Cancer, Clots And Covid: Craig Macartney

 A synopsis of life during a pandemic in Ipswich.

 

My name is Craig Macartney. I am 51 Years old, and a teacher at Copleston High School in Ipswich. I have taught at Copleston for 29 Years. I am a History Teacher, and have many roles at the school including Head of History, Head of Humanities, Head of Year and my current role as Strategic Lead for Information, Advice and Guidance, including Careers advice for the 1800 students who attend Copleston.

What follows is a brief synopsis of my personal experience of life with cancer during the Covid Pandemic.

In late February 2020 I remember going for a meal in Ipswich town centre with the Assistant CEO of Suffolk Council. We had both watched the news. Chris Bally had tentatively raised, under AOB, whether the novel virus Covid 19 should be considered as something that councils should be worried about. Wuhan in China seemed a long way away, and the Prime Minister had missed 5 COBRA meetings. Councils were more interested in the impact of Brexit; and after SARS, austerity and the ongoing Saga of trying to “bring the country together” there wasn’t an appetite from any local politicians- or our new 32 year old MP- for anything to happen. It was decided to discuss at the next meeting.

By the first week of March, news coverage had moved on from “Brits caught on Covid Cruise ships” to pictures of hospitals filling up in Spain and Italy. Schools were more concerned with Sports Relief on the 16th March. In the preceding week, I had given 5 Assemblies to 300 students as part of Careers Week. As an ex-Head of Year 11, I had presented certificates with Terry Baxter from Ipswich Central to 300 students and their parents. As a Trustee of Inspire Suffolk I went to a Prize Giving Evening, which included the Editor of the East Anglian Daily Times, leaders of local political parties and councils, the Police and Crime Commissioner, and many leading local members of the Suffolk business world.  For the end of March we had planned an Alumni Evening at Copleston. The School, built in 1939, was due to be knocked down, as a new school had been built. We had two presentations planned for 1000 people, largely an elderly demographic. Nationally, the Cheltenham Festival was going ahead, Liverpool were playing Atletico Madrid at Anfield and the Six Nations rugby internationals had started. Personally, on the weekend of March 14th, and in the absence of any government guidance, I met my daughter at Piccadilly Circus to watch Chekov’s “Uncle Vanya”. On the trains, tubes and walking around, London had a surreal feel to it. Part empty, part mystical. Our seats were upgraded to the best the Harold Pinter Theatre could offer. Who knew? This was life before super spreaders and SAGE were on the radar.

By the next weekend, people had started to present all over the UK with Covid 19. I spoke to my daughter at Reading University, and decided to pick her up. At school, student absence rose, coughing rose exponentially, and students started to attended lessons in medical grade masks. The PM appeared on TV attempting to provide reassurance. He himself advocated shaking hands with Covid patients. The Department of Education gave no advice to schools. Supermarket shelves emptied. The silence from the Government was deafening. They had got Brexit done. What else was there to worry about?

All changed in the last week of March. All schools were shut, and shops, retail and pubs were all shuttered. There was a rush on toilet roles and pasta. Learning went online. It felt like there should be tumble weed blowing through the streets.  Now Government decreed that the public needed to stay at home to save the NHS. Fear rose. Deaths by the first week of April from Covid 19 were 1000 per day. People stayed away from their GP and local hospital.

Personally, abdominal pains rose to such a point that no pain killer could dull the pain. Why bother the NHS? After a week, my daughter forced me to go to the GP in Ivry Street. The doctor wore PPE- a full mask and gloves- and phoned ahead to A and E at Ipswich Hospital. On arrival, the only questions asked were regarding travel to Wuhan- did I have a cough or temperature? No checks. In the UK between March and May, 24 million people flew long haul and from the US and Europe, no lock down or track and trace like in Australia and New Zealand.

I was told to go via the south wards to Stradbrooke ward. The whole site was empty. It was April 5th. Where once the wards were full they were now empty. The elderly moved home or into social care, with no Covid checks. On the ward were seven staff: consultants, registrar, nurses, health care assistants. Yet no patients but me.

