That’s a quote from a great friend of mine, speaking about rugby. It stuck with me because it’s true, and right now, it feels especially relevant.
I’m angry. I’ve just had to explain to my daughter that my time here is now measured in a few years. The sound she made when I told her will haunt me as long as I’m able to be haunted.
I wouldn’t usually start a piece like this. Good writing has an arc—an intro, a middle, and an end—but today, I’ve peaked early. But stick with me, we’ll get to the anger soon.
A while ago, I had a check-up with my oncologist after months of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. She told me, “We no longer consider you critical.” I remember that phrase clearly. At first, my literal mind took it as an insult, but after a moment, I realized what she meant. She said it with a smile, which made me focus on the positive: I was feeling strong, the pain had subsided, and the only real issue was my energy levels. I crash pretty quickly.
She booked me for a pre-surgery PET scan, followed by a consultation at St. Thomas’ for surgery. That’s when things started to go south.
The PET scan at King’s College Hospital went as smoothly as always—they’re efficient there. But then I got a text about an appointment at St. Thomas’. It was all expected. I showed up on a beautiful morning, almost with a spring in my step, but that’s when I encountered the rudest, most awful person I’ve met on this journey. She asked me why I was there—uh, you sent me the appointment—and was dismissive and rude. I didn’t have the chance to tell her what I thought before I left, frustrated and confused. Anyone who knows me knows how well I deal with this kind of treatment… which is to say, not well at all.
A few days later, my scheduled phone catch-up with my oncologist turned into a face-to-face appointment. The moment I saw that, my heart dropped. I knew something had changed. I understand the differences between MRI scans, PET scans, and all the technical details, so I figured the PET scan must’ve revealed something new.
I was right.
Percy is now in my liver and stomach lining, or at least, something is there. The thought is that it was missed before because it’s close to the scar tissue I already have. Strangely, I wasn’t particularly surprised. The first time I went through this, I accepted my fate, but things turned out differently. Deep down, though, I always knew this was a facade. Truth is though it lasted a lot longer than I expected, and I learned to utterly love it.
I think that’s why I’ve always lived so intensely—why I’ve been so intolerant of being treated poorly. It’s also probably why I’ve made several short-term mistakes, but I’m not dwelling on those. I’ve done a lot in my life, always opting for experience over consequence. I’ve always I think worked out what I wanted to do, and then worked out the how to do it. It’s paid off. My love of Australia came from this—despite my deep fear of flying (which I still have). It’s why I learned to scuba dive and jumped out of a perfectly good aircraft. It’s also why I’ve fallen off bridges into canals and even got deported from Belgium. I even had a plan! I had a world map, with all the places I wanted to go, with different coloured-pins so I knew how to prioritise. I did pretty much all of them, bar those in and around Persia – although I did manage a bit of that I’m not going to talk about.
So, from being told I was “no longer critical” on February 25th, to meeting “Shitface” at St. Thomas’ on March 3rd, to hearing on March 13th that surgery isn’t an option and I’m being switched to systematic chemo, and palliative care…. it’s been a rollercoaster. Oh, and I’ve been advised to get my affairs in order. They always were of course. In order. I have a spreadsheet.
Let me be clear: I’m not angry about what’s happening to me. I’m angry because of what I’ve told my daughter over the past couple of months. We celebrated, we shifted our outlook—only for me to break her heart. That feels mean.
But here we are.
I’ve been here before, and I outlasted what they said by 23 years. Who knows? Maybe this time will be different, but deep down, I feel like I haven’t gotten away with it this time.
I’ve asked a specialist at the Royal Marsden to take another look at my case. After discussing it with them, they agreed it seemed chaotic and warranted a second opinion. I don’t expect a different outcome, but I have to check.
Physically, I feel healthier and stronger than I have in ages. My biggest battle now is in my head. I feel so utterly defeated. I don’t know how to handle feeling like this, as it’s not something I normally experience. I’m not sleeping, and I seem to have given up on food too, which is a bit weird as I love food. I’m now eating to stop me losing weight, rather than eating because I want to/need to – I’m not explaining this very well. I’ve always prided myself on being able to just brush myself off, get up, and go again. I can’t seem to bring myself to do that right now.
I’ve backed away from my friends for a bit too. I just need some time to get my own head straight on this – also it does seem to be the only thing people want to talk about, and it’s exhausting. Of course I appreciate people being interested, however being asked the same thing by different people…it’s difficult. I’m far more than this horrid disease. I’ve a lot more sarcasm in me. I’ll be building those bridges back shortly though, as I slowly get back out into the world.
I’m going to get back to doing the things I love though, absolutely. I just need my brain to catch up with The Plan. Weirdly, some of that is work. I’ve always found it odd to be paid to play with Big Tech, but I’m in. My bucket list has changed, though. Previously, it involved a map and a lot of pins—I did most of it. This time, my bucket list is all about making sure my daughter has nothing to worry about forever, so she can focus on the experiences she deserves. That’s my bucket-list Maldives right now, although I suspect it may also involve the actual Maldives, and a t-shirt for me that says ‘She’s my Daughter!’.
Apologies for the disjointed nature of this post. I’m usually more organised in my writing, but as you can tell, I’m a bit full of anger and a fare dose of frustration right now.
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