Just another grain of sand

I can't dance. I can't sing or draw. I can't paint a picture or play a musical instrument or write poetry. I can't even write or focus enough to write a daily diary. I'm sure that I have ADHD. Anyway despite all of this I read this column and thought " I need to express myself. It's a rant, it's a jumbled list of thoughts. It's an attempt at piecing together a jigsaw from a box that has no lid. As I say it's a rant of an old guy with cancer.

I still think that I am a bit frozen, a bit numb and while it's certainly not comfortably numb, there is an acceptance. One friend of mine recently diagnosed with something life changing, bravely told me that he wouldn't let it define him. "Good for you", I said, trying to give encouragement, but secretly I thought, "but how can it not?" My cancer has defined me: I am still Rens but I am Rens with cancer. My body has changed, my life has changed. It's inescapable, unavoidable, life is different.

 Before the philosopher's and the theorists rise out of their armchairs with their admonitions and their lectures on why I am wrong and I need to be more positive. Stop. Stop right there, get back in your chair. This is my story. It's about how I deal with my life. I will decide how I am going to act in this starring role. It's my interpretation.

When I received my diagnosis, it was very unexpected. I had no symptoms, none at all. It was a routine Wellman check-up. I was worried that he might reprimand me for swilling too much red wine, tell me that I had high cholesterol or that I needed to lose some weight. Nah, well yes actually all of these things but actually the results were all marginal. The sucker punch came that I had a high PSA and I was being referred to a Urologist. The rest as they say is history, well my history. At 61 and recently retired, I had prostate cancer.

 I felt like I had taken an sucker punch. Actually on reflection it felt like the car had skidded out of control. It had started just like any ordinary day. I got up and made the coffee, fed the cats, watered the plants. It was the same car, it was me driving, it was the same route, but the car was skidding, out of control.

I might have worried momentarily, there may even have been a slight panic. The car was no longer under my control. It skidded and hit a brick wall, came to a halt. It was a sudden and unexpected shock. Sure accidents happen, cars crash, I drive past them everyday on my way to work. But they always happen to someone else.Dont they?

The car was crumpled, fender buckled, steam coming from the engine. My beautiful car, my pride and joy that I religiously polished and waxed every Sunday. In that moment I knew that I was ok, still alive but the world had changed. Even if the car was fixed,  sitting on my drive returned to its former glory. Things would never quite be the same again. It would be the same car but it would be a different car. I was still alive but something had changed.  That probably doesn't make sense to a lot of people but it does to me, it's just how I processed the situation.

My first car was a red rover. It was not the flashiest car, it was not the most expensive car but it was my pride and joy. I crashed it and it was taken away. I was devastated. I remember the day I went to collect it in North London. I arrived early and they were just finishing the valet. " Good as new", the guy said.

It looked magnificent, it looked good as new. I was delighted, returned to life. I marvelled at what these clever men could do in this modern technologically advanced world. I  remember driving home and I was elated but I also recall thinking that the world had changed. We were the lucky ones, we had survived but things would never be the same. As with all life experiences one endures, they all shape you. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger but as a human being you can still feel a little sadness a slight disappointment, a twinge of regret. 

I didn't cry when I got my diagnosis, neither publicly nor in private. I didn't feel sorry for myself. I didn't feel angry. I still don't feel angry. I realised that just like the skidding car,  this time i was in the middle of the situation, in the thick of it but I wasn't in control. It was out of my hands. It was happening to me. I needed to adapt.

I have subsequently experienced frustration at the treatment and the side effects. Bizarrely I am one of those individuals who don't look their age. In fact I look ten years younger but watch me shuffle with my aching joints and from a distance you might think I am ten years older. Cancer has changed me, it is defining me. I need to adapt to my changing environment. Survival is not guaranteed, it sure would be a nice bonus but meanwhile I need to adapt.

Cancer is complex and so too are people. It seems to me that no two people are the same and neither are two cancers. They have similarities, they share characteristics but each one is unique. I have prostate cancer. I console myself that it is not one of the worst ones but it is still nasty. It is still life changing. 

So far, my biggest realisation on this journey is that in life, we need to " expect the unexpected" . There was a person I worked with who like a scratched record used to repeat the phrase " shit happens" . Over and over I used to hear the meaningless repetition of these words. I wish that I had listened.

Shit does happen. Life changes suddenly, planes fall out of the sky, earthquakes swallow up people but it's always in another country in another man's world. Then shit happens on your doorstep, turns up unannounced and unexpected. "No, it's definitely for you sir, no 17, it's even got your name on it, no it's for you. Please sign here." You can leave it unopened like my father used to leave his bills. It makes no difference at some point you need to face the music, pay the ferryman.

When I received my diagnosis I found that for a moment the world stopped then suddenly it seems to have increased speed. Days evaporate, weeks fly by, months vanish. I am much more aware of my age, more conscious of my mortality. I am 62 now. I once carelessly imagined I might make it into my 80s but now I know that is unlikely. The odds have considerably shortened. Ten years with a fair wind maybe less. 

No back in your armchair you philosophers you gurus of positivity. Rather like caster oil a dose of reality is good for a man like me. It's how I cope. My brain processes facts not emotions, that is how I function. Statistically, a diagnosis of a high grade prostate cancer means for me a shorter life and already I am experiencing a poorer quality of life. This is something else that has become more apparent, the realisation that there is life expectancy and healthy life expectancy, two very different things.

I have Gleason 8 prostate cancer (3+5). For those who do not know Gleason 8, 9 and 10 are high grade. I elected for radiation therapy rather than surgery. Unfortunately as I am high grade I also need hormone treatment as well as radiation therapy.

They do seem to sugar coat the hormone therapy side effects but they can be devastating. I have aching joints and I mean aching. I have hot flushes and in particular at night. My sleep quality is very poor. I have put on a terrible amount of flabby weight around my middle which no exercise will shift and well we won't dwell upon the lack of libido and sexual dysfunction. But it's all academic as with my grade of cancer this treatment is essential.

Anyway I need to pause here, to be continued. I hope that this little rant doesn't offend. It's my attempt at creatively expressing myself. I can't paint, I can't sing, dance or play an instrument. I don't have green fingers. So it's just my little rant