Off the hook, but not off the line!

So my cancer isnt growing, but in another epic twist, I had to have another operation.

The last month has been a challenging one for me, I have had an incredible time traveling and seeing the world, as well as spending time with family and friends in Europe, but at the same time I knew that my scans on the 24th October were approaching and I would have to face my fears and get back in that tunnel/MRI and let them have a look at the tumor in my brain. Well the 24th has come and gone, and after embracing many sleepless nights and lots of reassurance from family and friendsI awoke on the morning of the 24th in a half-slumber in which memories about America resurfaced and I was inclined to think about the three questions that changed my life, as well as the fourth question, which at the time I was not aware of.

The three questions I have faced to date were on the 15th December 2011, when my Durban Neuro-surgeon Stephan Joubert confirmed that I had a blockage and whether I was ready for an operation immediately that afternoon. “Yes, lets do this”, I replied. The second question was posed by Griffith Harsh in America prior to having my biopsy, “Brad, I need to get in there so we can draw out a sample and determine what type of cancer this is, would you let me do that?”, “Yes, Griff, I trust you”. And my third questions was at dinner in Palo Alto when I received the results of my biopsy, “Hi Brad, Its Griff, we have ascertained what tumour you have, and with your permission, I would like to conduct a craniotomy tomorrow morning, 6:00am, does that sound okay?”, “Yes, Griff, just like before, lets do this and get this over and done with”, I replied. It is so immensely hard to try and explain how hard it is to reflect on those questions, but at the time I was not aware of the massive questions I was answering because at the time I was so focused on one thing.My fourth question came on the 25th October, 2012, one day after my MRI scan. All I knew was that in situations like this you have to say, “Yes”, because “Yes”, is the most positive you can be and it is the most positive word we have at our disposal. “No” is a pessimistic word, and a word that I do not like to use frequently. Since my diagnosis I have become very fond of the word yes and the power it holds. It is used in so many happy and positive sentences. It lets someone know, “yes, youre okay”, “yes, I will marry you”, and “yes, youre going to be fine”, it calms us down and lets us know that we will be fine. Yes to me is one of the most powerful and positive words available. I am aware that it can be used in a negative environment, but I am inclined to not think like that. 

I had my MRI on the 24th and the nerves I experienced prior to it required I started taking some mild tranquilizers in order to calm down as the gravity of the importance of the scan became apparent. It was my one year scan, and it held a lot of weight and importance. I realised that Dr Brada had the potential to either make my day or shatter my life, and that is something you have to come to terms with. These doctors are there to help you, and aid you in the best manner possible. It took my dad and I about 20 minutes to find the correct building to have the MRI, as the LOC and Harley Street Clinic is such a huge institution it is hard to find the right building. The MRI itself was short, perhaps 25 minutes, and once again I was allowed to listen to some Coldplay which helped calm my nerves. I quickly got changed and met up with my dad outside, and he could see the fear on my face so he ushered me out the hospital and we attempted to stomach some food. After lunch we headed to Dr Brada’s rooms. Just before heading to 95 Harley Street we met up with my sister, Nix and Bella. The sight of both of them calmed me down and drew my attention away from the result of the scan. Bear in mind, we had been given the MRI results on a disc that we were supposed to give to the doctor. Its an eerie feeling walking around with images of your brain on a disc. As we arrived at Dr Brada’s rooms, he was standing at the entrance to the lift, and his first words to me were, “Youre fine, the tumor hasnt grown, so you can relax”. Now that is the ideal way to calm someones nerves prior to a doctors consultation. I immediately felt any uncertainty slip away and I was once again under my own control, for the mean time. We went over the scans, but I could see he was holding something back. Just before concluding he said that there was one concern, that my ventricles were very enlarged and that he wasnt comfortable with me flying to the USA the following day. That was hard news to take as I was so looking forward to traveling around America with my girlfriend, Alice, and her sister, Emily. I realized that he would be saying this for no reason and that his warning must hold some substantial evidence. He put us in contact with a consultant neuro-surgeon, Dr Bhangoo of the Harley Street Clinic.

We arrived at Dr Bhangoo’s rooms at 11:15 on the 25th, and these doctors rooms are unlike you have ever seen, they are expansive, with dark wooden finishes and there are books, and even coffee dispensers readily available. I quickly tuck into a glass of water in an attempt to quell my nerves, well no amount of water could have calmed me down from where I would be shortly after entering into his rooms. Upon first contact Dr Bhangoo seems just like all the other neuro-surgeons I have dealt with, unbelievably smart and attentive with a good bedside manner. He cuts to the chase, and runs me through a list of procedures that they could conduct, but then proceeds to highlight one procedure, the ventriculostomy, which he believes is the best possible solution for the situation I now face, a blocked shunt. That is not welcome words for someone who has had 3 brain operations in not even one calendar year, and I am realistically looking into having my fourth. Dr Bhangoo confirms my worst fear, we are going to have to operate. He walks out the room in order to give my dad and I time to discuss the options. I begin to pace up and down his clinic room. The room instantly becomes smaller and claustrophobic, I am now looking square down the barrel again, at the prospect of having to go to sleep for the fourth time for brain surgery.

The fear you experience is unlike that of what you have ever experienced. I cannot comprehend nor try explain what goes through the mind during this time, but death certainly creeps into there somewhere, and it is scary, but at that exact moment you have a decision to make. I walk over to my dad, lean in and look him square in the eyes, “Dad, do you think this is the best decision?”, he says, “Braddi, we came here to see the best, in order to get the best treatment with the best possible outcome, you can be scared or we can face this thing, one last time”. In truth I didnt need to reply, because we both knew my answer and what I was going to do, I just needed the nudge off the ledge, and the nudge pushed me into a controlled free-fall, where I found that same steely resolve that I had in America. The resolve that meant one problem and only one possible outcome, success! Dr Bhangoo walks back in the room, he can see the stress on my face as well as a slight grin because he knows Im ready for this, to stand and fight, for what is hopefully the last operation. He knew I was going to say “Yes”, and had already aligned his schedule the next day to include my surgery. After some formalities and one ultra-sound scan to pick up where the shunt was lying in my tummy, we are on our way home, and I have to break the news to my mom, sisters and Alice, that I have to have one final operation. I race home to Alice, and tell her that they plan on operating tomorrow, Friday, 26th October.

Needless to say, I didnt sleep all too well that evening, I think it had something to do with knowing that I was having brain surgery the following day. Alice and I are up at 5:30 and by 6:30 we are on our way to hospital. In what turned out being a very boring day, we waited from 8am until 6:30pm to have the operation, and every time someone walked into my room I thought it was the nurse coming to collect me, so by 6:30pm, my nerves were shot and my sense of humor had completely failed. These doctors literally operate all day, I was just hoping that they werent jaded by the time they saw me. Nevertheless, at 6:15pm, the nurse walks into the room, robes in hand, and calls my name, because by this stage I had my entire family in the room in order to try calm me down. I beckon my parents to come down with me, and the nurse allows it. I hug Carmie, and I can see she is just as scared as me, and for her and Ally this was the first operation that they were there for before I went in. I hug Carm and let her know that I will be fine. Ally by this stage is just as stressed as I am, perhaps even more, because I know that in 20 minutes I am going to be knocked out and she will have to endure an indefinite amount of time that I will be asleep. I hug Ally, and I can feel she is worried but at the same time she knows I will be fine. She really has been so strong throughout all of this, and she is determined not to cry in-front of me before I head off. I tell her “I love you”, before giving her one last kiss. I walk out the door saying, “I will see you just now”.

I get into the lift, parents in tow escorted by a nurse from Lesotho who I proceeded to chat to in order to calm down. We are at the doors to surgery before I know it, and I have to say goodbye to my parents as my surgery begins in the next few minutes. Goodbye hugs are never easy, especially before a surgery with any potential outcome. I hug my mom and dad, and let them know that their boy is fine, and ready for this one final operation. They have both been so so strong through all of this, and I havent exactly made life easy for them over the last year. It makes you realize the important things in life, and forget the trivial. I walk into the theatre, lie down on the bed, and before I know it the anesthesiologist is there injecting wonderful cocktails into my IV drip. Just before they kick in, I reflect on what is about to happen and what I need to do, I need to keep my mind strong, my will focused and the energy within me positive. Shortly after I have done this, I drift into an unconscious state. Its go time.

I wake up with the sensation of gagging, and I later found out that this was because I was trying to rip my throat tube out of my mouth. I am rather glad they calmed me down and did it for me. I wasnt aware of where I was, or how I had gotten there. I did know that Alice and my family were there, so I calmed down once I had ascertained that fact. As I was coming out of the anaesthetic, the pain of the operation hit, and it was like a tsunami, a big pain at first that didnt reside. I remember the wise words of Stuart Kidgell when he said, “dont be afraid to ask for more pain killers, when you are in pain, dont be a hero”, and that was coming from a man who had made the same mistake I made in Palo Alto. It pains me to say, but at this stage I feel like an experienced campaigner when it comes to brain surgery, so I know the game. I immediately ask for more morphine to numb the incredible pain at the back of my skull. The pain was emanating from where they cut my bone, pulled out the shunt and then inserted some sort of bone meal to fill the gap where they cut and sawed. I then realized that that was not the only place that was sore, so was the top of my head. I move my hand over my head, and feel a fresh new bump... “odd”, that wasnt there before. The male nurse, Eddie, reminds me that it is a disc that they inserted during surgery. The disc is there for the rest of my life, and serves as an alternative method of drawing fluid from my ventricle should there be a spike in pressure if the ventriculostomy fails to work. Once I gain full consciousness, I look around and survey my surroundings. I am in ICU (IT). The first person that pops in to view is Alice, her friend Tal Shear, my parents, Carmen was there but she had left just prior to me waking up.

I am then introduced to Eddie, my male nurse and the person personally responsible for looking after me for the next day or two. I instantly get on with Eddie, and I think there was some talk about Manny Pacquiao as he was from the Philippines. Before I can mutter too much non-sense I pass out. When I wake up at 3am, my parents and Alice are gone, but Eddie is still there. I figure I have had enough sleep in the operating room, and decide to get to know Eddie as he is the dude that is looking after me. We talk about all sorts of things, and I learn about the man, and his family and he in turn learns about my family and where I am from. Eddie did a fantastic job at looking after me, and if he is reading this, I just want to say, “Thank you, Eddie. You did an incredible job, and put some positivity into a very beat up kid”.

