Cancer is one of mankind’s biggest killers.
It is regarded as the biggest, baddest illnesses predominantly ruling in wild western society.
People hear the words and freeze up. People feel uncomfortable around it.
People make jokes about it, and the reaction is usually that of repulse, or that of uncomfortable laughing. People say that laughter is the best medicine, that to laugh through times of hardship makes things easier, manageable - "If you don't laugh then you will cry", but unfortunately there is no immediate cure for cancer, there is no definitive medication to make it go away, and until that day comes, cancer will remain one of the most debilitating and destructive diseases of our planet.
I am writing this as a form of self-therapy, I sincerely hope that one day someone will read this, and it will help them, give them comfort, possibly guidance to channel their own feelings and let them know that they are not alone, that things will improve and that they in turn, understand themselves a little bit better. I am not writing it for gratitude, I am not writing it for sympathy, I am writing it almost as my own personal diary, a time capsule to look back on that documents my thoughts and feelings on the matter, to narrate my own highs and lows. It is deeply affecting me in a way I never thought possible, and I am determined to not let this horrible presence define me, or my future, although it currently appears to be dictating my present and turning me into a person I question.
Until you are directly affected by someone close to you who has cancer , then it just a nasty word that occasionally crops up. It is a repetitive cliché, but you always feel it is someone else who gets cancer, or someone else’s family member, "It won't happen to me", but in October 2012 my Mum was diagnosed with bowel cancer, in which the tumour had grown so large, that it had metastasised to her liver. It had developed in her body for 4 years, a poisonous being, killing her slowly from the inside out. She had visited the Doctors, who had told her it was a haemorrhoid, and dismissed it as anything serious. This enormous misjudgement has effectively cost my Mum her life. Had the cancer been caught at an early stage she would probably not be terminally ill any more, not on palliative care, but the harsh reality of it is that she is, and will remain so. You can dwell over 'it could of been this way had x not happened' but it did, so the best thing to do is to deal with it any which way you can to improve your own well being. Like they say with modern art - "You could of drawn that, but you didn't" thus it becoming an invalid point to make. In my opinion you must move on from such statements to prevent a deep sense of bitterness developing that can eat away at you.
I appreciate that the details of my Mum's cancer above are specifics. This is not necessary applicable to anyone whose family member has cancer. I have divulged slightly, but I feel information like this is required to help anyone with an interest in the emotional roller-coaster I am experiencing (and to help me understand myself), they are relevant details to make people understand the injustice that accompanies my feelings towards the issue.
I do not wish to go into detail about the relationship between me and my Mum, nor do I of that of any other family members, as I feel there would be a huge lack of respect to post such intimacies, but I will say this ; Cancer puts strains on family that you wouldn't believe, it brings out the best in people, and the worst in people simultaneously. You may feel as though friends/family abandon you. You may feel as though people grow a lot closer. Some to be nosey, but most out of genuine care for yourself/your families well being. You will find that some people will avoid you, for fear of you pouring your heart out to them and rendering them unable to avoid a situation in which they wish for the ground to swallow them up. It seems to be a popular misconception that I haven't actually spent the entire time since my Mum was diagnosed listening to Dido and crying on web cam via Skype to mourn at strangers funerals for cash.
It is my belief that it is vital to try and continue with your life with as much normality as you feel is possible (within comfortable boundaries). Some people do this all too well, and almost ignore the issue, which in my opinion is unhealthy, and will only build up, and a lot of future problems can stem back to not addressing such tragedies within your life. Some people do it too much, and cry out for attention, for help, even using social networking as an outpouring, maybe to keep friends and family updated on the illness of the said person. Everyone deals with it in their own way.
