6 1GT Tuesday July 21 2020 | the times

body&soul

GARETH IWAN JONES FOR THE TIMES

‘P

lease come with me.

My name is Jesus.”

As I followed the

nurse in long white

protective robes, the

double doors swung

shut behind me. It

was mid-April, the

height of the coronavirus pandemic in

the UK, and I had come for a biopsy

on an egg-sized lump above my

collarbone. “Which scalpel?” Jesus

asked the radiologist. “The big one or

the very big one?” An overenthusiastic

scalpel-wielding Jesus was only the

beginning of an experience that would

grow more surreal by the day.

Rewind a month and I had been

studying for a master’s degree in

international relations in Paris.

However, as it became clear that

coronavirus was marching east to

west, and government measures to

combat it were becoming more

severe, I packed a few belongings and

abandoned my flat in Paris. Even then,

arriving back in England — where the

virus didn’t yet seem to be perceived

as a threat — and self-isolating a few

days before lockdown was imposed,

I had no idea what was coming.

A few weeks into lockdown,

however, I began to grow concerned.

A few weeks earlier, I’d seen a doctor

about a lump in my neck and been

reassured that it would most likely go

away on its own. Yet I was sure that

the lump was still swelling at the base

of my neck. Although many people

put off seeking medical attention for

life-threatening conditions during the

pandemic, I called the doctor.

While my GP took one look at

my lump over video link and referred

me for an ultrasound scan, I had to

stand my ground with the hospital

to be seen for one. With all efforts

focused on coronavirus, my case had

been deemed non-urgent and my

appointments cancelled. Owing to a

shortage of equipment, space and staff,

Esmé O’Keeffe at her

home in Wiltshire

health

I’m 22 and

I’ve had

cancer and

Covid in

lockdown

When Esmé O’Keeffe felt a lump in her

neck, doctors told her it would go away.

Weeks later she was diagnosed with

Hodgkin lymphoma — and coronavirus

there has been a huge increase in

the number of people in England

awaiting scans. The Royal College

of Radiologists has described the

situation as “a perfect storm”.

The atmosphere in the hospital

when I did go in was apprehensive

and steeped in an unnerving silence.

Anxious and distracted, I kept getting

lost; there was no one around to ask

for directions. The results of the

biopsy took 72 hours rather than the

usual ten days. With consultations

moved online and all non-urgent

procedures paused, you had to be a

serious case just to be walking the

corridors. So when, three days after

the ultrasound and biopsy, I was

called back in for an in-person

consultation, I knew it was bad news.

As well as the lymphoma above my

collarbone, a PET/CT scan revealed

a second, large cluster of cancerous

lymph nodes nestled between my

lungs and heart, indicating stage

two Hodgkin lymphoma.

Then, a few days before I was due

to start chemotherapy, I received an

unexpected telephone call from the

consultant. A routine coronavirus test

had returned a positive result. The

start of my chemotherapy would have

to be delayed.

This was a shock — not only

because I did not have symptoms,

but also because my partner and I

thought we’d already had it. Early in

lockdown, he had been barely able to

move from his bed for two weeks. The

coincidence seemed too great. My

symptoms were milder — just a

slight tickle in my throat — but,

given the prevalence of asymptomatic

cases, I assumed I was one of those.

And now it looked as though I’d

been correct. Although there is still

much uncertainty surrounding the

virus, it seems that when it dies it

sheds its DNA. It can linger in the

respiratory tract after the patient

recovers — in my case, for at least

six weeks — probably representing

an inactive infection.

Eventually, about ten days later, I

was retested and returned a negative

result, and was told it was safe to start

the chemotherapy. In early April

concerns about the NHS’s ability to

meet cancer care demands in the

context of the pandemic and protect

It is unnerving

when a doctor

visits your home

in a hazmat suit