I wake up the next morning, and the first face I see is that of my dad. He stayed with me until the doctors came around. The doctors did some routine checks and make sure that I am okay. They inform me that I will be able to leave tomorrow, Sunday. That is two days sooner than planned so that must have meant I was ahead of the curve. I spent the two days in hospital and on Sunday afternoon, I walked out the hospital and headed home.

The week was progressing well, Monday was a slow one for me, but its a slow day for most people, and that is without brain surgery. On Tuesday I head to Harrods with Alice and I was experiencing intense cabin fever. We walk around, and to be fair, I refused to get in a wheelchair, but halfway through Harrods I start to feel terrible and I can feel an incredible pain in my spine and neck. I then comply with her wishes to get me into a wheelchair as the pain built up. The pain persists for much of the evening, and in an attempt to rid myself of the pain I take my painkillers and go to sleep.

I wake up at 4:30, on Wednesday morning. The pain rebounding in the inside of my head is unlike anything I have ever experienced before. It is the most earth shattering headache I have ever had, and to be honest I am not able to compare it to anything I have ever felt. Simply put, it was the most painful experience I have ever been through. It felt like each blood vessel in my brain was being scrumpled up and crushed one by one. I wake Alice up and let her know that something is wrong. She immediately wakes up my mom. Please remember that I am not a fan of doctors or going back to hospital, but after taking a bath to try quell the pain, and taking a substantial amount of painkillers, Alice finally persuades me to go to hospital. We call my dad and let him know that something is wrong and that we are heading to the hospital. Every movement is excruciating, every slight head jolt makes my head feel like it is going to explode. We phone ahead and prepare the hospital for my arrival. As soon as we arrive, we are escorted back into my old room on the fourth floor. We wait a short while before I am taken for a CT scan in order to check that everything in my head is functioning properly. Dr Chandler, the American doctor who performed the ventriculostomy along with Dr Bhangoo, walks into my room. This doctor has an incredible bed side manner and has an incredible way of calming people down. He goes over my scan, and proceeds to tell me that the pain is emanating from a blood clot that is based at the back of one of my ventricles. The blood clot was formed by the extraction of the shunt. There is not supposed to be any blood in the brain ventricles, it is an area completely maintained by cerebro spinal fluid, and any blood that manages to get into the ventricles creates a very toxic reaction which is responsible for the incredible pain I was experiencing. The doctor informs me that the blood clot will eventually dissolve, much to my relief as I thought this meant another surgery. He gives me some nausea medication, some more analgesic’s (painkillers) and sends me home.

For a week the pain has persisted, and only today, Monday, am I beginning to feel slightly better. The pain I experienced in this last week has been the most I have ever known. The blood clot is still dissolving but in order for it to be removed from my ventricles it has to mix, just the same way oil and vinegar mix, they DONT, and the blood had to filter down my spine until it was reabsorbed at the base of my spine. The whole process takes about a week, and only after I spoke to Dr Stuart Kidgell, did I relax and accept that it is a waiting game. One negative from this whole operation, is that I now have a constant ringing in my ears, which hopefully, one day will stop. haha.

That is how my last 10 days have been, it reminded me of a lot of things that I had forgotten this year, that above all other things I have a very strong will to survive. That even when you think your body is spent and that you have fought with everything you have, there is always something left in the tank of those determined not to lose.

This blog is dedicated to Wesley Ingle, a friend from Durban who was recently diagnosed with cancer. Wes, my man, keep fighting this thing like you are, and if you do, this cancer doesnt stand a chance. Stay positive, find the positive and never be afraid to say, “Yes”, because yes is inherently the most positive word we have.

Yes Please.

The scariest moment is when...

The scariest moment

is when you realize, that even you, may die a lot sooner than you planned unless you step up to fight. Even considering your fight, sometimes the battle is too far gone and this dreadful disease claims another life. As these people succumb to this disease, does the incredible weight of the task present itself yet again. 

I have come to accept an absolutely ludicrous amount of strange information over the past year. The most astounding and world altering of that information was without a doubt, “Brad, you have a brain tumour, it is cancerous and it is malignant”. Not exactly the words you want to hear a week after your 24th birthday and two weeks before your December Holiday. Needless to say that changed things, not just for me, but for everyone. I still stand firm in my belief that I got this cancer and tumor for a reason, I was given it to prove something, to create a change in mindset and to live a positive life. More astounding still is that as much as I am scared of this cancer, I still believe it is the best thing to ever happen to me.

I was supposed to fly to London a week later to witness the birth of my niece and Godchild, Isabella Grace Taylor, but if I had boarded that plane and made my way to London, 3 different teams of doctors explained to me that I would have had an aneurysm and died on the flight, and I would not be here writing this new piece of my life. So I have begun to ask myself, what can I do now that I have been afforded this situation?

Over the past year, I have been on an incredibly emotional ride, with highs and lows, pains and broken barriers and through the doors of some of the finest medical institutions on offer, along the way I was told I was fortunate, unfortunate, lucky, rare, and the most meaningful thing I have been called is a fighter. We are all born with this inherent ability to recognize when we are in peril, we summon every ounce of fight within us and in one final display of courage and bravery we stave off this tumultuous beast, so that after the dust has settled, the wounds healed, and abrupt memories of the fight have faded, we walk out the other side with stronger relationships, being a stronger person with a better perspective in life and an understanding on the beautiful differences between us all and how important those differences are.

To remind people of my medical history that prepared me for the biggest fight of my life, here is a list of medical barriers I have endured:
Asthma
Tick bite fever 3 times
Hernia
4 sinus operations
Tonsils removed
Appendectomy
Varicous seal (blocked vein)
Cerebral Malaria
2 broken arms
1 broken collar bone
Pneumonia twice
Bronchitis more times than I care to count
Pleuracy
and the big boy, brain cancer, a pineal cytoma lodged into the 3rd ventricle in the middle of my brain,and that resulted in 3 operations, a biopsy and way too many catheters and MRI’s.

That was all in my past, since my last MRI my girlfriend and I headed North to Europe where we visited Amsterdam, Berlin, Munich, Naples, Capri, Positano, Sorrento, Rome, Siena, Florence, Venice, Athens, Mykonos, Ios, Santorini, Crete and Barcelona. A lot of the time we werent exactly sure where we were, or how we were going to get to the next place. As travelers will know, you have to account for changes in plans and accept pretty fast that sometimes things dont go according to plan. We have had an incredible trip filled with laughter, the occasional fight, and more than anything a willingness to see the things that I wished I could. This trip was not some form of bucket list, but rather a trip to gather perspective on life, and realize that there is a lot more going on out there and if we dont strive to change the way we see the world, the world will never change or we will get left behind. So after touring Europe for 3 months living out of a bag, we are now in London, regrouping for something I have feared about the second we put paper to pen. The one year scan approaches, and it haunts my dreams of late.

I had been pushing this scan to the back of my mind while we were traveling, but as the months rolled by, time gathered momentum to form somewhat of a juggernaut, pushing me and the scan into a collision course at 11:30am, 24th October, 2012. Now my mind obsesses over the appointment and scan, because in one sentence, it holds the power to change my, as well as my loved ones, entire outlook on life once again.

The scan is approaching, and in order to try get a psychological edge over everything, I have been seeing a resident neuro psychologist at the Harley Street Clinic. I have seen her on a number of occasions and we have been working together to ensure that I am ready for any outcome of the scan. But only to be truly ready do you have to truly accept what could ultimately be your fate. I have never accepted death, even though in America I looked into its eyes before my 9 hour operation, and the whole time up until now I realize that cancer is a disease that kills people but I didnt every fully address it until last Friday in the rooms of my neuro-psychologist. She could see I was in disarray, I was experiencing intense headaches, not sleeping, depressed, stressed, tired and lacking confidence. She sat me down and said “Brad, we have to go over best and worst case scenario”. We go over best case scenario and that is the tumor and cancer is inactive, the proliferation rate is low, and you can carry on life as per normal. She then addresses worst case scenario. Instantly my pulse quickens, my hands begin to sweat and become clammy, and a weird sensation occurs. For the first time in over a year, tears start to build up in my eyes, the bubble in my throat expands until it is almost choking me, encouraging me to release the fear and panic. The tears begin to roll out of the corners of my eyes, and in that instant I realize why I am crying. My scariest moment is realizing that I too may die, and that I am crying because I love my life, the people in it, the stuff I have seen, and I, in the past year, have been able to see what life is about. It is about people, all kinds of different people who in some way or another are fighting their own fight. My scenario may be more life and death, but I encourage everyone to take a look and address what they are doing and whether they are doing it for the right reasons with the right people. Because in one sentence your life can change, so make sure it is the life you want to live with the people you want to live it with.

When I slide into that MRI machine on Wednesday morning, my mind hopefully will be under control, my pulse steady and my focus clear. I have been looking after myself mentally and physically, conserving this latest reserve of fight for Wednesday, when the MRI machine begins to work with the contrast that will be flowing in my veins, and lighting up the radiologists screen with an image not of negativity but rather hope and positivity. I hope they see a message of hope, fight and courage on that screen, from a man who never wished this disease on anyone, but has embraced the disease and is determined to make a message of positivity and inspiration.  The contrast will begin to heat up as the MRI (magnetic resonance indicator) begins to magnetically pull the charged particles into a position where they are fully able to see every millimeter of my brain and the matter within it.

At the moment my sleeping pattern is non-existant, I wake up in the middle of the night not wanting to die, my day dreams are obscured by flash panics about death and I realise I do not want to die, I do not want this thing to have beaten me. I slowly calm myself down, i gather control once again and go over everything I do know about my cancer. In the end I resort back to the same statement I made the day I was told I had a “blockage” in my brain, whatever it is, however long it has been there, and whatever threat it poses, I will fight this thing once again, with every manageable ounce of energy and commitment.

Moving On.

