From Disability to Ability: My Journey

By Rob Franks

Back in 2011, an incidental finding after getting injured playing cricket set up a chain of events that would change my life forever!

The autobiography is told in an honest and very candid way, from the very first diagnosis in 2011 right up

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rob Franks
• Release date: Mar 30, 2023
• ISBN: 9781805410591

Book preview

How It All Began

It was a normal Saturday in late April 2011. My partner Carla and I got up, fed our 9-month-old son Harry, and had a coffee.

Later that morning, I packed my cricket kit into the car and awaited the delights of playing cricket that afternoon.

Sport has always played a huge part in my life as I find it a release. Since an early age, I’ve played all kinds of sports. My sports of choice have always been cricket in the summer and rugby or hockey in the winter. There is nothing better than having my family on the side line watching me play as it gives me a great sense of pride knowing they are rooting for me.

I usually get to the cricket ground early on a Saturday to play, then I do my usual stretching and help set up the ground for a fun-filled afternoon of cricket. Today was no different. I’d been playing well over the last few weeks and felt really confident going into the game. My batting number of choice was usually 4 or 5.

We won the toss and elected to bat. I was told I’d be batting 5 today, which meant I had some time to relax with the hope that the openers would put on a good score before I needed to put my pads on. However, a wicket fell quickly, so I ran off to the changing room to pad up.

While padding up, I have a ritual of putting my right pad on first. Don’t ask me where this has come from but it’s something I’ve always done. At this time, I like to think about how I’m going to bat; will I need to bat aggressively or conservatively? Will I need to rebuild an innings for the team? I always have many thoughts going around my head. I also worry a lot before I bat, although some players sit there and just relax, because personally, I can’t; I’m up and down like a jack in the box! I just cannot sit still.

At last, it was my turn to bat. I went out with confidence feeling really good. I got a few singles and I felt set to get a big score. I got to 23 and I was bowled by a ball that was straightened up on me… I slouched off knowing I could have done a lot better. We finally posted an okay total and one we can defend. Luckily, I’m an all-rounder so usually I’ll get a bowl and, hopefully, a wicket or two.

It was around halfway through the game and the batsman hit a ball to the right of me, so I chased after the ball and slid to retrieve it. Suddenly, I felt a bit of a twinge in my left knee. I got to my feet and threw the ball in to the wicketkeeper. I bent my knee to see if it was okay; I’ll be honest, it didn’t feel great but I didn’t want to let my team down so I carried on. As the game went on, my knee began to feel worse but I got through to the end of the game and it was a win. Feeling a mixture of happiness and pain, I packed all my kit into the car and, after a few goodbyes, I got into my car and drove home to my family.

Carla, who was there when I injured my knee, mentioned to me that I should see how it went and, if it was no better, I should pop to the doctors to see what they thought.

A few days passed and the pain hadn’t subsided so I made an appointment with my doctor for later in the week to see what he had to say about it.

I was in the doctor’s waiting room, feeling rather sorry for myself and annoyed that this may put me out of playing cricket for a couple of games.

Eventually, I was called in to see Dr Newman, my GP. Now Dr Newman is a fantastic doctor - he is always willing to listen and help in any way he can. He is also sports mad and knows what sport means to me.

Dr Newman moved my knee about and noticed that I was in pain with it. He suggested I make an appointment to have an x-ray on my knee as he thought I may have just twisted it slightly, so he referred me for the x-ray to rule out anything more.

I rang the hospital the next morning and I was given an appointment the following day.

I didn’t really think anything more about it except the inconvenience of having to go to the hospital and pay a huge amount in parking fees there just to be told I’d nothing major and it was just a strain.

The x-ray took around 20 minutes and I was told the results would be with my doctor in 7 days’ time. All I could think about was that I wouldn’t be able to play cricket on Saturday. On the plus side, though, that meant I got to spend more time with my children and my beautiful family.

Not the News I was Expecting

It must have been 24 hours after my x-ray when I got a phone call from my doctor’s receptionist asking me to make an appointment at my earliest convenience, so the appointment was made for the next day in the late afternoon.

My wife said she wanted to come with me to see what the doctor had to say so we did a few bits and pieces during the day then headed off to the appointment.

When we got to the doctors, we took a seat in the waiting room and waited to be called in to see the doctor.

A few minutes later, I was called in and I asked my wife to come in with me to get the results.

We were greeted with Dr Newman’s cheery grin and smile. Then his voice changed and he said, Rob, we have your x-ray results. I think you should sit down while we tell you. I vividly remember saying to him that it couldn’t be that bad, surely, and I started laughing.

He put his hand on my knee and said some words that will never leave me.

He said, The scan results have been rushed through as they have found something.

I immediately asked, Is the knee ruined?

He said, No. It’s not your knee we are concerned about. We have found a large shadow on your distal femur which we believe to be a bone tumour. I instantly grabbed Carla’s hand for some reassurance. I don’t really remember much about what he said next except that I had also torn the meniscus in my knee. The doctor said I needed to have an urgent appointment in Poole Hospital to see what the next steps were.

