Stiff, Sore, Sanguine and the Six Million Dollar Man

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Not so long ago the oncologist told me the issues with my knee and ankle joints (swelling, pain, unpredictable weakness, immobility) were most likely permanent. For many people joint problems during or after Herceptin treatment aren’t an issue. I was unlucky. Unknowingly susceptible to one of the infrequent side-effects and despite a ‘treatment holiday’ at infusion six, my joints never regained their pre-Herceptin condition.

Twelve months down the line there was very little improvement so it seemed painkillers would be a regular feature and thoughts of becoming an Olympic athlete would have to be abandoned… Truth be told I never planned on being an Olympian or any other kind of athlete but after enduring an aggressive suite of cancer treatments I hadn’t planned on being fettered by my own limbs either. The thought of indefinite consumption of heavy duty painkillers rested heavily in the place between conscious awareness and mind over matter. I’ve wrestled with this issue more often than I care to admit. The oncologist advised go easy on the joints because there are no real solutions. He’s incredibly well-researched and I can’t fault the care he provided during my time in treatment.

Reluctantly I accepted ‘recovery’ as a multifarious term extending well beyond the bounds of cancer itself and somewhere in the distant past I remembered watching the ‘Six Million Dollar Man.’ I recall very little about the TV show except the opening credits. The strangest things are lodged in my childhood memories and I hear the faceless male voice saying something along the lines of “we can rebuild him, better than before…. Better, stronger, faster…”. I think $6m man was some kind of cyborg and strictly speaking I’m not so far away from that myself. As a partially synthetic pig/silicon/human hybrid I’m a long way from better, stronger or faster but I refuse to relinquish the “we can rebuild” part.

Of course rebuilding takes time and effort and is not without pain. I mind over mattered my way much further along the Tarka Trail than I intended and as expected there are consequences for such stubborn behaviour. The Tarka Trail is a traffic-free footpath and cycle track running well over 100 miles through beautiful North Devon. My journey was very modest compared to the total length of the trail but it’s the longest cycle ride I’ve been able to entertain in the last few years and I’m incredibly stiff and sore! My legs still work in a fashion and I’ve burnt more calories than I’ve eaten – two welcome benefits of the day’s excursion. More importantly my “we can rebuild” or to be more accurate, “I will rebuild myself no matter what” philosophy will, I am sure, pay off. I have no illusions about being better, faster or stronger than before – as good as I was will do just fine. Tomorrow I might find I’m completely immobile as well as stiff and sore. Yet I’m also feeling rather sanguine. I put myself to the test and nothing really awful happened. The unintended consequences of cancer treatment cannot defeat me.

It may not seem like much but that one piece of knowledge is worth far more to me than a six million dollar rebuild ūüôā

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What it’s really all about…

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I had a birthday recently. There was nothing special about it in terms of the number of candles that might adorn a cake and I didn’t do anything special except enjoy the day, but the fact that it happened was significant. The fact that as far as I can tell I’m healthy and free of cancer is definitely something to celebrate.

Just over two years ago there were no guarantees I’d see another birthday because every investigation seemed to turn up something more worrying than the last. Of course there are never any guarantees, we simply assume the years will keep rolling in and nothing terrible will happen. Then something terrible happens and with luck we wake up and realise how important every moment really is. Even the ones that seem less than awe inspiring, like a trip to the supermarket or being stuck in a traffic jam. When you think your moments may be limited you find ways to make the most of them, including traffic jams!

There have been many special moments so far this year and my birthday brought some more because my son decided that, like the queen, I should be granted a second birthday with a second card, presents and flowers. In an unexpected way it helped erase some of the difficulties of the blighted birthdays, the ones spent in hospital or recovering from surgery. During those birthdays my thoughts were centred on endurance, making my way through whatever had to be endured so that I would see him through his education and hopefully some years beyond.