These last few months have been the most torrid, whirlwind months of my life. I cannot accurately explain my experience, nor can I attempt to thank all of you enough. Since the 15th December, 2011, my family, loved ones and I have been barreling along in a turbulent filled environment. That was the day I was diagnosed with a Germinoma, and since then my diagnosis has changed to that of Pineal Cytoma, a rare malignant cancer that manifests within the inner cavities of your brain. We have come to terms with the most frightening of circumstances, and accepted the scariest of odds, and coming out the other end is a thought, and a luxury I never afforded myself.

It is scary to look back, and having now accepted everything, I walk away from all of this relatively unscathed. Yes, I have scars, 4 of them. They will be there for the rest of my life, and I will wear them with pride, because they are memories of a time when life was harder, the realities were more real and I truly was fighting for my life, and some how and some way I walked away, ALIVE. I still wake up some nights, and in order to calibrate whether this has all been real, I search for the 10cm scar etched into the back of my skull. It is still there, and therefore the memories are real, I breathe a little bit easier knowing that it has passed.

We have all been fighting for these four months, and oddly enough they have been invaluable. I have seen human compassion at its best. I have seen what the medical world has to offer. I have been to the forefront of medical technology, and I have seen that the only thing holding us back is ourselves. I know that I am incredibly fortunate to have been able to go to these incredible institutions, and I pledge that I will search for the rest of my life to make it more accessible to more people, but that is a story for another time.

So, for four months I have come to terms with everything, I have acknowledged that life is truly the most incredible gift. When I was lying in ICU in Hospital (Stanford and Umhlanga) all I wanted to do, besides being with my family and girlfriend, was to run. It didn't matter where, or when, all I wanted to do was know that I can decide my own path, and I could run for the rest of my days, and someday, somehow I would get there. It was then that I decided to focus all of my energy, both mental and physical on attaining this elusive life after cancer. Cancer is a disease that can be beaten and is being beaten. It is a sad truth that we only hear about the deaths of cancer, and rarely about the incredible fights people have in which they come out on top.

Last Wednesday, 25th April, I met up once again with Professor Brada. I had been so apprehensive about meeting up with him for fear that his words would come down like a sledgehammer on my pieced together world. I had concentrated so hard at trying to reassemble my world since the world-altering explosion of 15/12/2011, that I feared it would happen again. This professor had the power to completely blow my world apart once again. Since we set up the appointment in February, I had been obsessing over this date. My girlfriend could see my residing further and further into my armor, moving back in order to protect myself and those around me from anything sudden. I saw so many people back home, and went over the story so many times that even when I tried, I could not remove reality from my thought. People were concerned and I appreciate that immensely, but when you are trying to straighten your mind post-brain surgery, it is hard to constantly go over the intricate details of my experience in America and London.

So 25th of April approached, it came barreling down the chamber quicker than I could have thought. 3 months passed by in the blink of an eye. I found myself back in London, and contrary to what all the Londoners say, it is NOT SPRING, it is still freezing. I Arrived on the 24th, and had very little time here to prepare so I tried to do so back in South Africa through the use of a neuro-pyschologist. Unfortunately this failed, I will double my efforts this side in an attempt to gauge whether I am sane. The evening of the 24th was spent very casually with my family, I needed reassurance and my nerves were shot. I knew I was going back into that tunnel where they would focus all of their excessive medical and technical knowledge in trying to determine whether this cancer has grown and whether it poses a credible threat to my life. I woke up on the morning of the 25th and it is cold and rainy, hopefully not an ominous sign. My MRI is scheduled for 1:00 pm, and it arrives quicker than expected.

We arrive at Harley Street Clinic, and the warm environment and plush carpets are welcome compared to the cold air and hard streets outside. We are met at exactly 1:00 pm, as organized. A lady shepherds me down into the basement where they have thick walls, which can only mean one thing. Radiation. I am asked to remove all clothing, metal and accessories. I comply, and in no time I am face-to-face with that tunnel again. this machine will determine how the next few weeks/months and years of my life are spent. Bring it. I hop into the machine, slide the headphones on which are there not only for comfort but also so that I wont go deaf from the disturbing noise the machine manifests. They slide me in, and the same steely resolve slides over me again, I am in this tunnel for the sole reason of determining where I am and what more needs to be done in relation to that position. To my elation I find that the music is Coldplay, I am able to breathe a little easier. 20 minutes later they pull me out, inject some contrast into my veins which makes my brain light up like a Christmas tree. All of 10 minutes later, and I am out. This is the hardest period, it is where you find yourself questioning why they took so long in one of the MRI sequences, why did they pause in some places and move along in others. These are questions I will never get answers to, so might as well never fret over them.

My appointment with Prof Brada is at 3pm, and the 2 hours pass slower than a Manchester United game. I go over every possibility in my mind, and accept all eventualities. 3pm arrives and we are escorted into Brada's office, he greets us warmly and yet again I steal a glimpse at his computer screen. Wow, I have a big head, and if I can read correctly, there is a lot of neural activity going on in there. He can sense my apprehension, and contrary to all other doctors, he says my scans were fine and I can relax. I felt my body sliding though my shoes. You could've told me the world was ending in a couple of hours, but at that time I was so euphoric, that I would've found the positive amongst the negative.

We once more told me that I am going to be fine, the tumor isnt growing, it isnt seeding, it isnt spreading. It is an incredibly low malignancy. He told me I can eat and drink whatever I wish, and I can carry on my life as per normal, well not as it was because as most of you know it was fairly extreme. But I will live it the best of my ability, with the full intention of living it as it was meant to be.

So now I find myself back into the swing of life, I am fine, I have overcome so incredible odds, and I have a remarkable story. So where do I go from here? I know one direction, and that is forward, I enjoy life all the more, and I move, as I have always done. I move forward knowing that as a person, I can overcome anything that is thrown at me. So now, I Move On and I do not let this cancer stop me from moving ever again.

Rest over, time to regroup.

How do we gauge mental strength? Is it something we are born with, and during times of hardship it surfaces as a coping mechanism or is it something that can be molded and nurtured. I have been trying to work out how mentally strong I am, and I have to believe in the latter, that mental strength is something developed. I say this because if I was confronted with this situation a year ago, I would have told you that I wouldnt have had the strength to deal with it. Slowly over time, and understanding my situation am I able to realize that no matter the obstacle before me, or the road ahead, I will prevail. For 3 months I have toiled with coming to grips with tomorrow, and it has been a fight I have not fought alone.

Coming out of the this battle in February was incredible, I have forged friendships with people I had not met before, and solidified friendships I already had. People showed me such incredible support and keep urging me on, willing me to keep fighting. I realized soon after coming back that I was not strong enough mentally to fight alone, even considering what I had been through prior to that. So I saw neuro-psychologists and they helped, but the real lessons came from those I know. I realized that while the neuro-psychologists give me methods to deal with everything, in the moments of panic and fear, I am going to phone my family or girlfriend, and not my psychologist.

Doing the things that scare you sometimes help you realize the importance of life, we develop a fear in our psyches that somehow nestles into everything we do and until we find comfort in our physical and mental abilities, we live under its spell.

3 months ago, I set up an appointment with Professor Brada, my radiation oncologist. The appointment is to check up on my status, as well as monitoring the cancer in my head. Those 3 months are up, and tomorrow I meet up once again with Prof Brada (apt name considering my name is Brad). I have enjoyed 3 months of uninhibited relaxation, which is exactly what the doctor ordered, now we once again, we pick up from where we left off, shake off the insecurities and fears I have and regroup with a positive mindset.

Flying halfway around the world may seem a bit extreme for a checkup, but my family and loved ones have realized that no distance is too far when it is concerned with not just your health but your very life. My trip back to London has been a harrowing one, firstly I had to say goodbye to my incredible girlfriend in Cape Town, she has put up with so much, and has never asked for anything in return, I will never forget it. And then I had to part ways with my mother and sister in Durban, it is scary to accept that sometimes in life even when you are surrounded by the most incredible and loving family possible, you need to do some things yourself and believe that those closest to you will be there for you should the need arise. Secondly, my flight out of Durban was aborted mid-takeoff due to an aft door opening just before the nose lifted. Great way to start my trip.

Tomorrow, I go back in to that tunnel. I willingly lie in the MRI tunnel and accept that whatever they find, good or bad, that I am ready. I will keep fighting as I have. I have had the time over the last 3 months to reflect on my life, and the people I want in it, as well as what I want to do with it. So many opportunities arise when you accept there is so much possibility in this world, and I can no longer sit on the side line and watch programs about people seeing those special places, I need to do it myself, so one day I can account for a life well spent.

Of course fear arises, I wouldnt be human if I didnt accept the fear, and realise that I harbour this fear because I have such an incredible life filled with so many incredible people that I am scared to lose it. My family have kept me sane over the last 3 months, last night was a key instance. I had a minor panic attack prior to flying to London, and through being on the phone with my mom, dad, and girlfriend, and fortunately being being at the airport with my sister, brother-in-law and niece, I was able to calm down, collect my thoughts and remember why I am here.

I am here, in London, to hear the news that I am on the road to recovery, and not the opposite. It is a road I will ride with the support of all of you, my family, loved ones and friends. I will check in after the scan and let you know how it all goes.

I am once again feeling that support that urged me through America, and every little bit helps, so thank you. 

Life, or something like it.

We give emotion a lot of control in our lives, but none more so than the emotion of fear. It is the controlling emotion that shepherds us between life and living. The reality is that we all know that this fear resides in all of us, some of us are restrained by its power, grounded by its ability to make loss a realization. Others acknowledge this existence of this fear dwelling deep within our subconscious, but as they may respect it, they do not condone it to rule their life. Fear is the feeling that quickly washes over you, completely blinding your ability to think and comprehend what is going on. It is purely there to evoke a change in your subconscious, and to make you life on the “safe” side. We all have something we fear, in fact there are many things we fear, we just have to acknowledge its existence and move on from there. I feared cancer my whole life, it is only when you know you have this this little bugger residing in you do you focus, and that oddly enough is when the fear subsides and you are able to take control of what you can.