Naturally it came as a gob-smacking shock to me. I remember the day vividly and it is something that I don't feel you can ever erase from your memory. Every shade of lighting, every smell, every insignificant mannerism I can remember in great detail of that day. When you hear the words it is like someone has took the wind out of you, things become almost slow motion, your stomach becomes knotted, you become speechless, then erratic, and question things. I questioned why my Mum, why to our family, and begin conjuring up all sorts of wild ideologies about how effectively their life as you know it is over, and you get a foresight of all future events, like weddings, and the birth of your children, and picturing those moments without your Mum there is soul destroying. You even begin to question yourself, asking 'Is this my fault? Is there something I have done to make someone I love and care about so dearly have cancer?'. It may sound bizarre to anyone who is lucky enough to of never experienced such a negative out of body experience, but these all appear to be rational thoughts at the time. In hindsight you realise, this is no act or fault of anyone’s, not nature or God (if you believe in such things), this is just the way some things turn out, and the effect it has is harrowing.
It was obviously a massively distressful time for my Mum, and she told me there and then that the hardest thing for her is to tell me and my sister. I felt sorry for my Mum beyond belief, she looked frail and understandably terrified. I cannot comprehend receiving such detrimental news about myself, as proved by me here as I selfishly waffle on about me being so distraught by hearing of her illness.
We hugged and cried and I don't know if this was an act of denial on both of our parts, but we both agreed that everything would be OK, and that the treatment was to start urgently.
It was unusual but I woke up the morning after, feeling that yesterdays events were all a terrible dream. Maybe this is the way the minds defence mechanism kicks in to deal with grief, but it was as though I had pushed all yesterdays doubts, fears and worries to another locked part of my mind, one of which I had forgotten the code to. I got up like normal, a little hungover from the alcohol I had used to allegedly comfort myself the night before. I had breakfast and got dressed as normal, and turned my I-pod on and went out for a run (although I do not need to justify this, I feel for my street credit I must explain my I-pod playlist has not changed since I was 14 because apples software consists of an inability to transfer I-tunes play lists, so most of my collection of music from that period of time has serious overtones of teenage angst, aka Blink-182, Green Day, and Linkin Park droning on about menial inconveniences such as girls not noticing them, and the stress that accompanies not having a valid 21+ ID card). I started to run, put my headphones in, and about 3 tracks in 'Heart Shaped Box' by Nirvana came on, and there is a lyric in which says "I wish I could eat your cancer when you turn black" (these minute little things which you would never normally notice become a regular occurrence, of which I will explain later in the writing) and it was at this point my whole world seemed to just crumble. It sounds silly that such a small thing can trigger such a reaction but it really did. The real severity of the situation smacked me in the face at this point. Everything appeared to be caving in, the sky seemed darker, my mood beyond sombre. If I had temporarily forgotten about yesterdays news, then this sensation was on par with the obituary column. I felt a complete sense of numbness, I almost felt detached from myself. I purposely avoided speaking to people for fear of them asking how I was. Instantly I became paranoid about people avoiding me for this exact reason, so to combat this I began overcompensating.
I decided I would pretend nothing was wrong with me, I continued as if my Mum had the bug that was going round the office that week. I even performed a stand-up comedy gig a week later. Slowly but surely this feeling became the norm, which I subconsciously questioned, I began thinking I wasn't human, and thought that I should feel constantly incapacitated. I felt guilty about not getting upset.
I went to work as normal, I interacted as normal, my Dad advised me to tell my work, even if purely for functionality in-case I needed to accompany my Mum to hospital. When I discreetly explained my situation to my manager, his reaction immediately sent me spiralling back down to reality. He was horrified, he felt intensely sorry for me, even taking me out for a meal (cancer does has a silver lining you know). This response truly hammered home how bad things were, and from this point I began telling people, plus as it is the 21st century, word seemed to of gotten around a lot quicker than I anticipated and people I hadn't seen for years, even strangers appeared to be offering words of support and often speaking to me as though my Mum was on already her deathbed.
