Today is not such a good day. One of the first things I was told by my oncologist was that once I start the chemo I would have good days and bad days. Little did he know I was already bordering on bipolar. I must admit there are some good days, but the bad seem to be outweighing the good lately. At first it was the coming to terms with the fact that I had cancer. But it’s not that anymore. The pain is all too constant. It’s hard to walk like a normal person. It’s hard to stand for more than 2 minutes. And today, it’s hard to breath. Its days like this that I hate the most. I start to feel sorry for myself. I beg and plead and ask why me? What have I done to deserve this? People close to me tell me that there isn’t a reason. That I, must learn from this and become stronger. Fuck that! I hear it all the time and anyone who has been through anything slightly traumatic would tell you the same thing… Fuck that! How many times have we all been broken hearted and then told, ‘oh well they weren’t the one for you’ blah blah blah! It doesn’t help the healing process. Finding a rebound does. Now if only I can find a rebound for my cancer!

My uncle died. He died at the age of 52. He died without me getting the chance to say goodbye. He died of cancer.
When I was first diagnosed with cancer, the first doctor I saw asked me if I had a family history of any type of cancer. I told him no. (At the time my brain wasn’t really functioning.) Doctor number 2 asked the same thing and again I replied with a no. Doctor number 3 asked again. And well the same response of no. Now that I’m up to doctor number 8 I think I should change that answer of no. My grandfather died of lung cancer all the way back in 1997. My uncle died last week of liver cancer and my grandmother has leukaemia. So yes. Cancer is in my family I guess.
Going to my uncle’s funeral was an effort all itself. I haven’t spoken to anyone on my father’s side of the family in nearly 3 years (My fathers brother was the one who died). I didn’t know how my father would react to seeing me, or how my aunts and uncles would react. It was frightening. As I approached the funeral parlour I started to shake. I wasn’t able to walk on my own. I instantly thought to myself ‘What a great time for my legs to go out!’ I called over to my little brother who helped me out of the car and walked with me. I saw my father and he just ignored me. Fine! I wasn’t there for him anyway. After seeing him I regained control of my legs. Ah it was just nerves. Phew!
After the service and on my way to the cemetery I began to feel really selfish. Here I was, supposed to be grieving for my uncle and all I could really think about was my own mortality. Did I have much longer? Will I soon be buried next to him? I didn’t want to think it, but I couldn’t help it.
As the coffin arrived I broke down. Right there in front of my father. I was showing emotions in public and I really didn’t care. I cried for my uncle. My uncle who I hadn’t seen in 3 years. For whom I never answered his calls because I was so angry with my own father. I cried for myself. I didn’t want to die. I didn’t want this cancer to be the end of me. I didn’t want to go out like that. Frail and weak.
I pulled myself together and drove off with my sister to visit my grandmother. I hadn’t seen her in about a year. I visited her when I first came back to Australia, but never went back in fear of seeing my father. I was not prepared for what I saw. Yes she had just lost her son and had leukaemia but…….. All her hair was gone. She had the same liver spots as me, only worse. She had a walking stick like me, but seemed to need it more than I did. I saw what could be my future and I didn’t like it at all.

Appearances. From a very young age my siblings and I were all taught and told to keep up appearances. As a child I never really cried. If I needed to cry I would just go into the shower or sit in the laundry on a Friday afternoon as the washing machine went about its business. My father told me that crying was for the weak and showing any kind of emotions in public (except those of utter happiness) was just unacceptable. So now, while going through this ordeal, trying to keep myself alive I feel as if I have hit a brick wall. I try to keep up my daily routine as much as possible. I push myself to go to work and put 100% into each and every day. I come home and push myself to be the good boyfriend. I visit my mother and push myself to be the good son by mowing the lawn and painting the bathroom. I go to friends’ birthday parties and dinners out. I smile for the camera and never let on that something is up. Inside. I have friends who call me or email me telling me that I look real healthy and happy on my facebook pictures. My doctor tells me its great I haven’t lost any of my hair yet. That I’m one of the lucky ones.
Lucky ones………………. Since when do keeping up appearances and being lucky go hand in hand? Wearing big glasses so people don’t see the blackness in my eyes. Sitting out in the sun to get some colour, so people don’t see how pail and green my body has become. How is this lucky? Is this a form of denial? Have I not accepted the fact that I have cancer and may very well die?
If hiding how sick I am on the outside was working, hiding how much pain I was in wasn’t. The daily ritual of getting out of bed and getting dressed for work takes almost an hour in itself. That’s not including breakfast. The hardest part is getting out of bed or having the strength to even walk up those stairs to make something to eat. My partner isn’t usually home when I get up as he starts work at an ungodly hour (6am). Some days the pain gets the better of me and I make that call or text message to my boss informing her that I wont be coming in to work. I hate doing that. I hate disappointing people. Today wasn’t such a bad day considering. I made it out of bed and even did a full day of work. Came home and sat by the pool (wearing sunscreen of course) and hoped and wished that the sun could cover up some of my liver spots. Or my green veins that seemed to cover my arms and legs.
Anytime someone asks how I am doing; a quick knee jerk reaction of ‘I’m great!’ comes out. I don’t know why. I guess people are happier hearing that and not ‘I feel like shit! I wish I was in bed!’