I haven't written my blog for a while, because this latest excerpt has captured my attention and required me to face my own fears and what I have learnt is that it shows how we all gauge fear, and to what limits we let it control our , at times, out of control lives. I have missed writing in my blog, but this topic has captured my attention and required for me to truly ply my thoughts as well as thoughts of those around me. We all perceive fear differently, and our fears are inherently different. But it all comes back to the truth that fear is what we make it. I realized that whilst I have this cancer and know full well that I wont let it beat me, there are a lot of scared friends, family and loved ones who are living this journey with me, who are feeling a very similar fear to me, but theirs is worse because they are not the masters of their own destiny, they cannot fight this fight for me, but can hold my hand and be there for me in the good times and the bad. That is exactly what you have all done, you have removed prejudices and misconceptions in a move to try make my life better, and I am still searching for the words to say “Thank You”.

The compounding factor about fear is that fear also has a malignancy, far worse than any cancerous growth. It resides within us, slowly gaining momentum, until this fear begins to control our lives , and becomes a juggernaut, and it can steer us into some dark places. Fear is worse than cancer though, because fear is something that can only be beaten with the mind, cancer also requires the strength of your mind, but there is some incredible modern medicine and doctors that can cure you. Fear is different, fear is down to you.  We all hear that cancer is spurred on by certain proven things, and that it rescinds in the presence of other things. 3 things I know full well that do not help cancer are: Stress, Fear and Negativity, all 3 of which can be controlled by ourselves, so it begs the question of how do we let our lives get so out of control that it causes cancer. I am still searching for the answer, in the mean time I am trying to full my life with enough of the opposites. Fear, stress, and negativity is what I refer to as the tripod, and  I am trying to rid these three emotions from my life. They are three emotions that can lower you into the lowest pits of existence, they reside within all of us, but will only surface should we let them.

I am in the process of regrouping my life, collecting the small fragments that were blown apart by this squall, which shattered my life, and the foreseeable future. I often remind myself that we only give away that which we are not willing to hold on tight enough to. Life is exactly the same. I have an iron grip on this fight, I have it around the neck and I am slowly removing all life from this cancer.
We all have small problems, its when all of those problems either compound into a major problem, or we are faced with a problem that completely blindsides us, that we go into free-fall, not able to think or feel. Once that initial hit is over, and our lives are blown wide open we begin to ask ourselves, How do we pick up life in a similar vein to how it was lead before?

 There is no sure answer, and I know this because I have searched for it. The best thing we can do in order to combat the effects, of what feels like post-traumatic stress, is to talk and convey our emotions. I have been searching for my solution to fear, fear of the unknown and fear of what I could leave behind. We all worry about menial things in life, but as soon as our life and livelihood is threatened do we take a step back and recognize the bigger picture. Its odd because once we make it past that major ordeal, and our moment or epiphany has passed, we can either move back into the exact same ritual or habit as before or we go the route less traveled, and become people completely different, looking at life differently and following a different path. We become a source of inspiration, or are able to inspire people because odds are that there are other people going through the exact same thing as you, and may be to scared to step forth. Since my cancer became public knowledge I have heard of 6 people who have been diagnosed with brain tumors and other forms of cancer, to those people, keep fighting, because I will. I draw inspiration from you, and we can find comfort that, unfortunately, we will never be alone in this fight with cancer.

The doctors warned me that after so many operations and psychological tests, I would inevitably hit a juncture where I could either capitulate and surrender, or recognize the damage caused and regroup. It is incredibly hard for one to put their life together after one little medical test shatters your hopes and dreams for the short-term future. I know people have found solace in this blog, and my journey has relations to not just medical obstacles, but obstacles that we all face, every day. Some event may occur in your life that changes your perspective on life, and requires for you to form a completely different approach to the life you used to live.

The truth is that we all have problems, whether they are big or small in stature, it does not mean that they are any different, merely the cause is different. We can dwell on the bad, or we can move against the incoming tide. We will always be faced with fear, and emotions that require us to either fight or flight. It isn’t in my nature to run, if anything I will run head on in to the challenge, and I know I will overcome it because behind me I have the backing and support of my friends and family, and I have a strong mind.

I used to live in fear of what might happen, now if I have any fear, it is of what may not happen if I don’t live my life.  If I don’t live now, I may never get a second chance, don’t let that be your case.

Something worth fighting for...

Why do we fight when we are faced with adversity, is it some sort of obscure predisposition or human nature? And what hidden drive is the reason for never giving up and maintaining that fight regardless of the obstacle, when we know that the odds are stacked up against us, but we carry on and see out everyday and wake up to see the sun in the morning.

Those are the questions I had to find answers to very quickly, I realized that in life, we are faced with these situations because they make you a stronger person, and in some ways, a better person.  I had to formulate these answers very quickly, so forgive me if they are lacking in depth. At the time of my diagnosis my life was in turmoil, and those closest to me will understand the dark place I was in, and the reasons for me being there. In hindsight I realize that I was there because of the tumor, it affected my mood, my outlook on life and my attitude towards my friends.

My friends have been so incredible throughout these last few months, whether it be people BBMing me at obscure times in the night as they didnt quite understand the time zones, or Skyping with a few of my friends at once, you realize that the medicine helps, and the scars and lesions will heal as the sutures begin to work in repairing the wounds. The deepest and most damaging wounds are the ones we suffer inside. Two Fridays ago I had some friends over , and as I sat there with my friends surrounding me, the first of my answers popped in my head (hopefully it wasnt the tumor, haha). I realized my fight was so strong because I had something worth fighting for. My family and friends were the core reason, the anchor of a ship in a squall. Those unique people, each in their own way pulled me to shore, and with every word of encouragement I have received, I have utilized in getting myself, and my parents back home.

People have told me that I have been strong throughout, and I fought so well and so hard. I have tried to explain that if it were them, would they do it any other way, or would they surrender. My mindset going in to this whole fight was unique, not once did I surrender to the idea of death. I have also tried to explain that we all find some resolve or some form of courage deep within that we thought we never had. If you had asked me whether I would be able to outlast this storm, I would tell you I would have capitulated and forfeit my life in the process. I realized the reason for my fight was in a large part due to my desire to live, because of the people I live it with. You get a completely new perspective on life, you see everything a little clearer and everyday seems like an opportunity.

All the petty squabbles I have had in the past count for nothing, I appreciate every person more than ever, but at the same time I realize I am quicker to weed out the people who are wasting life in a superficial way to make themselves feel better. I am not saying I am judgmental, I am merely saying that I dont have time for the people who talk behind each others back, as well as flaunting the material things. That isn’t your last thought when youre lying on a metal table. To be honest my thoughts of that moment are still a little hazy, but I know it wasnt me wishing I had bought the Apple computer I saw at the shops the day before. Those are not your last thoughts, and they never should be. All I wanted was to wake up, and see my family, girlfriend and friends.

My second answer to why I fought so hard is to help people, I have a disease that is incredibly rare as far as brain tumors go, and instead of crying about it, and researching all the negative aspects of my situation, I realized I should rather turn this negative into a positive. I have chosen to rather help people in a similar situation to me instead of avoiding them. With that mindset I have met incredible people. The scariest thing is that ever since my tumor emerged, I have heard of 5 other people being diagnosed with brain tumors. That is a scary truth that none can ignore.

About two weeks ago I encountered a very strange sensation. I had just been given this clean bill of health yet I was stuck in a vortex, and I couldnt understand why I was experiencing these feelings and emotions. What I am referring to is a form of depression, I couldnt understand why I was in this situation, I was back in South Africa, happy, and with my family and friends. What I failed to recognize was the incredible battle that has been fought, and I can only liken it to Shell Shock or past-traumatic stress. A void was forming, and all my emotion was being sucked in to this hole in a last ditch attempt to rid me of my personality. This was the last sting in the tail of this monstrous foe. I couldnt fight this alone as there are some deep seated, subconscious forces at work. So I have enlisted the help of a neuro-psychologist. I have my first appointment this afternoon, so hopefully she doesnt open Pandoras box.

The biggest question I have for this psychologist is whether I am the same person, am I the Brad that left for the UK and America, or am I different? I think in a way I have changed, I have seen and feared some very real situations. I was the one who endured the surgery, but other than that the whole waiting game was endured by my family and friends, every second ticked a little bit slower, and I dont know if I was happy or sad about that, I say that because I urgently wanted to know the results but at the same time I wanted to save every second of life. Am I the same Brad,  I will never  know.
I have picked up some sentimental things along the road, a Stanford tracksuit and Snoopy from my mom, a new head from my dad as well as the device that I write to you on now, but you learn that the most important gift you can get is the support you receive, and the best gift you can give to them, under circumstances like this, is to come home.

lastly, I just want to say “Thank you”, its an honour, to know or have received forms of support from all of you. I have encountered people from all walks of life who have read this blog and drawn some inspiration from it. I am no different to any other person, perhaps I have an extraordinary drive to live, and my key was never to think like a sick person, I got in those wheelchairs out of necessity, but throughout my portage I was fighting to get out, and that mentality stayed with me throughout and will continue to be with me every step of the way, as i know my family, girlfriend and friends will be.

Procrastination and the ticking time bomb

Since the outset of this blog, I always promised myself that I would write the truth, I would let everyone reading this blog feel my very real emotion, they would walk this journey with me, and they would feel my fight. I have not and will not hold back my emotions in order to make this a less turbulent read. Those emotions that I feel are the real, raw, unhindered emotions that I face every single second of every single day, and it would be a gross injustice to lie to you, but even more to to lie to myself.

The most beautiful yet at the same time hindering lesson I have learnt so far is that to procrastinate is to put off the inevitable, and when we are all fighting a battle against our primordial clock, it seems pretty illogical. When you accept that there are certain things you can and cannot control, you get a greater perspective on life.

I have learnt to accept some pretty massive life lessons in a very short amount of time. We all meander along in life, some more driven to obtain something, a desire planted in the back odour mind. Even if we are not sure of what it is, how we hope to achieve it, or the means of obtaining it, it may be an objective, we may not be sure what that objective is, but some day we hope to have a moment of where the toils and struggles amount to something. It is then that our lives hope to make sense, where everything and everyone we have met in life serves to meet this objective, and we then know our purpose.

