You ever wonder what other people may be doing during an exact moment in your life? How much better or worse things may be for an individual while you’re doing something simple like eating your lunch?
You ever do that?
There was a time when those thoughts would cross my mind quite often, usually while travelling someplace on a bus. I’d sit on the top deck observing people on the streets below, walking or waiting, and every now and then I’d spot someone and think to myself – ‘What’s going on in your life? What’s making you smile, or making you stand there looking so upset? Is it that bad?’
It’s weird then to think, over the past two weeks, while so many were living their lives, as normal as possible, without too much worry, there was a moment, every day, in which some guy found himself on a table while a laser fired its way into his head in an attempt to obliterate a Cancerous tumour just in front of his brain.
That guy being me, of course.
It makes you realise how different our lives can be. That we can be so familiar, act in such a way that’s so predictable, sharing likes and dislikes, and yet, we’re so vastly different, in the way we think and feel and live and ultimately how it all pans out for each of us.
Honestly, there are still times now when I spot that person laughing in the street and I think to myself ‘I’ve no idea who you are, but I wish I was in your position. I wish I could escape this, take on whatever worry you have rather than my own, or just remain blissfully unaware of it all.’
Given my genuine belief in the embrace of struggle, and how it betters us, sometimes I wonder if those brief thoughts of escape are momentary manifestations of weakness. If I was in the trenches, would that be the point I potentially break and flee? Maybe those thoughts are some kind of personal test of will?
Whatever the case, I haven’t broken. I’ve stood the tide so far, and I’ve just recently stood the tide of yet more treatment. This time, Radiotherapy. Two weeks worth. And now it’s done. How was it, you ask? Actually, it was fine.
Let me guide you through the process…
I’ll skip the waiting part and just jump to the moment a specialist calls your name. I’m lead down a short corridor, taking a turn before walking straight into the Radiotherapy room. You don’t go through any doors, which is actually nice because it helps to make it feel like it isn’t something big and scary that needs to be locked away. There’s a table with a head rest at one end and a leg rest at the other, the Radiotherapy laser itself hangs above in the form of a thick arm with a circular screen on the end, a black target in the centre of the screen signifying where the laser beams exit.
It’s honestly not intimidating at all – the open nature of the room, without doors, the tiny table, the laser arm itself also small, the room bright, clean and aired, there’s also music playing, of which you can choose your own if you prefer. It’s nothing like an MRI, for example, which is a huge room-filling machine, locked away behind a large thick door. No, this, from the moment I saw it, felt much better.
So I put my stuff to one side, I lay myself down on the table, glasses off, wriggling into position to allow the two specialists to clip the molded mask made a few weeks earlier into place over my head.
This is perhaps the part where some might worry, as the mask wraps around your entire head, ensuring as little movement as possible. It fits tight, but it’s not uncomfortable. Being molded to fit exactly to the shape of my face, it fits well. It’s just a snug fit, that’s all. Any human would become comfortable with it if they just breath. In fact, I almost dozed off during one treatment.
At this point I can’t see much, I can only hear the specialists making their preparations. After a minute or so, one of the them lets me know the treatment is about to begin, she explains once they leave the room I’ll hear some clicks and whirls as the arm takes position and then the treatment will start, taking only a few minutes. She finishes with five words of reassurance. “You won’t feel a thing.” And with that, they leave the room and I await the arm’s movement.
There’s no activity for a moment, which is fine because I’m enjoying the music, and then I hear a few loud clicks, the arm whirls into position, then it makes a constant drone (I’ve been trying to work out how to explain that drone, but honestly, it sounds like you would imagine a laser beam would…) it goes on for about 10 seconds, stopping as the arm whirls into new positions, before droning again.
As I hear what I can only assume is the sound of the laser beam striking towards its target, one thought crosses my mind – ‘Here’s to hoping this Radiotherapy works.’
After 30-40 seconds or so of activity everything stops and I’m left with the music again. I’m enjoying it, and enjoying it more so when Van Morrison – Jackie Wilson Says, starts playing, easily up there among my favourite Van Morrison tunes, of which there are many. Then the arm comes back to life, whirling, droning for a few seconds, then whirling again.
It feels like only moments pass before all activity stops, and then, just a few seconds later, I hear the specialist re-enter the room, ‘All done’ she says, as she removes my mask.
And that’s it. In total, the whole process takes less than ten minutes, perhaps even closer to five minutes. It really is quick. This all-important Radiotherapy, another treatment people fear the name of, over in less than 10 minutes each day. At least for me, anyway. It really isn’t anything to worry about. You feel nothing. Which is incredible considering it’s a form of surgery.
I guess, at this point, I should explain what the laser does.
This particular Radiotherapy – Stereotactic Radiation Therapy – Shoots multiple beams of radiation in such a way that they come together at an exact point, that point being exactly where the tumour is. What it then does is cause the tumour to react.
