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.