As I lay, with my bottom on the freezing theatre table, surrounded by equipment that far exceeds my mental capacity, I asked myself, "Brad, if you don't wake up from this, what can you account for in your life... ". That's a pretty big question for a 24 year old to answer. What I am referring to is not material, it is not something that can be obtained through material wealth, I have now learnt that that is very insignificant. I am referring to those moments we look for in life that we will remember for the rest of our lives, the moments where we witness majesty, or something majestic. Have you seen everything you want to see, in order to account for a life well spent. As my friend Stuart Kidgell puts it, "the medical sword is hanging over all our heads", I just have to acknowledge my enemy sooner than hoped.

We all get stuck in moments of limbo, the moments when we wander between a place we may be comfortable with, to a place we hope to be going. Of course it is easy to get settled into a routine, see the same scene every day and go through the same motions, but we witness the great things in life when routine is broken, and all too often people are afraid of breaking routine. We like routine. All of that gets completely blitzed when you have to do the same thing when you are knowingly sleeping on an active time bomb.

I do not mean that in a negative way, because I maintain my positivity throughout, this tumour is still in my head, and I am still determined to fight, and win. I have my next batch of scans and tests in April, and I can live inside a padded room for the next month and a half, or I can see the people that mean the most to me, do the things I cherish above all others, and hopefully laugh continuously for the next 2 months. We are all guilty of forgetting about how valuable life is, we procrastinate and in so doing we lose out on the things we should be doing.

I am also guilty of procrastination over the last week or so,I have been so involved with this whole thing, that I forgot to take stock of the battle that has been fought, and the people who have fought it with me. My family, girlfriend and friends have been through this entire battle with me. They have pulled me out of the darkness, and at times it felt like I was crawling out of a hole dug in the sand. The walls felt as if they were caving in, my own drive and determination to get out of the pit was making the walls crumble faster.

 I have not been sleeping well, I spend most of the night trying to find any subject that will drive my mind far away from the current reality. In the end, I find solace in my own thoughts, and at least I still have the mental power to think.

 I have been up and down, and that is the road you ride when you fight this foe, you learn to accept that time is a precious commodity, and the price we pay for it is so so high, because if you sit on your laurels trying to fight time, you miss out on life. I go to sleep every night knowing that I will ply all of my mental strength into pushing this thing out of my mind, both physically and mentally. Perhaps it is just wishful thinking, and positive interpretation, but those 3 operations, and countless hours spent with doctors, nurses and specialists could have gone down another route entirely.

It's only looking back do I realise how close everything came, when I read the reports on my surgery do I shudder, as I imagine those doctors huddled over a 24 year olds motionless body, but not dead, inside that body there is all the fight left in the world. If you lose your will to fight, the battle is already lost. After surgery I, at times, have felt different. I, in essence, am the same Brad, yet I interpret thing differently. I procrastinate less, and live more. We are so afraid to lose out in case another option opens up, a more favourable option. I go to bed tonight knowing that if I had procrastinated with that first MRI, I wouldn't be here today. I am now living everyday, and I am so incredibly grateful for every second.

Gravity

The first major rule that we all learn about gravity, is that what goes up, must come down. With that in mind, I am now not exactly sure how to write this blog, for the first time in a while I feel apprehension in starting because of fear that I may jinx the incredible news I received this last week, I may be brought back down to earth and I may have to face some pretty big questions. I have written this particular blog in my head so many times, So much so that it now seems lacking in depth and not paying the necessary respect for the people following this blog. I know I have kept a very low profile this last week, and that lies mostly in part to this whole week feeling surreal.

When you get good news, you get propelled out of this atmosphere into a place of euphoria, that up until a week ago, I had completely forgotten about. When you are fighting against something so consuming as a tumor in your brain, you tend to forget about the simple things in life that afford you great pleasures. Euphoria is something that cannot be bought, it cannot be felt, it is an intangible object that makes the possessor the richest person on earth, because to them euphoria is a happiness that cannot be matched. It is the moment when any material wealth is humbled by pure emotion. The euphoria I am speaking of has been my fuel for the last week.

Firstly, I have been in a limbo for the last two months, as we all know I have had this tumor in my head that has driven myself, and my loved ones all over the world in search of treatment. And we found that treatment in Stanford, California, and in London. We have been through an incredible amount of up and down moments, and that is the gravity I speak of. When I refer to "We", I consider that to include myself, my parents, my family, my loved ones,  my friends and anyone who has found some form of happiness in reading my story. What I have witnessed over the last two months has shown me peoples capacity to care and to love. I have said this so many times before, but every time I feel alone, I refer back to the incredible support I have received and the stories people have shared with me, and it reminds me every time that I have never been alone. I have walked this road with thousands of people behind me, and it shows me that in times of adversity and hardship, we will never walk alone.

I have stumbled in the dark, as we all do, in search of answers. I have been up and down, and thrown left and right. And for every time I was down I would tell myself that I had to get back up, not because I couldnt get up, but purely because in my mind I would not stay down, that gravitational pull would not rule my life and I would not let gravity have its way with me. Of course when you are fighting the natural order of things, such as the body producing rogue cells that then go cancerous, those little cells fight back and hit your body as hard as they can in a bid to calm the battle and win a war that was never theirs. But in any war, there can only be one outcome for the man who sets out to fight until the war is over, his body is spent and his will to get home surpasses that of his foe, his desire to win outweighs that of the opponent, and his mental strength secures victory before the battle is fought. 

I have viewed these last two months as a war, with small battles fought along the way that accumulated in to a war that has spanned 3 continents, 3 brain surgeries, 3 scars, and 2 really really bad haircuts.

Besides the physical scars that I will carry for the rest of my life, I will carry the emotional support I have been shown. My opinions of people has completely transformed, I have been shown their true grit and emotional depth, and for that I am grateful I have undergone this experience. I have felt peoples stories, and they have rocked the very core of my understanding of people, and what they have gone through. My story is one of millions, and so long as I help other people in a similar situation feel like they are not alone then I consider every second spent on this blog to be well spent.

Last week I met with Professor Brada, you can Google him, and his credentials, if I wrote them, would require for me to be up much later than planned. My father and I were to meet with Professore Brada on 14th of February, my  mother opted to stay at home as it was my sisters Birthday. My father and I arrived at the LOC (London Oncology Clinic) at 17:30 on Tuesday afternoon. The LOC (Harley Street Clinic) is not like any hospital I have been to. It was more like a hotel than a hospital, as it had a grand reception area, and comfy deep couches. You are only reminded that it is a hospital when they take you off to a side room for tests.

We were scheduled to meet with professor Brada at 17:45, so in the 15 minute gap we waited patiently in the waiting room. It is a funny thing where the mind wanders off to in times of boredom or imptaience, and the thoughts you come up with when you are waiting in these rooms. My mind began to race again, and I start to hatch ideas that at the time seem very plausible and realistic but in hindsight are complete madness. I began to wonder about the probability of the tumor growing back in the short time between the US and UK, and other thoughts similar to this. Those are the little demons I spoke of last week.

17:45 comes, and as in the US, they work like clockwork. We arrive at Dr. Bradas consultation rooms, and instantly my pulse quickens and my heart-rate flutters. The jitters yet again begin to cloud my steady concentration thought. One knock and we are summonsed. Professor Brada is a very kind looking man, with a European accent that I have not quite tied down yet, but his voice is very calming and he already knows us by name, " Derek, Bradley, please, take a seat". We sit down in comfy arm chairs opposite his desk, and I steal a glance at a window that was reflecting his computer screens. He has pulled my MRI's onto his computer and I can see my brain again, for the second time I start to feel very light headed. I tell myself I knew this was coming and I brace myself for his recommendations about my course of either radiation or chemo-therapy. Prior to this meeting we were informed that I would probably undergo a 36 week course of chemo or a 7-8 week course of radiation. I brace myself for the oncoming news as one would brace for blunt force trauma. I am mentally ready for anything they can throw at me.... or so I thought I was.

The next 20 minutes were the most euphoric moments of my life.

He started the conversation by saying, "2 things... 1, you are not going to die of a brain tumor. 2, you are going to live a completely normal life, and the longevity of your life will not in any way be affected by the brain tumor..."

Hold on, I was there to see Professor Brada, a radiation oncologist, about my radiation course. Now this man is telling me that this tumor in my head is no longer going to rule my life.

What had happened in the next few minutes was a barrage of medical terminologies, reference to my MRI on his computer screen, some questions about my headaches, and how long they have spanned for, some more questions about how I first learned about my tumor, and some information he had extracted from the reports from Professor Harsh.

He could not have been more complimentary of Professor Harsh, and what an incredible job he had down in extracting 70% of the tumor. He paid respect to the man, as he could see that the tumor had developed fronds or barbs that had latched onto the wall of my 3rd ventricle, and that if he had tried to extract the remainder of the tumor, as most people would have attempted, that the repercussions would have been severe, to mention a few things I could have woken up with double vision or blindness, paralysis on my whole left hand side as I experienced in surgery, and doing severe damage to my brain itself. So I am very grateful that they maintained composure and pulled out when they did.

Professor Brada then went on to explain that the proliferation rated of my tumor are so low, that once we left Stanford, the pathology teams then analyzed, and reanalyzed my tumor samples over and over again. The results were that it was a very low Grade 2 Pineal Cytoma, and that it is such a low Grade 2 that it can be considered a Grade 1, the Grading system is relatively new and there is much differing opinions about what constitutes Grade 1, 2, 3, and 4. Dr. Brada then look my dad and I in the eye, and told us that the damage caused by radiation would be greater than the damage caused by the tumor itself and that the tumor has been in my head for a very very long time, longer than the 2-3 years as previously thought.

He then continued to tell us that I would head back to London in March/April for more scans and tests, but until then I can leave and continue my life as I normally would. He told me I was free to go and enjoy life.

My opinion of gravity has changed since that very moment, gravity is the force that will ground you should you let it, it is the magnet for negativity and defeat. I walked out of Dr. Brada's rooms with a blank expression, I did not know exactly what the man was telling me, and my father could not believe it either. We both floated out of his rooms, through the hospital reception area and into a taxi. We had not fully grasped what we had been told, and it took several days, and it is still taking some comprehension. We both sat in the taxi, with neither of us speaking until 10 minutes into the ride I asked him what this meant. I still dont think he had the words to explain to me exactly what Prof Brada was saying, and I don't blame him. He kind of muttered "Its over, Boy, and I am so so proud of you". We both just hugged each other as we realized what had been said and what my family and I have been through. The words were like a sword shattering my shackles to the ground, they released me from the torment of gravity and allowed me to reset my focus and attention to the things that really matter in life. I instantly get on the phone to my family and tell them the incredible news, no one can really comprehend or believe it. We are all still in a state of shock. My focus pre-cancer to what it is now is completely different, the things  I held in esteem then are now of little concern to me. The gravity that held me down during this whole fight was a mental battle that can only be won when you are prepared to lose everything in the process of gaining a second chance at life


Prior to the meeting on late Tuesday afternoon, I was ready for the radiation, I was ready for the 7 weeks of hospitals, tests, scans and more MRI's. It shows how one hour of life after 2 months of fighting can change your life.

