Tubbyman Tales

So, that 2019 post didn’t date well. A lot has happened in the world since then, much of which I don’t need to recap. So I will stick with the personal stuff and focus on my cathartic need to write in 2025.

In 2019 we took the decision to leave Cayman and move back to the UK, via six months off. That started well in February 2020, taking a campervan in New Zealand with our then 2 year old little girl. New Zealand seemed quite quiet, and we started hearing things about this thing called Coronavirus. That’s certainly a story to come back to…

We’ve now been back in the UK for almost five years, and I pick up the story towards the end of 2024, after an intense (productive, challenging, satisfying) year with work with equally challenging periods with our (different) two year old little boy (other stories to come back to).

I had a strange feeling about 2025, I don’t know why but hitting mid-forties seemed significant for some reason. Turns out I was right.  

Read more: 2025

It started with a little bloating on Christmas Day 2024. Who doesn’t get a little bloating on Christmas Day? But this was before lunch. I do like picking as I cook, so maybe that was it. But I got more bloated even though I had a smaller lunch than usual and didn’t feast on the leftovers like usual.  

We then went to visit the in-laws in Wales, taking a good batch of turkey with us. My stomach discontent got worse and I abstained from drinking and only had small meals, my annual treat of turkey and onion sandwiches not being wolfed down with the relish I usually experience.  

The discomfort grew and was affecting my sleep, although our two year old was still the primary driver behind our sleepless nights, I was now struggling to get down even when he was calm.  

We were due out for a family meal on Sunday but the pain was too severe, we contemplated a Welsh accident and emergency ward but settled on a return to England where at least my wife and kids would be at home if I was in A&E until the small hours. Thankfully, a call to 111 (the UK non-emergency urgent care booking) on the drive home secured me a check-up for that evening. Score one for the English NHS I thought.  

Grateful though I was to be seen by a doctor, a cursory examination and urine sample led to a seemingly unlikely diagnosis of a urinary infection, antibiotics and to follow up with my GP. Strange, I didn’t seem to match the classic symptoms or urinary infections – it was actually a relief to wee, not a pain.  

My NHS GP practice is overwhelmed and after a 35 minutes on hold the next morning, feeling no immediate relief from the antibiotics, I was told to try again tomorrow as one of the doctors had broken her leg and they were rearranging her patients and probably wouldn’t have anything until the new year even if I rang back tomorrow.  

Fortunately we have private medical through work and with the New Year holidays looming I wanted to get my prescription checked so arranged a private appointment. This exam was more thorough and immediately ruled out a urinary infection but raised the spectre of appendicitis, or at the least a grumbling appendix that should be monitored. I got different antibiotics and a recommendation to see a gastroenterologist specialist.  

Things then accelerated quickly, with an ultrasound followed by an MRI and a CT scan revealing blockages to my urethras (which connect kidneys and bladder) and a blood test revealing my kidney function was down to 30%. Still, I was reassured that a blockage on both sides at least ruled out cancer – not that I had thought of having cancer. I had tried to not think much about cancer since my mum died of it in 2007, but thoughts did recur at various life milestones, and I often tried to raise money to stop it happening to other people.  

The gastroenterologist referred me to a urologist, who called me on Friday afternoon to say he was adding me to his surgical list on Monday to try to fix my kidneys by inserting stents (tubes) into my urethras, to help them with the blockage.   

Grateful for the prompt attention, I had a few hours to wrap up a few urgent tasks for work to clear the first few days of the week as he said I shouldn’t be taking important decisions for 24-48 hours post surgery – I took this to mean that giving legal advice in that window could also be detrimental to my clients. Fortunately my team at work are amazing and I was able to wrap up in time for some time with the kids after school/nursery.  

He also got me to go in for a further routine blood test ahead of the surgery.  

I was conscious that there were two ways to get a stent into my urethra, either a surgical incision or through the natural opening nearest to them… I didn’t dwell on that too much over the weekend, just hoped it would work and relieve the pain.  

He had very kindly slotted me into his list and so I had a bit of a wait until he confirmed that yes, they were taking the natural route and yes (thankfully) I be under general anaesthetic and would also have a more in-depth scan using a device in a different natural route. That wasn’t the most exciting news but we needed to get to the bottom of this (no pun intended). It also involved my first catheter experience and I have to say that was not a pleasant one. I was very groggy when I came round most focused on the fact that I couldn’t seem to wee, although the catheter was in fact doing its job.  

Then the consultant came to explain that the procedure had been partially successful in that he had managed to insert a stent into my right urethra, but not the left so we would need to go in surgically to insert that as my kidney function had been down to 30%. With the catheter doing its job I was already feeling less pain and glad to be nearing a solution.  

Then he continued.  

He explained that while he was “in there” he said my prostate felt a little weird. He’s one of the leading prostate specialists in the country so he would know. He also said that my PSA from my blood test was 186 which he said was “elevated”.  

I hadn’t known they were testing my PSA and all the scans had previously shown that my prostate was not enlarged. With the dual blockage I had also been reassured that it was not cancer – not that I had been guessing it was.  

Now, looking back. I know that PSA stands for prostate Specific Antigen and it should be around 2 or less. Mine was 186.  

He said I should book in for a biopsy and a PET CT PSMA scan. The former involves a needle extracting cells which are then tested in a lab, the latter involves a radioactive agent that tracks the extent of certain types of cells in the body.  

Looking back, my specialist knew exactly what this was, but wanted to try to exclude it before telling me.  

To be continued…