Flowers and cards began pouring in thick and fast, the house rapidly became a circus of the ghosts of Christmas past, which to me was both flattering and offensive. Regardless of whether this is a reasonable reaction or not, it was the way I felt. You are in a constant state of over-sensitivity, but it appeared to me that people had no awareness of privacy, this stage I wanted nothing more than to speak to my poor Mum, tell her everything would be OK, and to spend as much of the precious time we had left together, which was jeopardised by the never-ending flow of people. I became angry & temperamental, but only to my (patient) girlfriend. I tried my hardest to keep my family life in the most positive mentality I could, not only for the sake of my Mum, but for my Dad and my Sister.
My home life responsibilities seemed to increase at an alarming rate, as you would expect, but I constantly felt as though an immense amount of pressure lay upon me to play the role of middle man to communicate between friends/family and my Mum as other members of my family seemed incapable of doing so, or not willing to do so. It seemed expectant of me to be level headed, mature, and be an inviting and warm character for those that came to visit my Mum. Your uninhibited shameless self wants to shut the door, lock it and re-enter some sort of womb like state down at The Winchester until it all blows over. Keeping up appearances seemed important for my Mum, so for her sake I put on a brave face and accepted my new role regardless of the strain it appeared to be having on my mental well-being. I often felt alone, and unable to be upset, I could speak to people, but not in the family about it, as they all appeared to be fighting there own demons. I rapidly felt as though people forgot it was my Mum that was ill, as opposed to a family member they had come to visit that I was caring for. It became difficult to communicate with my Dad, (who is a radiotherapist and tragically lost his Mum to cancer at a young age) which felt was an injustice because if anyone could advise me in the situation, from both a professional point of view, and one of relating entirely to how I felt (having been in my exact situation 20 years earlier) it would be him, but like I said, everyone has there own way of dealing with things, and his is to try and continue as normal, with the occasional venting outburst of anger in which it is glaringly obvious there are much bigger unspoken issues bothering him. I understand this and hold no grudges, coping mechanisms are unusual things. Before long it was time for my Mums ho(spital)me-from-ho(spice)me schedule to kick in.
I was told that the treatment would consist of my Mum having an operation to remove her bowel, as the tumour had grown so large that it was impossible to simply remove the tumour. This was a major operation that had to be carried out as soon as possible. She went into hospital and had the operation which went well. The repercussions of this then meant that my Mum had to use a stoma bag for the rest of her life ; The plus side to this meant that my Mum was now the owner of a disability badge, which means I can now 'borrow' it to park 10 metres closer than other able bodied commoners to the ASDA, silver lining and all that...(I joke, particularly if you are someone who works within the police force reading this).
To see my Mum using a stoma (sometimes literally) and having so much independence stripped from her was particularly difficult. She is an extremely headstrong woman, with a lot of drive/ambition, and doesn't like to be told that things are out of her control. The idea of other people having to help her to carry out daily tasks, that many of us take for granted, really was a massive shock to her system, both physically and mentally.
She spent time frequently in and out of hospital/hospices which was a stressful time for everyone, but the operation went successfully which was a relief and it meant that we could continue with treatment.
The next port of call was to begin chemotherapy, a course which lasted 6 months if all went to plan. The effects of chemotherapy are devastating (even just to witness). The loss of hair and outbursts of excessive spotty/red skin, appears to affect confidence greatly, the lack of energy is heart-wrenching to witness, having to feed a family member through a straw as this is the only movement they can manage is a horrific thing to experience. I had nothing but adoration for my Mum as she battled on through, rarely complaining of the pains and constant change of temperature within her body, the frequency in which she changed from ice cold to scorching hot is alarming. The entire diet changes so that it becomes near impossible to know if the Morrison’s finest quiche will be to her taste that day, or whether she prefers ambrosia custard (prepared 2 hours early and left to reach room temperature, with occasional stirring..). Morphine seems to be an incredible source of comfort for people suffering with pain. It was sometimes worrying how spaced out my Mum seemed to be, but when she was in this state, she seemed blissed out, pain free, but it rendered her incoherent quite frequently.