I have realized you set your own limits, you determine your gravity, and rather than letting things keep you down, you identify the things that will propel you to heights you had never imagined before.


How do you thank someone for saving your life... you show them how to live.

Demons

Demons, these are the little thoughts that haunt you, they are the thoughts that drift into your mind during moments of inactivity and somehow manage to plant a seed of thought that slowly spreads, just like a tumor, until it is all you can think about. These thoughts then tend to haunt you, until you either manage to wrestle the thought into submission or you drive yourself mad .The hard part about it is that the thought gets more and more invasive. It starts as a quick glimmer or figment of your imagination, and by the end it can be an all consuming mass that draws you in like a black hole. You hear from the doctors that these moments will happen and that these types of things are common, and that they throw statistics at you that are aimed at alleviating the madness that can quickly take you. The doctors also warn you that  inevitably, no matter how strong you are, you will think about the dark, scary moments in which you question your existence and how long you'll be around for. My advice would be that no matter how dark and scary, as long as you're alive, you're fighting, and that the only statistic that matters is you and how much of a percentage of your mind is focused on beating this thing.


I used to think of demons as completely different things, they were the "scary" flashback I would have on a Sunday afternoon when looking back at my weekend, the demons would haunt my thoughts and I would cringe to think about my inane exploits. The demons I have been experiencing lately are a very different animal, and a lot more serious. For those of you reading this blog who have had some form of cancer, you will know about these demons... the ones that wake you up in the middle of the night, in a cold sweat, and once the idea has been processed, your mind begins to run, it breaks down the idea into every conceivable scenario and tries to apply it to your current status and situation. My "demons" in the beginning of this whole thing were very different from what they are now, I write that off to ignorance and not really understanding what the doctors were talking about.

I do recall that I had no idea what the difference between malignant and benign were, all I really cared about was whether this thing was going to kill me... because invariably that is all we really care about. Once that question gets answered we have a steering point or a buoy to hold on to. Once the doctor said, "if you leave it, you die", I had a pretty good steering point. I knew that I would be able to beat it so long as it came out, I was not phased with how I was going to get it out because that was not an option. The demons during that initial phase were perhaps likened to an uneducated child, brash and without direction. But slowly as I have plodded along my journey to recovery I have began to absorb information. I love information, and the incredible power it holds... my only wish would be that if I could absorb so much information that it would squash my tumor, alas. I was also very apprehensive about information, because I also know the allure of the internet and peoples need to run to it if there is something we are unsure of. I confess I have done this in the past, I was even given the name "Google" or "Funfact Woodley", as I would resort to the search engine if there was anything I was unsure of.

As soon as I learned about my tumor, my immediate reaction was to Google "Pineal tumor". That would have been unwise, and I suggest that none of the readers of this blog go against my wishes. It is not only because there is a lot of false information out there, but it is also harmful information, that can be misleading and will serve no purpose. Rather peak to someone who is an authority on the matter. I also believe it was wise to never research brain tumors and pineal tumors because I would then have been given information that I needed to hear from a professor of nuerosurgery, because Professor Harsh informed me that of all the brain tumors in the pineal region, I have one that accounts for between 1 and 4%. If I had read that on some website, or wikipedia, I surely would have crumbled like a house of cards, the armour that my parents speak of would have been dented before the battle had begun, and my mountain would have seemed to steep an angle to climb.

The Demons will always be in the back of my mind, tomorrow I have my first appointment with my Radiation Oncologists at Harley Street Clinic. I am apprehensive, I know that yet again they are going to be throwing all the hard facts at me, that I have a malignant cancer in the middle of my brain, and that they were successful in removing 70% of it, and that the remaining 30% has developed fronds, which means it has dug into the wall of my 3rd ventricle. Prof. Harsh tried to remove it during surgery but as they were trying to remove it, my motor function on my left hand side began to decrease, and for a few hours the doctors were unsure whether I would have full function on my left hand side. These are the risks we take, I would undergo that surgery again so long as it yielded the same results. Hindsight is scary, just as demons are, because I shudder to think what could have happened. I could never have woken up, and I wouldnt have known the difference.

Those minutes that I lay on the operating table before surgery were the most humbling of my life, and only a few people will be able to empathize with this, because only a few people have been in a situation where they readily accept death in order to be able to live, and get better. I will never be able to explain the pure and raw emotion I felt, I realized that those last few minutes could be my last and that I may never see my loved ones again. Now that its all over, the demons are the things that haunt me. I wake up at least once a night, and I lie there thinking about whether they got enough of the tumor out, and whether the doctors are going to throw another curve ball at me during the appointment tomorrow. I am slowly learning the incredible power of my mind, and the need to control my thoughts and emotions. I still have never cried about this cancer, not because it shows weakness, because it doesn't. I haven't cried because I am scared to release the emotion and fear that resides in me, and in apprehension of what else it will unlock.

The demons I am talking about have the power to make you recall the scariest moments of your fight, and they make you shudder to think of the devastating consequences of your actions or decisions. You realize what you could have lost in your attempt to gain more, they are the thoughts that stir your deepest and most personal realizations.

I am not a super hero, I feel pain and I scare just the same as the next. When you get hammered with reams of information we all look for a beacon that will help pull us out of the darkness, we all have our vices, and we all need the people around us. My support system has pulled me through this, people forget that I am not here alone, I have my family, loved ones and friends here that have been a source of inspiration and strength. Just as they have been a source so has everyone back home, and I will never forget the incredible love I have been shown. Thank you to everyone. We all forget the incredible strength and importance of those two words and how misconstrued they have become. From the bottom of my heart, Thank You to Everyone.


We all experience Demons, and we all have our own personal demons, with each one providing minutes or hours of panic, where they fester, like a sore until they become infected.  I have experienced my fair share lately, and they seemed bigger than monoliths at certain stages of this fight. Then I realized that these thoughts are there to test you, they are designed to test the mental fortitude of your mind, and in a battle like mine, only the strongest mentally survive. If I continue to let these little thoughts gather momentum, in the end I will be surrounded by thoughts that harbor no positivity and emit negativity like the sun emits light. It will be all consuming, and with devastating repercussions.


So when you  hear the voice of your demons tinkering around in the back of your mind, in the most important vessel  of thought to yourself, you have to accept that these demons will play inconceivable games against you, it will use your fears, phobias and insecurities to try gain an advantage over you. The blow can be physically felt, your heart quickens, and your breath shortens. This panic is only developed as a consequence of your demons.

In the end, just remember that no combination of single thoughts is stronger than the collective power of the thoughts of your mind. I am still wrestling my demons, every day, but every small battle won, I get closer to winning this perpetual war that is fought in the realm of the mind.

Point me in the right direction... im in a wheelchair!

Greetings from London, it  has been quite a chilly reception, but nevertheless it is good to be with family and friends. I cant believe that last time I was here I had a 2cm tumor embedded into my my brain, and as I sit here now, 70% of that tumor has been removed.... I knew I had lost some weight, even if it is a few grams. From where we left off in Palo Alto, we went and saw Dr Harsh last Friday where he looked at my scar and assessed my recovery. He was happy with the state of my headaches and gave me permission to head over to London, UK, for the rest of my treatment.

I went through some invaluable lessons while I was in the US, and some were more hard learned than the others. Last Tuesday I hit the proverbial wall, it was 4 days after brain surgery and I considered myself to be on the road to recovery... the headaches were becoming less and less painful and I was in high spirits. When you go through brain surgery, you learn to not take things for granted. I woke up on the Tuesday morning with a painful searing feeling behind my eye, I can only compare this to someone getting a red hot poker and trying to twist it through the back of your eye, and once that pain begins to register with your central nervous system, it is then followed by an excruciating headache. That is how my Tuesday started, and I was not in high spirits. I tried to brush the headache aside by watching some TV and having a skype session, which was not ideal as I forgot to pay attention to the nausea slowly gathering momentum form within. It was becoming increasingly hard for me to keep food down, and I had already had one occasion of late night wretching.


My parents registered that I was going to be unplayable as I was having difficulty putting some food in my tummy and my refusal to awake from my slumber. I had been warned that I would only truly feel the effects of surgery 3-4 days after surgery, but seeing that I was out of ICU in just one day, I felt I was ahead of the curve. In order to try keep the vicodin from eating my stomach wall, my parents and I forced some oatmeal down. This would be a rued decision later on in the day... you can foresee my demise. My headache gradually began to worsen along with my nausea, but I continued to fight the pain and turn down any nausea medication. Here is some advice if you ever find yourself on  prescription medication, take your pills if that is what it says on the script... a neuro surgeon professor knows better than I do.

As I lay on my bed, I had to call out to my mother frantically, the oatmeal that was "lining" my tummy had failed and I began to vomit. I cannot explain the pain you go through when you are trying to hold back a vomit which exerts even further pressure on your brain that is already under duress. Eventually I just had to submit, the affects of surgery had won this short lived battle. My mom came rushing towards me with a shopping bag in hand, and it was an all too attractive offer. After 10 minutes of wretching, it was finally over and the frantic worrying on my parents part began. They flew around the hotel room looking for cellphone numbers and emergency lines, and quickly closing any current skype calls... I am sorry for those of you who had to see my stint of vomiting. 45 minutes later we found ourselves in the hospital... yet again. We quickly saw Dr Harsh, followed by a battery of bloodtests, some more scans and some neurological tests. By this time I am in a wheelchair and not feeling great. Fate is a funny thing, but I needed to be in that wheelchair in that hospital to learn my most important lesson. I sat with my head in my hands, to weak to move and too tired to speak. I slowly got wheeled around the hospital from station to station where they performed their necessary tests. I slowly begin to lose interest in where we are going and I become very disillusioned with where I am going, I am 24 years old, I am not supposed to be bound to a wheelchair, recovering from brain surgery from a tumor... that wasnt my calling... or was it?

