OK, I think this is going to be controversial, but like anything I’ve written on here, it’s simply my opinion, from where I’m stood at the moment. So take it – with or without salt – or leave it. I’ve re-read it a few times and can’t really put my finger on what isn’t quite right here, but there it is….
This is written in the context of being in some ways nearly a year in, but definitely 5 months into something where I know, ultimately, I am the loser in the situation.
And there is nothing I can do to change the ultimate outcome, eventually.
I tend to divide how I’m feeling into physical, mental and emotional, as they can be somewhat disconnected to a degree, but they all colocate in my body/mind and all interact. And this is a battle on all three fronts. If the physical (cancer) battle didn’t exist, then the other two would be fine; had the surgery made me cancer-free, I would have been in a different place than I am now (and almost certainly not writing this, but instead still working fairly normally, and hopefully looking forward to a few more good years). But that’s not how things panned out, and what looked like a brighter outcome was abruptly cancelled on January 13th. (or rather it already had been, I just got to find out about it on that particular day).
So that is a given. And the first phase of what has happened led on directly from there. And it’s the only one over which any real control was even purported at any time. I was told that this would not save me, but could extend my life. But already we were in the limits of what I could expect both in terms of medical treatment and outcome. It was clearly set out and I’ve covered it in the Chemo page so won’t rehash it here. It’s not important in that respect.
On top of this, there is the mental and emotional side of things. This has been covered as well, really, by my experiences not only with Counselling (which, while I know I don’t have a control to compare it to, I know from the initial start that I’m in a much better place than I would have been had I not taken any, and fortunately I’ve had an excellent experience as a result of finding the right person to achieve this with.)
But this isn’t really about either of those things. I think there is a real problem with the way that some people approach this, in terms of expression of how you would fight this, and its effect on those who are actually doing it.
I’ll be honest, a lot of the time, I feel like “Tank Man” in Tianamen Square – or rather, that’s the nearest visual metaphor I find when I think about it. But it isn’t the vision of what happened there. In this vision, the guy just gets run over and that’s it. There’s no compassion or humanity in the tank driver. Just doing his job. Runs him over, carries on with his day, thinks no more of it.
Now when I look back at what I’d been doing before all this started (and I mean for years), it’s extremely fortunate that I’ve spent a fair bit of time meditating. It’s something which I got into many years ago, initially through the app Headspace which I found useful, but really the thing for me has been the work of Sam Harris (who I really should write about at some point) and Waking Up, which eventually has become an app which due to my early support for I now have a lifetime free membership (Harris offers free use anyway – you simply have to ask and you get a year free – but I supported his app and podcast when it was a voluntary scheme, pre-Patreon).
This has been life-changing for me. I did it nearly every single day when I was working full-time on the extension, making room in my day for 10 minutes of contemplative reflection and just trying to view – not control – what’s going on in my consciousness. Again, it’s another tool I feel fortunate to have gained and now need, and while I think you may get a benefit if you started when something like this happened to you, to have already done a lot of the work needed is clearly going to have made a big difference in my opinion to my ability to deal with what’s happening. A lot of stuff like anger has just been less a part of my life and I have no desire to return to it; it’s simply not productive. And I spent a lot of time being angry when I was in my 20s. I was a ball of rage.
But fighting cancer? I am not doing that. I am doing what I can in terms of medical advice, and I’m sticking to that. It has the best chance of any form of success – and here, of course success does not look like Flash Gordon saving the Earth. It looks like me spending as much time as possible with those that I love, while I’m still in a position to do so.
I’m following what I am doing to the best of my abilities. Early on (when I had the ERCP to fit a stent in my bile duct), a guy next to me (who was clearly, now, an old hand) had a tattoo saying “Control the Controllables”. And that’s what I’m doing.
I’m taking the pills I’m supposed to, when I’m supposed to, how I’m supposed to.
I’m doing what I can physically as much as I can (although this is difficult at the time of writing because of having the GI issue and what the extra medication is doing on top of this).
I’m trying my best to be a good husband, parent and friend whenever I can do so.
But there seems to be this entire myth that’s built up in society that certain things can beat it (which in my opinion can’t do anything of the sort), and that extends into the guilt that if you’re not fighting (or don’t feel like you are) then you’ve failed. If you’re not winning, you’ve failed. Look at this person. They were Stage X and now they’re fine. They fought and won! They are the winners. They did it.
