When It Rains..

For once a useful piece from a local paper syndicate (the Budleigh Salterton / Exmouth / Sidmouth / Axminster Herald), although I did get to 'edit' it first which is always nice and prevents journalists from writing things that I have never said. One recent journalist managed to get figures relating to lung cancer research funding completely wrong, which is frustrating when I'm trying to give an accurate portrayal of what's happening, or not. The word 'survivor' in today's article was not something that I would have personally chosen, and was added after my edit. It seems to indicate that I have 'survived' cancer, which is simply not the case - I am LIVING with it, a big difference. Maybe an issue of semantics, but one I feel awkward about.

Midweek Herald Interview

When it rains, it pours, as the saying goes! I've also just carried out the first part of a possible interview for the Stella supplement of the Sunday Telegraph, looking at how a cancer or other permanent illness diagnosis can alter the dynamics of a relationship. Talking to a number of different couples, of different relationship periods, with differing illnesses, the journalist is looking to shed light on how people cope in their own individual ways. We were hesitant to get involved unless we felt that there was something that we could say to make people truly understand what it is like, for both of us, to live with a cancer diagnosis. The uncertainty, the denial of a pre-planned linear future etc. However, Helen (the journalist) strikes me as having the right aims, so we look forward to seeing what develops.

A beautiful day from last winter, of Bow Fell looking towards the Scafells

I have had a bit of a hiatus in writing recently, not for laziness, but because I'd been trying to get my thoughts together about the next piece, as well as I've had a lot on because of my grandmother being in hospital since Christmas Day. Normal service will resume shortly! Until next time...

The Problem with Cancer…

…is that it wants to get everywhere, into everything. Horrendous as it is that it takes away life, it seems to invade everything else too, to take away living itself: Every sense of my being and waking moment. A gnawing away of the soul, to leave a husk of what had once been. Living with cancer is like living a dream, a very bad one, 24 hours a day 7 days a week. No respite, no parole, no time off for good behaviour – just the reminder that this is now, that now there may be no future. There is no moment of laughing and forgetting, even though the laugh sounds real it hides the hurt inside. 

Inside my mind thoughts drift around, tethered to no central idea. Just another day of trying not to think about the C word, but failing miserably. Do I eat this, do I eat that? I better not, my body needs to work to 100% capacity. Do I stay up late? I better not, my body needs to fight the demon inside me. Do I bathe today? I better not, for fear of the rash that comes as a result of the drugs wrestling the invader into temporary restraint. Do I talk about this to friends, family? Do they want to know? Do they understand that when I don't answer the phone that I'm not ignoring them, not renouncing their friendship, just that to re-open the wound up again is to lay it open to the doubt that no-one can take away.

Brantrake Fell, Eskdale – Christmas Day training walk

But the question that Naomi and I both ask ourselves is are we now just more aware, or is cancer really everywhere? Every time I open the paper, watch the news, sit down to watch a film – it is there, there is no escape. It starts to wear me down, that it tries to infect my every moment. That another person dies and loses a short fight, sometime a long fight, but that they lost. That the person building his dream house no longer gets to live the dream, but instead we get a sunset scene with Kevin's voice-over. That the Hollywood dream machine now sees the C word as legitimate material for the multiplexes masses: John the hero does not get the girl, for she married her cancer stricken friend so that his son will not be without a family. In an alternative ending the husband gets an anonymous donation, obviously from the love interest, for a new drug that keeps him alive. We don't know how long his reprieve is for, as Hollywood does not control life or death, yet.

Beautiful Eskdale sees a Christmas sunset, December 2010

So I know that as sure as the sun rises, tomorrow will see the start of another day, and the end of life for someone living with cancer, despite the help of the doctors and nurses that try against the odds to keep hope and life alive*. That it might or not be reported in the news or made into a film. But not that any of it matters – we only have one life, so however it ends, it ends. Game over. But let's not walk away from life just yet, let's thank the stars that we get to see another day, live with hope that maybe we might get to see a few more days yet and find that inner strength to carry on, no matter how cancer tries to take away our pride. Standing up to cancer is hard, but if we all try in our own way perhaps we can make it go away once and for all.

p.s. After reading this we both almost decided that this was too heavy and honest, but then decided that it should have its place. So if you found it too much then I'm sorry, but life with cancer is not easy – so maybe that does not make easy reading in itself. Thanks.

*Having spent two days this Christmas as a guest of East Surrey Hospital I would like to say how truly amazing our health-care staff really are. Heros one and all. A big thank you.