Warning: Graphic images below.
Jamie Mirrlees, 46, shares his true life story:
I climbed down the ladder, grabbed a tissue and dabbed at my right eye.
“What you crying about this time!?” joked one of the other blokes.
I worked as a window cleaner and was used to having water in my eye, but this was getting ridiculous.
“My eye won’t stop streaming,” I winced, making myself blink a few times.
An hour later, I’d had enough so I went to see a doctor.
“Blocked tear duct,” she said, sending me home with drops.
But weeks passed and it was as bad as ever.
“I reckon I’m losing half a litre of water a day,” I complained to my sister, Karen.
I went back to the doc who told me I had a stye and gave me antibiotics.
But that didn’t work either.
I learned to live with it but then a couple of years later a small purple lump appeared beside my eye.
Karen insisted I get it checked out, but we were just about to go overseas to celebrate her 50th and I didn’t want anything stopping us going so I ignored her pleas.
When we got back, the lump was bigger.
Soon it was the size of a golf ball and it was becoming difficult to see.
The doctor looked really worried and sent me for a scan and biopsy.
Then I got a phone call telling me the results were in.
“You should bring a family member in with you,” the doctor told me.
That scared me.
The specialist got straight to the point.
“I’m afraid I have some upsetting news,” he began.
Karen gripped my hand.
Me before the problems started.
“The lump on your face is like the tip of the iceberg,” he explained. “There’s much more of the tumour beneath the skin.”
Then he paused, took a breath and said, “It’s stage four cancer.”
Karen started crying while I just stared ahead in shock.
“We can operate,” he continued, “But it’s very close to your brain so it would be very dangerous and we wouldn’t be able to remove all the tumour.”
If I didn’t have the surgery, I’d have only three months to live. I thought of my girls, Taylor and Jamie-Lee.
I knew it was risky, but I decided to have the surgery in the hope they’d have their dad for a little while longer.
When it was time for the op, I was terrified.
“Am I going to die?” I asked the surgeon.
“No,” he said. “But it’s likely you’ll lose your eye.”
I shuddered.
“But you’ll be alive,” Karen reminded me.
Waking in hospital the next day, I felt groggy and disorientated and I couldn’t feel my face.
The consultant sat beside me and gently explained they’d had to remove most of my face.
“It was a huge mass,” he said. “From your forehead, all the way down to your neck.”
They’d removed my eye, half my nose, a large part of my cheek and most of my teeth.
When Karen visited, the look on her face said it all.
“You’re so brave!” she wept.
Then the nurse handed me a mirror: “Just remember, this operation saved your life,” she said.
But nothing could’ve prepared me for my reflection.
Me just after my surgery.
I’m the first to say I’d never been a Brad Pitt before, but now I looked like a monster.
“You’re still our Jamie,” Karen said softly.
Over the next months, I was in and out of hospital for reconstructive surgery. Surgeons took skin from my back, arms and head to try to rebuild my face, leaving terrible scars all over my body.
It’s been agony, and my face is still a mess.
The next step will be to use cartilage from my ear to attempt to rebuild my nose.
Now, I’m embarrassed to leave the house.
I’m pleased to still be alive, but angry with my doctor for not referring me sooner.
It’s not just half my face I’ve lost – it’s my life, too.
I used to love going out, but now I’m too embarrassed to leave the house – I won’t even look in the mirror.
I find swallowing really difficult, so I can’t eat much and my speech is difficult for people to understand. Taylor has become my carer, she’s been amazing.
I’m just so grateful my family have been so strong and supportive. I wouldn’t be here without them.
I’d urge anyone who has any symptom that worries them to insist on a referral to a specialist straight away.
I had to lose half my face to save my life, and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy.