As I got wheeled around the hospital I looked more and more like a cancer patient, the colour begins to drain from my face, and slowly my complexion becomes more similar to that of a sheet and less like a human. I slump further down in my wheelchair as the burden of the challenge begins to weight heavier on my shoulders and my parents attempts at luring me out of this state are becoming less and less promising. Slowly the gravity of my battle begins to be identifiable, and my climb to the top of this mountain seems sheer. Where did my life go wrong, that this had to happen? These were the questions I was asking myself, the questions I needed to ask in order to get some clarity and some perspective, because as I was being wheeled around I was being grouped with other people who were in wheelchairs, who also had shaved heads and a very pale skin complexion. What i failed to recognize then was that I was being sat next to the people who were terminally ill with cancer, and they were all talking amongst one another, finding out each others prognosis. They saw me get wheeled into their group, at first it was just IV drips attached to their chairs, and slowly they became more and more interested in this newcomer, someone they hadnt seen before, someone who was suffering their first small defeat of cancer. They asked me why I was there, and I could slowly muster the words, brain tumor... and just as quickly as the words escaped my mouth, did I realize that I needed to keep them to myself. Because they looked taken aback, the men who sat around me, who were jokingly sharing stories minutes earlier were silent, grim faced. These were older men who hadnt imagined that a 24 year old would be battling cancer, and my grim response had dulled their day. That wasnt up to me, and I had failed myself.

These men didnt need to know my problem, and I was gravely disturbed by my need to tell them. They were fighting their own battles, and they didnt need to be further weighed down by me. I appreciated that they were concerned but it seemed like their problems were far greater than mine. They were the ones with chemo bags attached to their wheelchairs, who were suffering crippling pain and sadness at their terminal disease. It was not the other way round yet there I sat, hunched over in my chair. I was personifying this battle with cancer and it was then that I decided it would be the last time. I was not going to let me lose this fight, and I could not let anyone else think ever " he must be fighting cancer", because on  that Tuesday I looked like a cancer patient, yet in my head I knew and I still know I am not a cancer patient. It still has not sunken in, and maybe it is stubbornness,  or I have a strong constitution, but the pills havent affected me as the doctors said, and the surgery was intense but I was ready for the battle. More than surgery and all the bloodtests, poking and prodding,  I learned more on that Tuesday because of those men who look terrified when I let them know a 24 year old had brain cancer, and I feel I ruined their day. I dont need to feel bad for myself or feel down, that is a terrible thing to do. There are people out there fighting much steeper battles. Of course my fight is immense, but I have not accepted for one second that this will beat me. But these men were in their last rounds, and I could see it in their eyes. They looked at me with the same look that they looked at their fallen friends, and it left a very bitter taste.

You have to be the person you want to be, I dont want to be seen as that cancer patient, I want to be seen as the guy who is fighting, and even when he is in that wheelchair, he uses all his energy to get out of it.

That Tuesday was a defining day for me, and I took a lot away from it. I did get better, I was put onto steroids that toughened up my immune system, and my nausea slowly dissipated. Slowly i was able to stomach more and more food, and as I sit writing to you now, I am on the couch in my sister and brother in-laws house, having just played with my one month old niece. It has only been one week since that Tuesday where I truly felt like I was dying, but more than anything it showed me what I needed to do to truly live.

Waiting for time

So its me, Brad, I'm back and im not writing to you from the other side of the grave. I have been through two sets of surgery and they have been both been the two scariest moments of my life. I have never been one for nostlagia or reflection, but when you are lying on a table waiting to have someone tinker around in your brain, you think about a lot of things. The biopsy was the smaller of the two operations and I was fortunate enough that I was discharged from Hospital the afternoon of my surgery. That was good news because as much as I respect hospitals and the tremendous of good that they do, I can honestly say that the noises you hear in those hospitals will wake you up from any medicated sleep you may be in. Once I had been discharged from the hospital after the surgery, I basically sprinted out the doors in some sort of medicated attempt at not recognizing my own frailty. That time would come.


All I had to do to ensure I could go home was to walk down corridor, and I knew I would be able to do it. Walk, I do that everyday... except its a little different when someone has been poking and prodding microscopic instruments in your brain. With all of that going on, all I wanted to do when I awoke from surgery was speak to the people who mean the most to me. Those few seconds that hear their voices gives the enough courage to go through the operation a thousand times. Those people are the one whohave kept me ticking through this whole ordeal and I could never have done it without you. I have learnt so much about myself these last few weeks, but almost more than anything else, I have learnt peoples unbelievable compassion for others who are undergoing moments of hardship. People I have never met in my life appeared, and they did not just appear, they went out of their way to ensure that they were there for me because somehow, my story reached them and they saw it out of their kindness of their heart to come and support me. I personally want to thank Victoria and Barry Behr, and Janet Brown. Those 3 people went out of their way to offer any service that they could. I had never met these people before, yet they made sure that we met and that they parted with gifts that exceeded anything I could have ever asked for. These are the moments that made everything a little easier, when you hear that familiar South African accent, or a common talk of home. Thank you once again.

So now that the biopsy was done, it was back to the hotel and the waiting game slowly begins to tighten its grip around my neck as I begin to talk less and less frequently. I know what the biopsy's function was, and I needed to find out the results, except Dr Harsh will only receive the results the following day, and that is with all his reputation trying to force it out of the pathology labs. So once we get back to the hotel, I chat to friends and catch up on what we can, as it appears that I lost another day to surgery. It was the beginning of a week that I lost, but gained so much more in the process, I just didnt know it yet.

We wake up on the Wednesday morning. I am feeling good considering I underwent surgery the previous day, that was until I tried to wee. The catheter is perhaps my least liked equipment, it is an aid shoved up your gentlemens area in order to aid the process of urinating during surgery and times of incapacitation. They did not prep me for this part of recovery, everything seems raw and is exceedingly painful to pee... But I have to get it out, even though it results in me being double bent. Wednesday slowly filters by, as we eagerly wait for results of the pathology reports. We know that Griff is in surgery from 11am until 8pm that evening, and we need to stay close to my phone as it is his direct line. With every passing second, I begin to scratch away at my biopsy dressing, and I can feel that there is something in the pipeline. I constantly ask my parents if todays surgery was the last one, as chemo and radiation begin to show up as the likely options. Phew, chemo and radiation, it was a hard reality accepting these, not because I am afraid of them or because I am afraid of losing my hair, I am not. They are just harsh realities to accept as it therefore means, You Have Cancer and you need these two things to rid your body of this disease.

In an attempt to forget about what is going on and what time it is, we go for dinner... although we can all feel our eyes being drawn to the little black device that will speak the direction of treatment.

7:30 and Griff calls, I hand the phone to my dad and he takes it outside, after about 5 minutes of conversation he comes back inside pulling the thumbs up, he says "Its a low grade two,but you have a decision to make", oh dear, more decisions for me to make. The last ones werent particularly easy, so I didnt have a good feeling about this one. My dad informs me that it is a low grade two which means low malignancy. The flip side of this is that Griff wants me on the table again tomorrow morning at 7:15, just when I was looking forward to a sleep in because my parents said we werent having any more operations. My dad also tells me that Griff wants to chat to me to get my opinion of this whole thing. I have no where near to the qualifications required in order to speak to this man about neuro surgery, so what ever he recommends, I am going ahead with.

My alarm didnt need to be set, I knew it was 4am as I could hear the minutes of my life draw over my body. It was a very surreal feeling, waking up on a day that could have been my last, and it was commissioned by me, my name was on the indemnity form that I signed stating that I give them permission to go ahead and cut my head open in order to get to the middle of this whole thing. I yet again skype with loved ones and make phone calls prior to getting to the hospital. Those last few calls are ones that I need to store in me during the next few hours that I would be asleep, I needed them to give me fight and help to keep me calm. The preop admissions are the exact same as the biopsy, except that I am now seated on bed 1, which is pole position bed or the one situated by the main Operating Room, the one with all the big fancy machines. I lie in bed 1 getting poked again, and it draws on me that today could very really be my last day, but as quickly as that fear arises, i wash it out and remove it from my though. my family and i have come half way around the world to see the best, and these guys see thousands of cases like mine everyday... wrong! my case is a pineal tumor that account for 1% of brain tumors, so that changed things a bit for me,but it didnt change my outlook on this whole thing, i maintained my though process and i knew why i was there. I lay on the bed and was constantly kept aware of my parents, and they tried their best to keep my mind busy. 7 am comes around a lot sooner than thought and I am aware that I have 15 minutes before being wheeled in, because these guys run according to the clock.

So I speak to my sisters for one last time before I take a scheduled 7 hour sleep, and I speak to Alice and Brenty and they wish me a goodnight sleep. Finally my transport arrives and they wheel me off. Fear is quickly washed out by the drugs that begin to circulate around my body, I feel a sense of numbness, as I realise that this is the moment I have been building up to since I was diagnosed with the brain tumor. I am here to take this thing out, and I would rather die trying to take it out, than let it kill me, at least it would be on my terms that we both die.

I hobble over to OR room 1, operating table 1. The machinery in this room is mind blowing and I cannot begin to understand what each machine in there is for, but i can liken it to a symphony and that each piece has its music to play. The anasthetic begins to ring ever truer in my ears, my eyes become light and before I know it 7 hours of my life pass by in a blink. And it turns out it was an eventful 7 hours. They lost parts of my motor neurons on my left hand side from working, along with taking out a large area of the tumor. With all of this happening, all I hear is my welcoming voices of my parents as they try to coax me out of the sleep I have been in. I hug them and am so grateful that they are there with me for this, Its a very defining feeling, knowing you have climbed the mountain, and run down the other side, I had climbed my mountain, I had let Dr Harsh and his team work in the deepest parts of my brain, and they achieved what they set out to, and one of them was even kind enough to give me a haircut during the occasion.