The pattern of chemotherapy seemed to take quite a regular course though, it was done on a fortnightly basis until the next dose, during the first few days you seem able to manage (akin to a calm before the storm), and then you plummet without warning and appear to be in a hellish place for just over a week, and then just in time for the next dose you appear to recover slightly to repeat the cycle.
Which brings us to the present. Currently my Mum has 2 more courses of Chemotherapy left. The MRI scan has shown hardly any shift in the size of the tumours in the liver. This in turn means that the liver resection poses much higher risks. In an ideal world the tumours would have been affected by the chemotherapy, resulting in tumours small enough to remove in one operation. As this isn't the case, it currently stands at cutting a tumorous section of the liver out, allowing it to regenerate, and repeat until all tumour is removed. On paper this sounds relatively straightforward, but the complications implied in this is that all the while you are having these operations, you cannot have chemotherapy because your bodies white blood cell count is too low and the bodies natural defence system would be too low to recover, meaning the tumours grow at a rate similar to that of the liver regeneration. It is a risk but it is a positive move in that they are proceeding with the treatment.
That is where we are up to treatment wise. Yet again I appear to of gone off point. My apologies.
One of the most peculiar things I have found about a parent having cancer and people knowing about it, is that you notice cancer a lot more, as do people around you. Awkward silences in rooms or cinemas or in cars occur more often than I can tell you. As soon as a song, or a film, or an advert comes on with cancer in it, I can feel a presence, or notice people checking in their peripheral vision to see if you are having a nervous breakdown.
Just because people avoid you, or haven't spoke to you for a while, doesn't necessarily mean they don’t care, a lot of people (particularly men I have found) avoid the issue entirely and instead try and plod along and joke with you as though nothing is wrong (psychologist of the year over here). I am very grateful for the support that many people around me have offered and it doesn't seem to be slowing down.
You experience days where you feel you simply cannot function, or continue as normal, these days you are itching to offload and tell people how you are and how things are and to just to be listened to with an empathetic heart, other days I become manically reclusive, I cannot bear to speak to people or socialise or even exchange niceties of any description. You become disinterested in things that people have to say and complain about, and when people post "stubd me toe agen, lyfs fkin shit" on Facebook, you genuinly wish you had the power to choke slam them over the internet. Social situations can become a chore and you often prefer the solace of your own company. Lethargy takes an overwhelming hold of you without warning and you just want things to have a certain outcome one way or the other just so you know where everyone stands.
Then there are good days, days in which you feel there is hope, it is these days in which you often feel enlightened, you feel as though it isn't the end of the world, (insert generic 'there is always someone worse off than you' quote) you feel as though you have gained character strength from the whole shitty situation if anything. It is my belief it is important that any tragedy in life, you do not allow to define you. It is easy for you to become an arsehole, to be aggressive, angry, violent, rude, offensive, a drug addict, a drunk, a person who lives in the past and allows tragedies to rule them, but it is much harder to have a positive outlook on life (but never ever forgetting the ordeal in which you are in/have been through) to progress, to better yourself. To allow the said ill person to influence you in all the right ways, to make them proud and become the person you know they would of loved and will always unconditionally love. Although a person may not be around forever physically, they will always have that impact on you, they will always be watching over you, these are people that I aspire to, that are known as themselves, and not someone who is the way that they are definitively, because they have had a tragic occurrence/s in their life thus rendering them a person in the depths of depression, because the said ill person would not wish that upon a family member, as hard as it is to not become depressed after periods of grievance. I do not wish to offend anyone with this conclusive sentiment, I merely hope to read back and be able to follow my own advice.
Happiness is key, all respectable parents wish their children happy, become that person and live a full life, as you know they would of wanted you to be.
I do not know what the outcome of things will be, every day is a struggle. It is obvious what we all wish to happen but nobody knows what the future holds. We all must take each day as it comes and stay strong.
I know writing about this has certainly helped me to deal with things. Even if this bit of writing helps just one person ever so slightly, it will mean a lot to me.
Thankyou for reading.
