Annora's Race for Life

08 Jun 09

There have been two very dark periods in my life. The first came in the early part of 1996, when my wonderful mother Beatrice was diagnosed with breast cancer. I was devastated. I thought the world was going to end, and that’s by no means an exaggeration.

An operation at Hemel Hempstead General to remove the tumour that had formed in my mother’s right breast was successful, thank God, and several trips to Mount Vernon Hospital for specialist treatment and post-operative care meant that my inspiration in life pulled through. Touch wood, my mother is still in remission to this day and, although now into her eighties, remains fighting fit.

My other dark period arrived out of nowhere in the late summer of 2007. Around August time, Annora (aka Nonnie) – then my girlfriend, now my wife – fell ill with a cold she caught from either her twin sister Margaret, Maggie's husband Scott or their delightful little daughter Rebecca. All three had just returned from holiday, you see, and all three of them had picked up the sniffles somewhere on their travels.

Nothing unusual there, you’re probably thinking, only in this case the cold Nonnie caught was - according to Nonnie's doctor - the likely initiator of her latest Myalgic Encephalopathy (ME) episode, which is also referred to as Chronic Fatigue Syndrome and/or Post-Viral Fatigue Syndrome. Ignorant idiots call it The Slackers’ Disease, but that’s because they are what they are. Stupid.

Trying to find out about ME

Anyway, Annora’s condition progressively worsened to the point where she had to leave the job she loved and was more or less bed-ridden for three months.

I felt helpless. I bought books in a bid to ascertain what this thing called ME was all about. It turned out that no doctors really know the causes, much less the length of time someone can suffer from an ‘episode’ (Nonnie is still in the ‘attack’ phase now, although she’s thankfully much better than she was, for which I’m so grateful you wouldn’t believe).

I beat myself up pretty badly over the whole affair. I just couldn’t get it out of my head that maybe, somehow, I had caused all of this. I didn’t know how, but me being me I just felt it must have been my fault. On top of all this, Nonnie’s father Jim had been diagnosed with cancer. To cap it all, around the same time, I noticed a funny coloured mark with a lump beneath it on my shin bone. I convinced myself it must be ‘The Big C’.

I thought my world was imploding, and I couldn’t see any light at the end of the tunnel. I couldn’t even bear to pick up the phone when Annora called, and was hoping she wouldn’t text me as I just couldn’t deal with the thought of what might happen.

Going into work was difficult to say the least. I couldn’t even bring myself to speak to anyone. I just sneaked in at 9.30 in the morning, did my day’s work and left as soon as I could in the evening, only to slink home silently and go straight to bed. It was the worst and most traumatic period of my life.

Matters take a turn for the worse

Looking back now, I realise that my colleagues must have noticed I wasn’t my usual bubbly self, cracking jokes and making the tea… I can hear Sir Ron Alalouff’s response to that one… “What? You NEVER make the tea!” will be the retort of Fire Safety Engineering’s Editor, who just happens to be one of the nicest people I know. A true Gentleman with morals, values and a behavioural code that many others in this world would do well to emulate.

To my work colleagues, I apologise. Profusely. As you can see, there were reasons for what I’m sure must have come across to you as being my rather odd demeanour.

The weeks dragged on. The Security Excellence Awards came and went. For me, that night at The Hilton in 2007 was a huge struggle, but I never let on. I put on a brave face because I’m professional to the last. In hindsight, I should have told someone what was happening. If I could turn the clock back, I would have done so.

Nonnie’s father’s condition worsened. I’d booked several flights from Luton to Glasgow to go and see my beloved girl, and to support her in both her own and her father’s hour of need, but I didn’t turn up for any of them. I just didn’t have the strength. I was sick with worry. Then, one weekend, I made it into London. Don’t know how, but I did, and caught the train from St Pancras to Glasgow Central. Nonnie met me on the platform. She was walking with the aid of a stick. I saw her and just burst into tears.

We spent the evening in almost total silence, nibbling disinterestedly at our dinner and watching a DVD. I don’t remember what the film was, but I do recall with great clarity the next morning when I had to leave to catch the train back to London. As we embraced on Margaret and Scott’s doorstep, Nonnie was in floods of tears. So was I. I think that, given the strained atmosphere, she thought I would never return. I knew that I would. One day.

It’s always better to find out

That day turned out to be the eve of her father’s funeral in December. Just prior to this, my parents and my brother had more or less pushed me down to the doctors to have tests and be prescribed tablets to calm my nerves. Thank God, the test results were clear. I didn’t have cancer. My doctor said I was as fit as a butcher’s dog, save for the fact that I was (and still am, if truth be told) carrying a few pounds more than I ought to be.