My friend Bob Ansell worked on the ward. He came to chat to me. The opinion was I had possible appendicitis. I went for a CT scan to confirm. It was then that my world turned upside down. I had bowel cancer, they needed to cut out part of my bowel, and a tumour, now. I spoke to Bob. He confirmed that because of Covid it was dangerous to have the operation and to check myself out to speak to my family as there were no visitors allowed. Armed with morphine I left that evening and broke the news to my family. I returned to the Hospital the next day. The ward had a weird feel to it. Staff worked between wards, masking tape and polythene separated doors with covid. My operation was cancelled 3 times even though I was marked up. I had to go home for seven weeks as the Endoscopy Department was shut at Ipswich Hospital between March 2020 and May 2020.

I was the second patient to have a colonoscopy in May. Staff had learnt to socially distance, the air was purified, there were separate beds and teams of people, and you had to bring your own drink and food. Staff were apprehensive and learning how to adapt on the job.

I had three Covid tests and two more cancellations, as Covid had stopped operations for bowel cancer. By June 16th I was prepared to accept anything. I eventually had the operation in the day surgery block. I had a five hour operation; ten inches of bowel and a tumour removed, forty metal clips keeping my stomach together. I was very lucky, but my bowel did not restart because of adhesions. Just as my clips healed, I had to be cut through the wound, and have another 5 hour operation. My lungs had filled up with three litres of fluid. I couldn’t breath that well, and the operation was a life saver.

Unable to eat, I had to be feed through a PICC line through my arms. I lost two and half stone, had a Robinson Crusoe beard, and even my close family couldn’t recognise me. Staff had double PPE, it was hot and they were exhausted from 12 hour shifts in a pandemic. I was in hospital for four weeks but survived. Others didn’t.

From September 2020 I embarked on 10 rounds of chemotherapy. The whole operation of cancer care had already moved to the Nuffield Hospital at Foxhall in wave one of Covid, but was back. Each round consisted of three hours of chemo and then 48 hours on a pump at home and then a disconnect. As expected, each round reduces your immune system, you can’t feel your hands and face in the cold. Masked up, staff were always positive  but chemo in a pandemic in winter is no fun. I became more and more ill into November. By the first week of December I was taken to A and E. I was lucky that they picked up that my portal vein was blocked by the chemo. It was serious, and I was taken via ambulance to Addenbrookes Hospital. I was placed in a high dependent hepatology theatre, but after four days consultants decided not to operate. I was on medication and moved to a four bed ward, where there were two other patients awaiting Liver transplants and a homeless guy, Scouse Dave. Illness levels all. The NHS treats all and I am thankful for that. We were tested for Covid each week. I tested positive for covid on Christmas Day 2020. I was taken to the ICU isolation ward, where there were skilled staff in “Moon suits”. Patients were still being treated. I ended up being in there for three weeks in isolation. We tested drugs for research, we had no contact with most staff other than phone. Facetime was godsend in the six weeks I was in. I lost my sense of smell and taste. Some passed away, but staff had learnt a lot from the first wave, less ventilation, turning patients and trying new medications. Being treated by the specialist staff reassured me.

I had survived Covid, clots and cancer. I had spent over 70 days in hospitals during a pandemic. My cancer was in remission, my clots were dispersing and Covid had been kicked into touch. In February 2021 I had my first vaccine dose, the AstraZeneca. Because of my cancer diagnosis I had the second dose only four weeks later. It usually takes 7 years to develop a vaccine. Inside a month I had successfully and safely had both.

I do not know what the future holds. I have survived during a pandemic, extreme conditions. I have seen people at their best in the NHS. Going forward, I am positive about the future, and will do all I can to support young people at Copleston with careers, training and further and higher education.

At present nearly 150,000 people in the UK have died of  Covid 19. It is not over yet, and there will still be a personal journey, as well as a significant journey for the people of Ipswich.

We need to live well with cancer; as with Covid. We cannot give up life, we need to live life. I hope from learning from the past, and the experiences of individuals, that we can create a positive and prosperous future for all.

Best wishes,

Craig Macartney

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