Feeling very numb, I left the surgery. When we got back to the car, I broke down in floods of tears, my wife holding me tightly and our 18-month-old in the back not knowing why Daddy was crying. I’ll never forget the words she said to me in the car: Whatever it is, we will get through this together. I cried some more as I didn’t really understand what was happening and why this had suddenly happened to me.

On the way home, I felt numb; really numb. I was a mixture of frightened to death and confused. I can honestly say that I never thought anything like this could happen to me. I always thought I was more or less indestructible or even invincible if that makes sense. I’d been in the wars so many times whilst playing football, rugby and hockey and always came out the other side relatively unscathed, but this was on a different level.

The Beginning

Looking back to before my initial injury, I can remember waking up a lot at night with a pain in my left leg. It was like a dull ache that wouldn’t go away - not enough to warrant any medication, but a funny pain all the same.

After a few weeks of waiting, I was sent a letter to go into Poole Hospital Outpatients Department to meet with the orthopaedic team. On the day of my appointment, I experienced concern and apprehension as I wasn’t sure what the next step was. While in the waiting room before seeing the consultant, it took all my strength to stay sitting quietly. I’m not good at waiting for things and this was playing on my mind a lot. Eventually, the nurse called me in and I realised the consultant looked a little like the infamous Dr Harold Shipman, which instantly worried me. The consultant was lovely though, and he explained that he was going to send me for a scan, which we booked there and then. The scan would be in 2 days’ time which annoyed me as I wanted to know instantly what the next steps would be – I’ve never been one for being patient.

I found it difficult concentrating on my work as a chef as I just couldn’t get my head around everything. I kept asking myself questions like, Could I have known about this? Have I done something for this to happen? How will this affect my family? I was driving myself mad with all my questions and those were questions I had no answers to.

On the day of the scan, I was up nice and early, got myself ready and drove myself to the hospital. I discovered that there was a delay in my appointment time due to an issue with one of the scanners, so about an hour after my allotted time, I was told to go and get a gown on.

Now, the gown is a very sexy item and obviously showed off my bum perfectly, much to the dismay of the others in the waiting room! Then I realised I actually had the gown on back to front! After finally putting the gown on correctly, I was called into the scanning room and I had a CT scan. If you have ever had a CT scan, you know it’s a bit like a giant donut which makes a horrible noise. They ask you what sort of music you would like and I chose my favourite band, Bon Jovi, and also some Michael Jackson. In the scanner, you have to sit perfectly still otherwise the scan won’t work properly. I’m not a great one for sitting still and they had to do the scan twice as I had moved during the first one. I think I annoyed them a little as there was a backlog and I wasn’t helping their cause.

Scan done, I got dressed and ready to leave the hospital. I was told an appointment would be sent to me by post. The new appointment duly came through and I was off to see the same consultant a week later. I don’t remember much about the week leading up to my appointment except that reality was hitting me and not knowing what the next steps were was killing me. I shed a few tears as I just felt so down but my family always know how to put a smile back on my face. I had also taken some time off work to get my head around things but I think that was the worst thing I could have done as I had a lot more time to think. Harry and Oliver were growing up fast and I felt guilty that I was putting them through this - it was not fair to expect them to understand.

Appointment day arrived and I was hoping for some answers to all my questions. As soon as I was called in, the consultant told me I was being referred to a specialist hospital in Watford. I asked why I couldn’t have my treatment done in Dorset and the answer was that it needed a specialist to start my treatment. At this time, I was feeling quite angry as I felt I was being fobbed off and not told the whole story. I messaged my partner and told her what was happening and she was as bemused as I was. I think I’d bent Carla’s ear too much over the last few weeks, but, as ever, she was my rock and kept me together through the initial diagnosis and appointments.

I received a letter from the orthopaedic hospital in Watford asking me to come in and see a specialist. As I don’t earn much as a chef (popular belief says chefs earn a lot, but trust me, they don’t), and also being referred to a hospital 130 miles away, I’d been told I was allowed hospital transport so I quickly got on the phone and booked it.

I was collected by the hospital transport team at 8 am to go to my appointment in Watford which was at 3 pm. I think the driver knew I had a lot on my mind and tried to cheer me up during the long trip by cracking some jokes and telling tales of things that had happened to him. I also dropped off for a few minutes as I’d not been sleeping well due to things running around in my head.

I arrived at the hospital at 1 pm and was taken to the main entrance. My initial thoughts of the hospital were that it looked run down and like an old school building, and this didn’t help my confidence too much. I had two hours to kill so I went for a coffee in the hospital café. I just sat and stared at the table, in a world of my own, not really knowing what to do. Finally, my appointment time arrived so I checked in and took a seat in the waiting room until I was called in. My appointment lasted all of five minutes. The doctor was clearly in a hurry and just muttered to me about needing another scan as the ones taken in Poole were no good. Surely, they use the same type of scanner! Still, he said I would have to make another appointment for it. I felt pretty annoyed that I’d been sent all this way to be told I needed another scan. Surely, the one I’d had done in Poole was fine, wasn’t it? Apparently not; they insisted on one done in Watford. So off I went and booked an appointment to be told it would also be sent out by post, so, in essence, I’d come all this way to be told I needed another scan. Couldn’t they have done this by phone? I messaged Carla and let her know I was on my way home and