In fact, I’m a healthy chap. I’ve only been in hospital twice in my life. Once when I tried to jump down the entire flight of stairs at my parents’ house at the tender age of 13 in honour of West Ham United winning the FA Cup back in 1980 (I failed, and split my head open!), and then again when I contracted a rather nasty infection after innocently scratching the back of my leg and had to have super strength antibiotics pumped into my system over the course of two or three days. I don’t intend going back to hospital again, folks.

Nonnie’s father’s funeral was, as you can imagine, a heartbreaking affair. Annora was devastated. In tears the whole day. So was Margaret and their mother, Marie-Anne. The entire family was grief-stricken.

I never really got to know Jim properly. Hadn’t even done the ‘Meet The Parents’ bit yet, but I went and paid my respects. It’s the least I could do. Any man who can raise a daughter like Annora – who’s easily the most beautiful and special person I’ve ever met – is a giant in my eyes.

Developing awareness of cancer

Fast forward to today. The family is still mourning Jim’s death. We always will. Annora, Margaret and I wanted to honour him by doing something to raise awareness about cancer among our friends and work colleagues. Whomever would listen. Since my mother had fallen ill with breast cancer, my awareness had been as complete as it could be. I began to do my bit in that summer of 1996.

First off, I changed my credit card so that 20 pence in every pound I spend on it is donated to Cancer Research UK. I also visited one of the registered charity’s shops and bought books and a pink ribbon badge for Mum, as well as a pink bracelet. I bought the blue bracelet for myself. That’s the colour the guys wear, you see, and I have worn said bracelet to this day (along with the yellow bracelet of LiveStrong, the cancer-fighting fund set up by seven times Tour de France victor Lance Armstrong).

Last year, Margaret decided to run the Race for Life in Glasgow. Annora wasn’t up to taking part herself, so we went along to support Maggie and, of course, we sponsored her. This year, Nonnie was desperate to be a participant. On numerous occasions in the last 12 months she has cried in mourning for her father. She misses him terribly, and by plucking up the courage and the energy to run the race she knew she could feel closer still to his spirit and his memory.

So… We set up a page in order that friends and family could sponsor her (they did, to the tune of a very healthy £230… and I’d like to make special mention here of SMT Online’s publisher Jonathan Collins, who has been a great supporter of both Annora and myself… Thank You, JC, from the both of us).

Logistics of the Race for Life

Nonnie’s race pack eventually dropped through the letterbox, and we discussed what we’d do on the day. I wanted to see if I could run the race alongside her as her carer. I just wasn’t comfortable with her being on her own. What if she collapsed through exhaustion? I called the race organisers and, to my great comfort, they said it was no problem. I could run. Magic!

We awoke at 7.30 am yesterday morning to bright blue skies and our little Yorkshire Terrier puppy Eddie – whom we’ve named in honour of Iron Maiden’s famous mascot – charging all over the living room looking for his breakfast!

Once he’d had his fill of food and water, we changed into our event clothes – in my case Adidas ¾ track trousers and the current Rangers home shirt – and waited for Margaret (who was to take part in the Race for Life once again this year) to give us a lift to Glasgow’s famous old Central Station.

It was a fairly brisk walk through town to Glasgow Green in the East End from where the Race for Life was due to start at 9.30 am. Not a bad warm up, in fact. We could see part of the main thoroughfare, Argyll Street, being cordoned off and lots of girls and women everywhere dressed in All Things Pink (including Stetsons and Bunny Girl ears!). The atmosphere was building…

Although the race did start bang on time, we didn’t actually pass the Start line until just gone 10.20 am simply because of the sheer numbers of people taking part. 17,500 folks, in fact, which represents the biggest (and best) Race for Life anywhere in the UK.

I moved my social world to Rutherglen last year for many reasons, one of them being the people of Glasgow. They are the Salt of the Earth, and the city is just the best you’ll encounter. Yesterday merely proved to me what I already knew.

Time for an unscheduled pit stop!

I was caught short about five minutes in, and had to nip into McDonalds for a ‘comfort break’. I was contemplating sneaking in a quick Sausage and Egg McMuffin as I’d had not a bean for breakfast, but I knew that the fine dining buffs back at the office – including the aforementioned Mr Alalouff, SHP’s hugely talented Editor Tina Weadick and that magazine’s lovely Art Editor, Camille de la Fosse – wouldn’t approve! I darted outside to grab Annora’s hand and carry on with the race.

We snaked around town, through Stockwell Street, along Buchanan Street (another main shopping avenue) and back along Argyll Street. At this point we passed by the official Rangers Store. I’m a staunch Ger and Season Ticket holder at Ibrox, but my wife’s a Celtic fan. Makes life interesting on Old Firm Derby Day, I can tell you!

