffield Health in Warwick. I referred you for a CT scan.”
“Yes, I recall, Dr John,” I said, then added that I thought he was on holiday. “I am,” he replied, “but that’s why I’m calling you.
I’ve just had a call from the chap who has analysed your results and it is not good news, I’m afraid. They have diagnosed a very large tumour on your abdomen and you need to go straight to Warwick Hospital A&E. Bring a bag, but you need to go now, time is of the essence.” Well, that certainly woke me up. I didn’t know what to say. One second I was asleep and the next I had a major tumour in my stomach. I called Yvonne, my wonderful partner, and told her what had happened, she was already up and working.
Within 20 minutes we were on the way to Warwick, which was about 50 minutes away. Suddenly we were there, in the car park. We got out and headed into reception. I joined the queue and waited my turn, and then there I was: “Hello, I’ve been told to report here. My name is Austin Birks.” “OK, come with me.” I was taken straight to a side ward and told to put on one of those back-to-front gowns that tie at the back. Yvi helped me put it on correctly so I didn’t embarrass myself by entertaining people with my backside as I walked past.
Shortly, two very polite young doctors appeared and took my first blood sample. God knows how many buckets have been extracted over the last seven years, but there you go, you have to start somewhere. They asked me some questions about what I did for a living, so I told them that I worked for a cloud-based IT company that made some very clever apps for large transport companies. They were very interested and then they went away. A bit later another doctor appeared, asked me who I was, then asked me about the apps and was genuinely interested. He told me his name, he was Dr Peter Correa, and that he was my oncologist. The man has been my saviour and friend from that day to this. I have been so lucky to be cared for by him, it could have been so different. But here we both are, seven years on.
So let’s have a little recap of the highlights since that day seven years ago:
On 18 September 2018 I had major surgery from the amazing Dr Karen Busby at Warwick Hospital, who literally saved my life against all the odds when she removed the tumour from my abdomen, which was the size of her fist, and she had big hands! Even though the cancer had burst through the bowel wall, which is usually a death sentence, she managed to save me. Three and a half hours of surgery and 28 stitches later, and after 14 days, I was allowed out of the amazing Aylesbury Ward and sent home.
In July 2019 I had my second life-saving surgery after the cancer sadly returned, having previously been told that, against all the odds, I was all clear. This time it was worse than ever and my prognosis for survival was not good, a 25% chance of surviving two years. However, after Dr Peter put me on another course of strong chemotherapy, he suggested there might be another life-saving surgery called the HIPEC procedure, which was quite a rare operation. This would involve two first-class surgeons for a five-hour operation where I was quite literally “gutted like a fish” and ended up with 64 stitches. Even worse, the night before my operation I was told it was cancelled, as all the beds had been taken by COVID patients. Worse still, the only way I could have the surgery was to pay for it myself, all £51,817. With the help of my wonderful family I raised the money and had my operation at the Priory Hospital in Edgbaston, Birmingham. Luckily it worked and, after several months of carefully selected chemotherapy from Dr Peter, I got the all clear, against all the odds.
Then, less than three months later, it was back again, this time wedged deep in scar tissue. So it was back to more hardcore chemotherapy. As it stands right now, over the last seven years I have completed 120 doses of chemo, a huge amount of chemicals pumped into a body seriously weakened with a very low immune system, but against all the odds, I am still here.
I recently underwent six doses of radiotherapy at the QE Hospital in Birmingham, and today, three months on, I went for my CT scan to find out if the treatment has worked or not. I will find out from Dr Peter on 29 September, as sadly my cancer started to grow again in February this year. So the game of Russian roulette continues.
I have survived three sepsis attacks, the last one keeping me in an isolation ward for five nights and six days back in March.
I endured almost daily stomach injections for two years, which have recently been replaced by tablets, leaving me with a permanent scar.
I have also had to deal with three extremely nasty infections all over my arms, legs, back, face and scalp. They were truly horrific and even scared young children in shops. The worst took place in a Tesco Express in Halesowen, where a little boy asked his mother why I had a “monster face”, which, quite frankly, I had. Poor mum was mortified. I just smiled it off. Mind you, it almost finished my modelling career, but not quite.
I have had numerous mouth ulcers, my record being 13 at the same time.
Insomnia has been a constant companion from the outset and just leaves you drained. At one time I went through a period of night terrors, not recommended, as they are very real.
I had one minor heart attack and now have two heart conditions: atrial fibrillation and a second condition causing heart flutters, so I take beta-blockers every day, but it is all under control.
I have suffered some truly atrocious embarrassment as a result of a very badly behaved stoma bag that let me down in the worst possible way in several very public places, but you honestly cannot help it. The worst was when I was out shopping in Morrisons in Rubery, when all hell let loose as it exploded in the freezer aisle one hot summer’s day. But you learn to cope and move on, as it is essential to saving your life.
At present both my hips need full replacement, as there is no soft tissue left in either hip. The pain is, quite frankly, awful and some days I can barely walk. In October last year I got as far as the operating theatre, about to have my left hip replaced, when they realised I had a very nasty ingrowing toenail which was actually a gaping open wound. The surgeon was very apologetic, but said the risk of infection was too great, so it was cancelled at the 11th hour. It took months of very painful trips to the wonderful Podiatry team at Kidderminster before it was finally fixed, so hopefully the hips can be replaced soon.
To be fair, I could go on banging on, but that will do for now. It has been quite a challenge over the last seven years, but I am truly grateful that I still enjoy a rich and rewarding life, thanks to the brilliant Dr Peter and the fantastic team at the NHS; my most wonderful family; my daughter and her lovely mum; Yvi, Liz, Chris, Cathy; and legions of kind friends from all the chapters of my life. They have truly sustained me throughout the dark times and I can never thank them enough.
Cancer has allowed me to do things that I would never have done: the blog about living with cancer and a stoma bag (www.thebagforlife.co.uk) with numerous blogs, podcasts, presentations and videos; and one of my three stand-up comedy acts at the iconic Glee Club in Birmingham.
I have written a book and I have had the honour of visiting three prisons to talk to prisoners about getting checked for cancer. All experiences I would never have enjoyed before I became ill.
To bring the journey right back to the present day: last Saturday my brother Chris and I both took part in the Sir Chris Hoy Tour de Force cycle event in Glasgow. Chris did the 37 miles event while I did, as it happened, 50 minutes on a static bike at the velodrome, and what an experience it was. My medal was presented to me by none other than the First Minister for Scotland, John Swinney, and what a great experience it was too. My lovely daughter joined, along with my sister-in-law. Chris and I raised between us £6,200, all towards Cancer Research UK. It was, at the end of the day, my own way of giving back after I have been given so much for so long, namely the gift of life. And what greater gift is there?
Never give up, never give in. Here’s to the next seven years, my dear friends.