After noticing that there seemed to be a link between consuming Lemsip and peeing twice in quick succession I arranged to see my GP straight away. I resolved to cut out the narrative detailed above, and focus on the correlation between the consumption of Lemsip and double visits to the porcelain receptacle.
“Funny?” I asked.
“Funny,” he agreed. In our discourse, I learnt the term “double voiding”. It is a thing, apparently.
The GP arranged for a PSA test. In early January, the results indicated that I had the level of an entirely healthy 70-year-old man. Looking at my photograph and my general outlook on life, you might assume this was perfectly normal. However, I was a mere snip of a lad at 63. The result was reviewed by a different GP, Dr. Abbott, who referred me for an MRI scan of my nether region. She very thoughtfully spared me from her digital rectoscope, on the grounds that the MRI would indicate if such a tool was appropriate, and there was no need for it to be used twice.
The MRI prompted the authorities to request what they called a “biopsy”.
Joking aside, this was probably the point in the whole process where I was most frightened. The PSA didn't look so bad, the MRI was painless and easy, but the fact that they had found something prompting further investigation sent a shockwave through my system. What did that feel like? I just could not get the thought out of my head. I could not go for more than five seconds without thinking about it. Even concentrating on things like work and so on, this thought was just lurking there all the time.
But then I thought about it from a wider perspective. About two years earlier, my beautiful mum-in-law had been diagnosed with a brain tumour that turned out to be inoperable. They advised that they could give her treatment that would extend her life, but it would also reduce her quality of life. She acknowledged that she had lived a wonderful life and had a lot to show for it in the form of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren. She resolved to do the most she could to enjoy herself in the weeks that she still could. With help from steroids, which shrank the tumour just enough for her to keep going for a bit longer, she went round her friends, saw them all one by one, went to the seaside, spent time with family, and never complained once. She was an unmatched inspiration to everybody, including me and people I talked to. Mum-in-law was called Moira, and I evolved a mantra: “Be more Moira”. She's not the only person I know who has suffered something far more serious than prostate cancer, and all have come across as being very brave and courageous. Moira was my inspiration, and as soon as I realised that I was letting fear take me down a dark path, I decided to Be More Moira.
I could look at the positives. If I was going to be diagnosed with cancer, it was prostate cancer. How lucky is that? My cousin had pancreatic cancer. Moira and other friends and relatives have had brain tumours. Another dear friend had bowel cancer. I didn't have any of these things.
By pure accident, I'm not a resident of Ukraine, Russia, Lebanon, Gaza, Iran or the USA, and that already means that compared to my peers in those countries, I have a fighting chance of getting through this. There is a health service available, and it's already been doing its best to find out if I need treatment, and if I do, it will provide it, and I won't go bankrupt. And I'm not being bombed or shot at.
Cancer, I thought, or any other life-limiting illness, is enough of a burden to have. Being More Moira meant not adding to my potential burden with self-pity or unfounded anxiety.
People who don't know me well might say I'm "brave", but I don't see it that way. I think, "what else am I supposed to do?"
I was discussing that with a colleague whose wife had to have a heart valve replaced, and then while she was still recovering from that, three months after her heart operation, they found that she had breast cancer. So she's being treated for that too. But she still smiles, talks to people, and does as much as she can: going shopping, making food, watching telly, doing things for the family, going out at weekends, etc. Is she brave? I think so, because I'm not her. But her husband and I both agreed, what else can you do? Unless you are absolutely unable to do anything, that which you do looks brave to others but is normal for you.
If, like me, there has been someone in your life like my Moira who has inspired you, then think of them when you are thinking dark thoughts.
Be More Moira.