To my huge surprise (Not!), Nonnie didn’t want to take a detour so that I could pick up a ‘Kris Boyd 100 Goals for the Gers’ T-shirt, thus we carried on our merry way!

During the race, we passed (and were passed) by all kinds of females. Young, old, middle-aged, the wheelchair-bound, girls in fancy dress, others with pictures of their loved ones who’d passed away adorning their shirts.

Indeed, every competitor was given a piece of card on which they could write a message that would be safety-pinned to their back for the duration of the race. I took a picture of Nonnie’s message (see the photos on the right hand panel of this page).

Always finish what you started

Margaret had sped way ahead of us. She’s a good deal fitter than Nonnie or I, you see, and was also running with the benefit of an iPod. Judging by how swiftly she completed the course, I suspect she must have been listening to some kind of obscure thrash metal band! More likely, it was her faves Take That or Nickelback!

A little more sedately, Nonnie and I finished the course in 55 minutes and 48 seconds exactly. I gave her a big hug and a kiss as we passed under the giant banner. “Well done, baby. I’m so proud of you!”

Very kindly, the sponsors (including Tesco and Highland Spring) had organised a pack for all finishers, which included water, an energy bar, after-sun lotion and other bits and bobs that were most welcome. Nonnie and I were also given a medal each by Cancer Research UK. Needless to say, I’ll be giving mine to my mother.

Having been up since the crack of dawn to feed wee Eddie, both Nonnie and I were pretty tired by now. Margaret was away home in the car with Scott, Rebecca and Scott’s mother Janette who’d popped down to see us all over the Finish line, so we decided to walk back into town and have a spot of lunch in Tivoli’s. Very nice it was, too. I’m afraid chipped potatoes were involved, Ronald!

Once we’d boarded the Number 20 bus to head home to our lovely house in Rutherglen, I thought we’d heard the last of cancer for the day, but I was wrong.

Tales from the front line

A man strode onto the bus a couple of stops after we’d boarded. We were sitting on the back seat (there’s more leg room for us six-footers there), and he duly plonked himself next to me. After a couple of minutes, the guy piped up: “I like the Rangers shirt, Big Man” (virtually all of the locals call me that, but I can’t think why…)

We began chatting away. Turns out he’s a Gers fan, too, so we talked about the Scottish Premier League and then next season’s Champions League. Then the talk became a tad more serious. The guy volunteered his name – Davie – and told us he was 35… and in remission from cancer. He’d seen Nonnie’s bag, and knew we’d just done the Race for Life, which is why he then opened his heart.

Davie had served in the first Gulf conflict, and had been shot down in Iraq. Of the five guys in the helicopter, only two survived. Both he and his remaining colleague were sprayed with chemicals and/or gases from whatever missiles had been used on them by the Iraqis, and this – so his doctors later said – was the likely cause of his present cancer.

Davie is now taking “a serious amount” of painkillers every day of the week to try and dull the pain. He’s back for another check up next week so that the hospital mandarins can tell him how he’s doing.

He lost his wife to cancer, by the way. She was only 35 at the time. Davie doesn’t want to go the same way.

You have to keep fighting on

“Keep fighting and stay positive,” I said to him. “If you just sit back and accept it the disease will beat you. Don’t let it. You have years left in you, mate.” I genuinely meant what I said.

We shook hands, and Davie alighted the bus to go and visit his mother who lives in the Castlemilk area of the city. After all that has happened, and given the emotions of the day, the tears began to well in my eyes. I couldn’t stop them. Annora knew it, too, and as we looked into each other’s eyes she began to cry as well.

I think, though, that they were happy tears. Tears borne of a great achievement. Tears borne of satisfaction at a job well done in that we’d finished the Race for Life and honoured the memory and misfortunes of so many.

As I write, it’s 2.20 am on Monday morning. Annora is fast asleep, and so is Eddie in his wee den. I just had to stay awake and write this article. On so many levels, it was important that I did. Annora and I have emerged from a terrible time in our lives to find ourselves married, settled down and happier than ever. I've never been more content, either in my working life or my social life. For that I have my close friends at home and at work to thank, and I do so here, publicly. It's on the record.

Having read what I’ve scripted, if you would like to help support the victims of cancer and the loved ones left behind by those who’ve died of this dreadful disease then please, please do. Donations can be made either on Annora’s Race for Life Sponsor Page or direct to Cancer Research UK. The money goes into the same pot. I’ve included both web links on the right hand panel of this page for your convenience.

As I said, cancer is a dreadful disease. I’m sure you don’t need me to tell you that. It wrecks lives and families. It ruins hopes and dreams. We desperately need the scientists out there to find a cure.

If you or your friends and colleagues can do anything to help (either financially, or by being a volunteer and doing good deeds) I would urge you to step forward.

Together, we can make a difference. Together, we can beat cancer.

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