Tumours generally respond to being attacked by attempting to grow, their cells suddenly multiplying. In the process of doing this, however, the tumour is at its most vulnerable. This means a constant beam of radiation over two weeks, or more, directly into a tumour that’s attempting to multiply, thus lowering its guard, can, and often does, damage it in such a way it begins to shrink, sometimes in large amounts.
It’s not a cure, and it can only be attempted once in a lifetime, but it’s an effective treatment, almost guaranteed to do something to a tumour, adding years to a person’s life, if successful. Though in my case it’s simply hoped it can rid my life of all the pain I’ve been feeling over the past few years.
As I said before, ‘Here’s to hoping this Radiotherapy works.’
It’s no big deal, …or maybe it is? I don’t know, I just so rarely see things as a concern. It’s not like I’m not aware of it, I often find my mind asking myself ‘Why aren’t you bothered by this?’ and I’ve no answer. I can’t allow myself to call it bravery, or anything like that, whatever bravery feels like. I just don’t seem to be affected by panic or worry in the way it affects others. Which is pretty handy in this situation.
I imagine that momentary will to escape into someone else’s life must be some form of worry, so it is there, it’s just entirely momentary. And why shouldn’t it be? To me, all this treatment is part of an important process, one that must be done, and one carried out by an organisation, the NHS, that I trust, absolutely.
But, I guess the fact I question my calmness in these situations shows it is a big deal, rather than just something that’s happening in early November…
And because it is a big deal, my wonderful younger Sister and her other half, Seb, did something truly special for me – they gathered videos of support and well wishes from close friends and put them together into a single video for me to watch before my Radiotherapy started.
It was a wonder.
It’s hard to know what to say, or how to respond, when those you care so strongly for make the effort to give such support, …so I’ll just take the easy way out and say thanks to everyone here.
But really, I do want to thank you all and show love to you all. Normally I’d express that love by hugging you, smiling and letting you know it’s great to see you, but I can’t do that right now, and doing that doesn’t truly express how I feel about you, how much you matter, how much you mean to this guys life. This individual in a world of Billions.
I know I’m not exactly Mr Outgoing, Mr Interesting, Mr Fun Central or Mr Life & Soul, I know I don’t always answer my phone or respond to messages promptly, but when I’m in your company I feel utterly comfortable, utterly happy, and that includes those friends I haven’t seen in years. Each of you make me happy in ways you’ll perhaps never truly know, providing me with infinite strength and will and confidence. You quite honestly make me feel like a worthwhile human being, and ultimately, you make me feel like someone special.
I’m no longer talking to just those who appeared in that video of support at this point, I’m talking to all those who send messages of support, who commented on blog posts and social media posts made just before the Radiotherapy, and, in fact, all therapies. Be it videos of support, gifts you’ve sent me, opportunities for a walk or lunch together, or just a simple hello. I see it. I appreciate it. All of it.
I pride myself on my ability to be me, to remain who I am and to function in my way, on my terms, on my own. Strength, will, sense, reason and moral duty are qualities which should ultimately exist within. But I wouldn’t feel so confident in those thoughts and traits if they hadn’t been nurtured and reinforced by friends of such character and personality, who really could hand their friendship to a far better person than me, and yet… you chose me? …And you continue to do so?
It’s that which plays so strongly on my heart. That which makes the soul one of love, which takes this ever-learning and ever-reasoning mind and wraps it in warmth, puts an arm around it and says ‘You’re a good man.’ – To be cared for by people who are so loving, so incredible, so much more than who I am, yet so willing to express love for me. …me?! …I’ll never truly understand it.
I’m nothing special, I won’t ever believe otherwise, I can’t. But when so many I consider so utterly and truly special express their appreciation of my voice, my smile, my friendship… it’s a wonder all of its own.
Thank you. You make me happy to be me. It’s down to you those brief moments of weakness I experience in which I wish I were somewhere else are always so fleeting. I won’t ever run from this, or anything for that matter, I’ll stand it, with just about as much dignity as I can muster. I like who I am, I like the mind I possess and the love I express. I’ve come to believe I’ve molded myself into something pretty unbreakable. And so much of that self-assurance and positive thinking is down to you.
And that’s the ultimate prize of good, honest, friendship – It makes us happy to be who we are, it gives us the strength to stand in this world, to rise like a mountain and be seen from afar. And we’re all capable of such things, we really are. We can better each other’s lives so fundamentally, just by caring, just by showing love and support and sharing thoughts.
So I’ll say it now, loud and clear – Thank you, each of you, for being my friend. I can stand anything thanks to you. Whatever landscape my body faces, whatever wilderness my mind approaches, I walk it willingly, and with confidence.
When that specialist said ‘You won’t feel a thing.’ she didn’t realise how right she was. I don’t feel a thing – no fear, no pain, no panic, no worry. All I feel is the kind of all-encompassing and indestructible love that comes with the wonder of incredible friendship.
Thank you. All of you. For everything.
And, one last time, here’s to hoping this Radiotherapy works.
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The Unmisunderstood 