If you don’t win, you’re not trying hard enough. You didn’t want it enough. You didn’t care enough. You did the wrong things. Theirs was more severe than yours but they pulled through. Why can’t you? You’re a failure.
There are a number of campaigns I’ve seen (presently and historically) which I don’t agree with in terms of the way they are named and presented. And I think they are at best clumsy and at worst damaging. I’m not going to go into details, but I’ve been thinking a lot about them and I think while they may spread a message of positivity around cancer and its treatment (and there is a lot where things are improving and still will be), it has to be remembered that it’s a huge killer of people. And it’s not one single thing. If it was, it would be fixed, like a broken leg. The treatment would be the same for everyone, and the success rate would be similar. Some more common and easily treated cancers are seeing great success now and it’s almost something that a generation ago would have been unheard of. That’s great! Providing you’re one of those people and it works for you (even now it still doesn’t work for everyone, because of this complexity).
Are you actually standing up to cancer? It feels wrong somehow to me from this vantage point. I am in no way decrying the progress and financing that has been achieved as a result of these campaigns. They have saved lives and moved things forward. But ultimately it’s only medical science (and its application) which is doing the fighting for you. Your body (or part of it) has started doing something that the rest of it cannot handle, and it will do what it does.
I have zero direct control over what’s happening inside me, any more than I could decide one day to wake up with blue eyes or an extra finger. These are biological processes which have gone wrong. A working human body is an incredible marvel of biology. But when it goes wrong, it can do so in ways which are completely uncontrollable. It’s not one of the things that can be controlled.
It can with outside intervention using medical treatment – to a greater or lesser degree as discussed – but nothing else is doing anything in terms of the fighting. It’s not the patient who is fighting, it’s the medication and treatment. I know it would be possible to simply give up, stop eating and waste away – probably easier in many ways – but most people aren’t like that.
There’s a quote which is often attributed to Abraham Lincoln – but was apparently not him. But I still think it stands:
“Most people can bear adversity; but if you wish to know what a man really is give him power. This is the supreme test”
And I think this is true and at the crux of the matter for me. I have long looked back at the men and women who fought in World War II (I certainly have been guilty of being slightly obsessed with the air crews from WW2, bombers in particular… culminating in an amazing taxi ride in a Lancaster), and thought that they were made of different stuff to my generation. These brave people stepped up (sometimes under age) to go and face what represented more chance of dying than living (this is mentioned elsewhere on here). But the vast majority of people will step up (however that looks) when the time comes. If they didn’t, we wouldn’t be here as a species. We are gritty and determined and try as much as we can for as long as we can in most cases. There are depths of resolve, strength and character inside of most of us that we’re not aware of. And in most cases in modern life, we never need to draw on these depths. Food arrives when it should do. People are generally better off and healthier than they were in the past. For many, war is merely something that’s seen on screen.
But there are plenty (millions!) of people showing this right now – look up any of the proliferating number of wars around the world and you’ll find stories of courage, depth of strength and resolve massively beyond anything you’d expect in everyday life today.
But it’s in there. In nearly everyone. Obviously the limits are different for everyone, and some will stop fighting at different levels – through no fault of their own, it’s just everyone has in-built limits and once they’re reached, they’re reached. And then it’s just down to fate, whatever the situation.
And that’s what’s happening here. I’m fighting, I guess. But I’m not fighting cancer. The medicine is doing what’s possible, but that’s it. What I’m fighting is a daily battle to keep doing what I’m told when I’m told and how I’m told in the best way possible. To give me and those around me the best experiences of this time, and to enable as much life as possible, while it’s still possible.
And most days I get some stuff right. But not all of it. I’m tired – physically, emotionally and mentally. I cried like a baby about 7 times the other day. Had a lovely surprise visit from a friend, blubbed my way through half of our exchange. That’s the ‘fight’ that life has become. I’m hoping that the steroids work, because the pain is up and down (it’s up right now), and because it’s my last hope for a bit more comfort. Yes, I’m taking the pain killers. And everything else. And hopefully once the antibiotics stop things will become slightly more normal. But I’m not fighting cancer. I don’t think I ever was. I’m fighting an internal battle which is mental, emotional and physical, with the things that I can control. The meta-effects, not the thing itself. That battle is over.