Another day has come and gone but this time with some relief. After speaking extensively with my doctor about the price of all these “new” procedures it seems that the hospital finally listened to my pleas for help. They are paying for everything and I don’t owe them a cent. How ironic. Here I am. My body as I know it eating away at itself and all I seem to worry about is the money.
Yesterday I said that I was done with doctors and that I wanted to do this on my own. Naturally. After speaking to with my best friend, I have concluded that I can’t. Or was it him telling me he won’t let me. Wow! Here I thought I was in charge of my own life. I can understand his concern. If the tables were turned I guess I wouldn’t let him seek alternative medicines. But he just doesn’t get it. Nobody seems to understand what is going on in my head. Ah my head. I’ve always been a person who was too much inside their own head. Always thinking too much. Over analysing every single word that comes out of people’s mouths.
The pain is all just a little too much today. I have always known of people who complain of bad back pain and such, but I don’t think anything could compare to this. I’m told on a regular basis that I am lucky to be walking. Lucky to be breathing on my own and of course lucky to be alive. This afternoon as I went in to see my doctor I had a thought. How is it with modern medicine being what it is they can’t operate on me? Why was it such a high-risk procedure? It always works out on TV! As I sat down in the chair by the doctor’s desk he looked at me and said what he says every time I see him. ‘I can’t believe that you’re walking. I just really can’t believe it’. It always makes me so mad and confused when he says these things to me. Did he want me to be in a wheelchair? Was he preparing me for what was to come? Am I meant to be on high alert waiting to collapse at any moment? All I could do was smile and ask for my weed. I don’t care what anyone calls it, medicinal medical marijuana. Its weed! I don’t really know if it is having any effects on me, but I guess in some ways it does relax me and help me sleep.

Log # 1

7 Months and 4 days into this ordeal. Nothing seems to be getting better. The cancer is still growing and my bank account seems to be shrinking at the same pace. I’ve heard a lot about having a support group. A family to help you through the process of dying I guess. I seem to be alienating everyone in my life. My mother is still unaware of my condition (although she does sense that something is defiantly wrong), I keep a fair distance away from my siblings as I cant look them in the eyes anymore. Two of my closest friends I keep pushing away, telling them that I am doing fine and they have nothing to be concerned about. Lastly would have to be my partner. He probably knows least of all. I can’t get myself up to telling him exactly what is going on. 7 months into it and I refuse to let him come with me to the hospital. Not for anything. Not for tests. Not for results. Not even for the treatment that is eating away at my body. I don’t know why that is. He has seen me cry and he has been here for me from the beginning, yet a part of me doesn’t want him to be here. I don’t want him to have to deal with any of this. He never signed up for this when we first stated dating 2 years ago.
There are days that go by that I refuse to look into his eyes. Days like today. He realises something is bothering me and asks…. But how am I to tell him I wish I had never met him. If that were the case then he wouldn’t be here dealing with all this.
At the moment my 3 tumours in my spine (to this day I still can’t remember the correct name of them) Up till a few days ago there was also concern for what seemed to be a tumour at the top of my neck, which might be the reason why I have been forgetting so many things. After a recent biopsy the tests came back. It was benign. A huge relief. But when I screamed at the top of my lungs in happiness all those around me where shocked as they had no idea about the tumour in the first place.
After 7 months of treatment. From Radiotherapy and chemotherapy, to a new procedure called stereotactic radiotherapy. It seems there is nothing modern science can do to cure this fucking thing in my spine! But life goes on and after quite a few months feeling completely sorry for myself I have decided that the doctors can all go fuck themselves. Through lots of research and talking with people with cancer I have concluded that I need to get this disease out myself. A total change in everything I have ever done. A change in diet. A change in personality and attitude. This is a war. And it isn’t like any other war. I’m not fighting for love or a good job. I’m fighting for my life and I can’t afford to lose this battle.