I am still healing from the surgery one week on, but I am so grateful that I had it. These surgeons do not realize how massively they are changing peoples lives on a daily basis. This whole surgery procedure catapults me back in to ICU and under the protection of some incredible nurses. These are the people that keep the hospitals going as they seek to answer every groan and movement with a remedy. My fight with this monster is not over yet,

Hey. - I am just a dad........

Well first of all a big apology to all of you trusted followers of Brads blog for not updating you sooner on Brads progress but as you are aware we have been on the business end of why we have come here.

Just  a  quick Hello from the original author, its me, Brad. I have healed a substantial amount over the last few days, and a big part of the healing is being heavily medicated. That is why I have been withdrawn from the writing because my literary skills are not up to scratch and I might altogether forget why I am writing. I only just found out the other night I went on vitamin binge for brain pills, and I have been reassured that my spelling errors are a direct result of the very real narcotics I am on... so if you find some funny typos... I apologize, but they got me on the drugs! and my dad is making sure I do not miss a dose!, so now I leave it back up to the big guy, DW!

Stanford Hospital is becoming like a second home to us. The doctors, nurses and all the nurse aids continue to astound me with their professionalism and dedication to healing people. They have an absolute belief in the institution and the capability of the institution to bring patients back to health again. I have just bumped into the guy who pushed Brads trolley into theatre on the first day when he went for the biopsy. His name is Jimmy and he stops me in the passage and asks me how my son is doing. I give him the latest update and he says " be sure to tell Brad I send my best wishes and that I know he will be ok". Well I am not sure how many trolleys he pushes in a day but it is significant and he still manages to remember Brads name from three days ago. I am about to walk into ICU and the nurse who prepped Brad for his biopsy is walking out of ICU. Her name is Beth and she tells me that she has just popped in to see Brad and he is looking good. She did not have to do that - she was on her way home - but this is the level of commitment that I am talking to you about. It really has made a huge impression on me and makes me want to share this with you all as I believe the more you commit to something you love and are passionate about the more reward and satisfaction you will get out.

nice ding - thanks Griff

I am once again amazed when I look at my boy lying in the bed in ICU with that big smile on his face (and one on the back of his head) - and just two hours ago he was lying in theatre with instruments tinkering around right in the middle of his brain. The ICU nurse station sits between two beds - Brads and some other guy who had been blown up in Afghanistan. She is 100% focussed on these two patients and every reaction, cough or twitch is recorded. She says she has just received a digital alert from pathology that Brads potassium levels are low and she puts up the necessary drip to get his levels up again - everything working like clockwork. She does not leave that station and she wakes Brad every hour to check his vitals. Once again I leave Brad there knowing he is in the best care possible and that makes me feel relieved as I make my way back to the hotel.

in ICU

I get to my room and for the first time I realise how physically and emotionally exhausted I am . I realise that I have have taken myself past a point that I have ever taken myself and wonder how much more there is in me.

Friday 4.00am I am wide awake and I make my way down to the hospital and into ICU. Brad is awake and tells me that he had a late night MRI - all 40 minutes of it. By now Brad's number one enemy is becoming that tunnel in the MRI machine. Every time your body plunges into the depths of the machine he constantly questions what they are going to find this time.This is in huge contrast to the very first MRI he had where he lay there almost questioning why he was wasting people's time by doing this. He even wandered whether they would pick up his smile on the MRI.

3 pm we are due to meet Griff and Dr.Recht (prof Neuro oncology ). They have been held up and tell us they will meet us at Brads station in ICU. Brady is starting to build a phobia about the Dr. meetings as they are always very detailed and truthfull to the last detail and sometimes when you are in these vulnerable situations you feel that you would rather not know - it gives you a false sense of security. One thing that I have learnt in Brads journey is that knowledge is power. When your life is on the line knowledge becomes your greatest ally.

Griff arrives at speed - that's just the way he gets around. He tells us that that the MRI last night has shown that he managed to get more of the tumor out than what he originally thought . He estimates around 2/3's - so that was good news. He informs us that all the tissue that was removed was sent for pathology and that it all tested to be a low grade 2 Pineal tumor so that was also good news. He also tells us that the cyst was removed completely and that all looks good.

Griff tells us that the Tumor Board had met earlier to discuss Brads case. And just in case you have different illusions of what constitutes a tumour board let me put your mind at rest. It probably constitutes the highest concentration of medical genius' that you could possibly put around one table.

Griff tells us that there was some healthy discussion in Brads case and that general consensus believes that the best way forward would be to to have focussed radiation to the remaining tumour and the immediate surrounds so that we can eradicate the tumour itself and the little appendages that are adhering it to the wall of the 3rd ventricle. They are advocating a 6 week course.

Dr Recht and Dr Thomas both Profs of Neuro oncology arrive and inform us that they also agree with the suggestion that Griff has told us. One thing that you realise in this game is that the Doctors will give you the utmost professional advise and recommendation but at the end of the day the decision is yours and, man, they are big decisions. You've all heard the saying " a bad decision is better than no decision" . Well you question that for the first time knowing what the consequences of a bad decision can be. So every decision is the biggest you've ever made and you research and study every alternative in the minutest detail - there is a lesson in that!!

So now we know where we are headed and we have one more meeting with Dr. Gibbs ( Prof of Radiotherapy and one of the people involved in the development of the cyberknife project).The good news is that we can do this radiation in London. All of a sudden it dawns on me how lonely it's been. We are in the best place in the world to deal with Brady's tumour but you are alone out there. Support from family and friends has been unbelievable but been out of reach takes its toll. I also realise how technology has changed our lives. FaceTime and Skype have added a new dimension to the world in which we live and I wander how much it would have changed in 5 years time - and are we thinking about that.

you gotta love technology and what it brings

Here I am sitting in Silicon Valley - the home of Apple and FaceTime and Skype.and I can connect to family, friends and business associates across the world. I eve's dropped into a conversation at the hotel the other day. The hotel I am in is the official gathering place for the elite of the Valley. Two engineers were talking to a sponsor - obviously looking for investment. I overheard the one engineer saying to the sponsor " we spend to much time designing for whats now and not enough time designing for what's next". That made me think a bit....... ,!!

Back to ICU -  two more professors come in Dr Lopez and Dr. Nguyen ( Prof of Neuro sciences) . These are the guys that constantly were monitoring Brads neurological responses throughout the operation. The reason for the visit was that something happened with Brad that they have only had two previous cases of. Brad had bitten his Tongue in response to one of the impulses that they had initiated. The guard which prevents him from doing so must have dislodged and the result was a seriously swollen and bruised Tongue - only Brad.

nice bite

So one day later they are ready to let Brad go from ICU but I think Brad quite fancied the attention there so on one of the nurses's attempts to get Brad mobile he proceeded to vomit all over her foot. Apparently fairly common as the blood in the floor of the ventricle (in the brain) from the op can swirl around and cause nausea.

We leave Brad knowing that in the morning he would have moved to a general ward. This being 1 day after brain surgery!!!

Saturday morning I am up early and get down to the hospital full of optimism knowing that we are a day further away from the surgery and knowing that each day from here on Brad will be feeling better than the previous day. What greeted me I simply was not ready for and I felt like I had walked into a right hook. Brad was down, he was aching everywhere and feeling the full effects of serious surgery. So it was going to be a long day!! We manage to pick him up and Griff comes to see us and tells us that that Brad is doing fantastically well and if we can get him onto his feet he can go home. Home being the hotel.

first bath - still loyal to the brands

So 2 days after brain surgery Brad is in the car and we are on the way to the hotel. That night I think I got to understand what it must be like to be an ICU nurse on her first night of duty. I had Brad back in the bed next to me - for that I will be eternally grateful but it was a sleepless night with having to be up to administer medication and your subconscious becomes programmed to detect any abnormal noise emanating from your responsibility.

Sunday morning greats us with a booming headache and Brad is battling. He had been sleeping so well I skipped his one pain medication time slot. Lesson learnt - we won't do that again as it takes a couple of hours to get the pain under control again but he recovered well and in no time we were on our first big walk and had lunch, in the sun, at the main hotel verandah.

up and about

 

Sunday dinner was the same tomato soup we had for lunch and roast chicken with veg. We are feeling good and strong after the walk and eager for an early night. I give Brad his meds and look forward to a good night sleep.

Wrong!! 12 midnight I had just given Brad his meds and he tells me he is feeling nauseas. Nausea after brain surgery is a warning sign. With that he makes his way to the bath room and I jump up to help him and just missed the first vomit missile which was followed up by a second big one.

Now it was time to find all those numbers that the hospital gives you that you never think you will need and you are half asleep yourself. I eventually get put through to the Neurosurgeon on duty and explain what has just gone down - or should I say what has just shot out!! He asks all sorts of questions and tells me to watch him closely. Thanks mate - like I needed to hear that. So that's my sleep for the night!

Monday morning and anyone may have mistaken who had just had brain surgery - me or Brad. And then I get a mail from one of the guys at work - " you know who you are and I want you to know what that meant to me at that particular time".

This is what it said

"Hi Derek
I deliberated for some time about mailing you. My hesitation for doing
so was predominately to do with respect. That may sound odd, but in my
mind, out of respect I shouldn't be "bothering" you.

Then I read your blog posts again and I realized it would be remiss of
me to not send you this mail. I say that because I've come to the
realization that you are no different to any other father. Your love
and admiration for your boy is tangible. I've always had the utmost
respect for you in the 13 odd years I've known you. I have however
over the years developed my own somewhat distorted perspective on you
as an individual. Your successes and the fact you are my business
leader have put you in a place that seems somewhat distant from my
reality. But as you write so beautifully and with such transparency
about your love for Brad, I now see you as quite simply a father
focussing all of his attention and endless energy on what matters most
to you in life. And that's fantastic!

I admire you immensely for sharing your most personal feelings. My
respect for you has taken on a new level. No longer are you that
determined, passionate, trusted man who cares so much about his
business and the people that work with him. You are all that, but at
the same time, and for me more importantly, you are a loving father
holding his sons hand so damn tight as you both fight your way through
a challenging time.

I wish you all the strength in the world. I know you and Brad will succeed.

Take care Derek. See you soon."

That made me realise that above everything else that I may or may not be - I AM A DAD and that is something so special that you should never take for granted

thanks dad..

I am just a dad ...........!!!