Dedication (The Little Book of Leadership)

I knew someone who caught a throat infection in the summer of 2021. The initial illness subsided, but the person was left with a hoarse voice. A month later, their voice was still not back to normal, so, after a loving nudge from their partner, they booked a telephone appointment with a doctor.

At the end of the appointment, the doctor concluded that there was no need to worry. Due to the origin of the condition being known, the doctor was confident that the hoarseness would naturally resolve. The doctor advised the person to make another appointment in three weeks if it persisted.

Three weeks later and the hoarseness had not gone, so the person telephoned the surgery and spoke to the doctor again. The doctor repeated his previous advice, but added that if the hoarseness did not clear in another three weeks, then an in-person appointment would be required.

Another three weeks passed, and the voice was still not right, so the person followed the doctor’s advice and made a physical appointment. A couple of weeks after that, the person found themselves in the doctor’s waiting room with the expectation of leaving 30 minutes later with a prescription.

As the appointment progressed, the doctor became visibly more concerned. He finished his examination and steadied himself before saying to the person that they were exhibiting symptoms of lung cancer. The doctor explained that time was now a factor and further tests were needed as a priority.

The doctor booked an emergency chest x-ray and an appointment with an ear, nose and throat consultant. There was an unavoidable four-week wait (the UK was in a pandemic). The person asked how they could access information in the interim and the doctor directed them to the National Health Service (NHS) website. The person left the doctor, got into their car, and immediately accessed the NHS website.

They felt a knot in their stomach when reading that only one in twenty survive more than a year after diagnosis. Now they understood why the doctor had emphasised that testing was a priority.

The person used the four weeks to ensure that their critical illness cover, insurance policy holders, solicitors and a human resources confidante were all aligned. The person took comfort in knowing their loved ones would be financially secure if the worst outcome was to become a reality.

The day of the x-ray arrived. The entire process was performed with perfect professionalism by a doctor and nurse combo, who provided a polite and underwhelming experience that lasted no more than 15 minutes. The person then drove back to their home feeling a little numb.

A week later and the appointment with the consultant arrived. Having mentally prepared for their worst fears to be confirmed, the journey to the hospital was a strangely calm affair. When your enemy is a disease, then it would seem everything is quite matter of fact.

Once in the hospital, the person soon found the oncology waiting room. The person could tell by the look in the eyes of those already in the waiting room that they (young and old) had already received their bad news and were receiving treatment.

The person’s heart broke for them all, and the families and loved ones they might leave behind. He then composed himself as he fought back a huge feeling of sadness and guilt, as he thought of what his early death might do to those he would leave behind.

The person’s name was called, and they were shown to a room with a consultant and a nurse. Before anyone could say hello, the person asked, ‘Do I have cancer?’ The consultant replied, in a very serious tone, that there was no evidence of cancer in the x-rays and the possibility was now remote.

The nurse handed the person a tissue to wipe away any tears of relief. The person did not have tears at this point and so handed it back. A short time later, during the consultation, the person became aware of the nurse wiping her own eyes. When she saw him looking, she explained with a smile that it was rare to give good news, and it always overwhelmed her.

I am sure you have probably suspected that the person in this story was me. The feeling of relief when hearing that my x-rays were clear was immense. I had effectively been given a second chance at life, and it was a sensation that I still cannot put into words.

Nobody in my personal or professional life knew about this at the time.

I wanted to begin this book with this story and use it as a reminder to us all that it is unlikely that you will ever know a person’s full story, especially if you only know them in a professional sense. So, be as kind as you can and act with professional integrity, because not everyone gets the good news I did.

This book is dedicated to the families of those who were in the oncology waiting room, and the loved ones that I would have left behind had the consultant given me different news. The profits that are received from this endeavour will be donated to Macmillan Cancer Support in the hope that they might make the journey easier for those who have no option but to travel that frightening path.

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