The future is a funny thing, sometimes we know what's coming our way, but despite our minds natural inclination to call us to attention and realize what's going on, we still dont do everything in our power to prevent it from happening. Maybe its to test ourselves, maybe its to let nature take its natural course, but what we all have to realize is that what we do now will ultimately effect the future and the rest of our lives. Sometimes our vision into the future is short-sighted, with a short term goal in-sight, with cancer - it is always long term, you are forced to draw up short term goals and milestones that will help you in achieving your long term goal.
It has been a while since I have written in this blog, not for want of getting back to my writing, but because I wanted to get on with my life. I wanted to acknowledge that cancer happened, but along with my getting the all clear, I wanted to put this blog behind me.
Sometimes, things get bigger than you anticipated and people lean on the things you did in the past in such a way that you can no longer ignore the power that something holds. I learned that about this blog. In the past 6 months, I have come across countless stories of people's fights with cancer, and how some managed to come out the other side, and unfortunately how some didn't.
People keep asking me why I havent written, and truth be told, I hadnt found a reason to write until now. I'm fortunate that for now, my battle with cancer is on hold, but there are people out there who are battling with this terrible disease. Wesley Ingle, Jessica Nicholson and Caleb Keegan are three people that I have had the distinct privilege of meeting due to cancer, and it makes you realize cancer can effect anyone, at any stage, at any time... and good people do get cancer.
Wes Ingle, a friend from Durban was diagnosed in 2012 with Stage 3, non-semical metastatic germ cell cancer. He has undergone a biopsy, surgery and lengthy periods of chemotherapy. I mentioned Wes in one of my last blogs, and he has fought an unbelievable fight. The guts, determination and outright stubbornness that this guy has shown has inspired everyone. We met for a coffee a few months back, and despite him having chemo sweats, he was still in unbelievably high spirits and determined to fight on. Wes, as I've told you countless times, keep fighting my man. Team W(h)ess and his F&@$ cancer team can all be proud of what they have achieved. I told Wes a few months ago that once all of this has passed and he is given the all clear, we are going for a beer and will look back on a battle well fought.
That brings me from a friend who has nearly finished his fight, to a friend who is just starting hers. Jessica Nicholson, a friend of a an unbelievable couple I know in Durban, has recently been diagnosed with a Grade 4 Glioblastoma in her left frontal lobe. She suffered a seizure last Saturday, 9th February, which inadvertently saved her life. After CT scans, MRI's and a biopsy, she was officially diagnosed with cancer. She had a resection of the tumor, and due to the doctor suspecting it was an aggressive cancer, he himself was aggressive in removing as much of the tumor as possible. After the biopsy was analyzed they determined it to be a Grade 4 Glioblastoma. Since then, Jess and her husband, Simon, and 2 kids have had the two most emotionally harrowing weeks of their life. They have experienced first hand the most crushing news you can ever experience. I am a firm believer in every negative there is a positive, and the positive side of this has been the incredible amount of support everyone has shown them. Simon has started a fund that will serve as a transparent means of funding Jess and her treatments. Simon has also written a blog so please find it on http://www.gofundme.com/jessgetwellsoon . I have been in touch with my doctors in Stanford (USA), the LOC (London) and my personal team of Dr Stuart Kidgell and Dr Stephan Joubert (Stephan is riding in The Cape Argus to raise funds for a global cancer research initiative called "Cycling Against Sarcoma", and that also needs all the help it can get in finding a way to rid the human race of this terrible disease. I ask that you all have a look at Jess's page, and see the incredible spirit that this girl is exhibiting. In cancer, all bets are off, all future decisions are put on hold. It holds you to a moment, where ultimately, you are fighting for your life. Jess and Simon are keenly aware of this, and they have an unbelievable life to hold onto, filled with loving family and friends, I believe that they can get through this. Simon and Jess, I have told you before... I will walk this whole road with you, even though I am half a world away... I will do everything in my power to make sure that you two make it out of this. You have my word.
And lastly, the power of word lead me to the last person I have met. His name is Caleb Keegan, a Durban boy, who I have never actually met in person. Only through the power of social media and friends, have we come across one another. Caleb has spent the last 7 years of his life battling Hodgkins Lymphoma. He has undergone too many bouts of chemotherapy, radiation and autologous bone marrow transplants. It is safe to say, that it is more than any of us have ever gone through, and hopefully never will. He too has started a fund called www.facebook.com/calebscancertrust, and it is a means to afford the ridiculously expensive treatment that this poor guy has had to endure.
This blog isnt about cancer anymore, it is about helping people and fortunately having the platform to reach out to people who dont know where to start. It is scary, it is life-threatening, and you will never know how scary and life-consuming this disease is, until it happens to someone you know or love. Since I have become aware of cancer, I am realizing that it is everywhere... and unless we take a concerted effort to cure this disease, it will unfortunately be around for a very long time to come.
I can't read the future, nor do I claim to have all the answers. All I know is that there are a lot of people out there battling this disease, and unless they are given hope, whether it be through treatment, a helping hand, a hug or some cancer blog... these people feel very alone and scared. I remain positive in my mind even though I am still fully aware that there is this little cancerous tumor in my brain, because I know that as long as there are people out there like the people who have shown me as well as those affected by this disease, the love that they have, then there is still hope. You are the people I wake up for in the morning.
We all look into the future, and while it is uncertain, some of our futures are alot more uncertain than others.
Cancer isn't about me anymore, its about helping those in need.
Thursday, 21 February 2013
Monday, 5 November 2012
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 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.
Sunday, 21 October 2012
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.
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.
Monday, 30 April 2012
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.
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.
Tuesday, 24 April 2012
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.
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.
Monday, 2 April 2012
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.
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.
Friday, 16 March 2012
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.
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.
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