There are still no guarantees, from here on there never can be but then again, there never were. What matters is that I’m here, I’m happy and I have more time to make life special for those around me. It feels a little safer to make plans, to think about what we might do to celebrate my son’s next birthday in 10 months time. That feeling is a bonus, a subtle, positive change for the better after time placed on hold, living in limbo. Cancer took away so much but it also brought new insights. I no longer let time slip through my fingers, I use it to make memories with those I hold dear. That, for me, is what life is really all about.

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Crossing the Bridge

There comes a point when the only option is to cross the bridge. No matter how rickety or poorly constructed it may seem and irrespective of the pace or iciness of the waters below, the only road to the rest of your life involves crossing the bridge. Time is on a route march and it doesn’t care much for sorrow, sentiment or sickness; it spares no thought for the down-hearted, despondent or disillusioned. Time goes on and like it or not, so must we.

Old packhorse bridge (c.1717), Carrbrig, Scotland

Old packhorse bridge (c.1717), Carrbrig, Scotland

In clinging to the past we slip out of time. Slowly but surely life passes us by yet we fail to realise¬† until sometime later, when¬†we perhaps begin wondering where the days, months or years went and how and why we didn’t notice them. Offloading all that baggage and leaving it by the river’s edge isn’t easy. Disentangling the past and setting it down in its rightful place takes thoughtful deliberation, acceptance of what was and complete renunciation of what might, could or should have been. How many times have you heard yourself (and others) talk about the way things should or shouldn’t be? The truth is, there is only what was, what is and that which is yet to come – should, could and might are all irrelevant and leave us stuck in a rut.

To get out of the rut we have to cross the bridge and the only way to do so safely is by travelling unladen. We can’t live for today until¬† we forgo being cemented in the past.¬†¬† Fortunately once we build sufficient fortitude to put one foot in front the other, take our chances and walk across the bridge, everything changes. We flow in time. Life is lived in the here and now, in this very moment. Living is very different because here and now is full of sound, colour, wonder and a smorgasbord of new choices; it’s the polar opposite of everything in the world of ‘back then.’¬† I don’t recall being taught how to manage the past, to leave it in it’s rightful place by the edge of the river and continue with my journey in time. Its a skill that could useful be taught to high school seniors because all too often I am surrounded by folks who are completely trapped in time, rooted by events that happened years or even decades ago. I always try to help, to share coping strategies or suggest appropriate sources of professional help because being empathic isn’t the same as being a psychologist. Empathy exists because I’ve had many of my own bridges to cross and I stopped to take note of each lesson along the way.

I don’t deny crossing life’s bridges unencumbered by the debris and detritus of countless events that cannot be changed is sometimes difficult, even when practiced continually on a regular basis. Sometimes it’s a daunting prospect, but that doesn’t make it impossible.¬† This year, especially today, I realise I’ve crossed and walked some way from another bridge – one I hesitated to traverse for a multitude of reasons.¬†¬† It’s the bridge from active cancer patient to healthy human being, from constant companion to casual acquaintance, from broken to steadfast.¬† I can’t pinpoint exactly when the bridge was crossed, when the heavy baggage of cancer and so many shattered promises got dropped at the side of the riverbank. I don’t know when the waters rose up to wash it all away, I just know that its gone. It seems this happened slowly, almost subconsciously, throughout the course of the year and for the first time in two years there’s room in my head to properly relish each day as it comes. The time of fretting about what tomorrow might hold (all firmly rooted in an army of negative experiences from the past) is gone and this, I think, is what it means to be free.

We all have demons in the closet, painful events, disappointments, scars and injuries, but we don’t have to be ruled by them. We can chose to lock the door behind them and walk away or drop them at the edge of the river, cross the bridge and let the waters wash them far out to sea. For however long I have here I’ll take the opportunity to drop life’s baggage at the banks of each river and skip across the bridge to whatever happens next. Today, cancer, (and all the ills you wrought upon me), I am over you. Guess what, it feels good :-).