In ‘I am the Cancer Guy’, I referred to the fact that I have been having counselling and how this has helped me; most significantly in helping me come to terms with my terminal diagnosis and expected short lifespan.
Two days ago, I had my last scheduled counselling session. I was offered a course of ten sessions by my local support services, and with various breaks, these have spread from June through to the end of October. They have seen me transition from person with serious cancer being prepped for enormous life-saving cancer surgery to person with inoperable terminal cancer and somewhat less than 18 months of life left. With a short vacation into the fascinating and highly efficient world of amazing keyhole heart surgery.
Before going further, I will say that I have valued counseling and do recommend that anyone who is offered this considers doing this. It is a personal choice and not for everyone.
As part of our last session, we went through a set of questions. These were the same set of questions that we had completed during our first session. And I could not remember the answers from back in June. And I did not know how these were being scored or what any scoring system may mean – or if I would have to ‘resit’ if I failed! In summary, my answers appeared to show that I was less stressed by my situation now than I was in June. We explored this a little bit and then the counsellor used a word that I did not, and do not fully understand.
‘You have a Zen like approach and acceptance’
Ok, Zen is a form of Japanese Mahayana Budisism, which I know nothing about and certainly do not practice. However, what I think was meant is that I am peaceful and calm about where I am and what it really means. We talked more and I explained that what I have promised, and challenged, myself is that I will approach what is coming with as much grace as I can.
(I had hoped to complete this before my next cycle of chemotherapy started, but did not as various things filled my time, so from this point on, I am four days into round 5 of 6. I am aware of how much worse I feel in the first week following the drugs. Apologies if this is reflected here!)
So what do I mean by grace? I think what I mean is that I will try and be kind and considerate in my relationships with other people. I really do not feel threatened by the thought of dying. I do feel immensely sad and occasionally a bit angry; but really the anger is very brief and not directed at any person. I have fully accepted that my illness is just bad luck. I have led a healthy life and benefited in so many ways from the luck of my birth. Being a citizen of a peaceful and wealthy country; free education and medical care and the option to peacefully change our government from one bunch of numpties to another every 5 years. Truly, we are a very lucky nation, and I really appreciate that.
I have recently bought a copy of Simon Boas’s highly acclaimed book ‘A beginners Guide to Dying’. Boas was diagnosed with terminal cancer and died earlier this year after a quite short illness. Like myself, he had no early symptoms, and his cancer killed him quite quickly. I have dipped in and out of this book, not having the courage or energy to read it cover to cover yet. We have led very different lives and come from very different backgrounds. I do though, share some of his views on how fortunate we British people are and how wonderful many of the people surrounding us are.
The day before my chemo is always the brightest and healthiest day of my treatments fortnightly cycle. And on pre-chemo day, a friend took me out for a dawn trip onto Exmoor. My friend is one of the UK’s leading deer experts and October is the month for the annual red deer rut. I am conscious that I make frequent references to where I live and to how important the natural world is to me. No apologies for this!
We were very lucky with the weather and were out close to Somersets highest point of Dunkery Beacon as the sun rose. The first hour of daylight is often referred to as the ‘golden hour’. On a sunny autumn morning on the top of Exmoor, this description makes perfect sense. The sunlight illuminates the landscape from a low angle and the World appears fresh and renewed. It’s also quiet and we were able to see many deer in several places. For those unfamiliar with the ‘rut’; this is the deer’s mating season, with big male deer, the stags, vying to be the most dominant and mate with the most females. The males work very hard, growing huge antlers and bellowing loudly to deter other males. Occasionally two evenly matched stags will fight each other. Sometimes, one will suffer severe injury and die. Mostly, they work out who is most dominant before coming to blows.
It was a lovely morning, with a second breakfast in a café in Simonsbath. And just what I needed to get me through the following three days of poisoning. We talked about lots of non-cancer stuff and I carried the memory through the hospital day and the weekend ‘takeaway’ chemo pump. Cancer will take my life, I know this, and it will take my life quite soon, I know this too. But it most definitely has not won anything from me. Days like last Thursday, 31st October 2024, are truly life affirming and I appreciate how lucky I am to be able to spend time with wonderful people in such a special place.
The people who I want to be kindest to and to whom I feel guilty to be sharing this illness with are, of course, my immediate family. I have written before about the immense sadness that I feel at knowing that I will not be around to help in practical ways in the future. I hope that I can maintain a level of good grace and kindness as the disease progresses. We have almost completed our small building project and it is really rather good. The old leaky conservatory has gone and the new room has a splendid huge window, glazed to the peak of the gable and with a view up onto the hill where we listen to the spring nightjars. Life goes on, and I will keep living it until I don’t.
(30th October and 4th November 2024)
