Coping with Cancer - Inspiration

About eight years ago I decided to change my life. I gave up smoking, stopped drinking as much, bought myself a bike and started running. I’d love to tell you that this was due do a profound spiritual revelation, like something out of a Paulo Coelho novel, but the reason was much simpler. I watched a one-hour TV documentary about a guy called Mark Beaumont who cycled around the world and thought ‘I want to do that.’

Five years later, and after a few false starts, I was cycling across the Sahara on my way to Cape Town. If it wasn’t for Mark Beaumount, this would never have happened.

In this week’s blog I want to tell you about the new inspirational figures I’ve found as a recovering cancer patient.

Jane Tomlinson

In 2000 Jane Tomlinson was given 12 months to live. She’d had breast cancer and after 3 years of chemotherapy and radiotherapy was told that it had spread to her heart and lungs. She could have curled up in ball and cried herself to an early death. Instead she took out a gym membership, declaring that ‘death doesn’t arrive with the prognosis.’

The following May she surprised her family and doctors by completing her first running race, the 3.1 mile (5km) Race For Life, and in April 2002 she ran the London Marathon in under five hours.

She went on to take part in a series of triathlons and became the first cancer patient to complete a full Ironman race. In 2006 she rode 4200 miles across America, raising £250,000.

Jane Tomlinson eventually died in 2007. Her cancer charity has raised close to ten million pounds.

For a month after my cancer surgery I hadn’t a bike or been for a run. The moment I finished her story I realised I went out and pedalled like nothing had happened. I haven’t stopped since.

Mr T

In 1995, eighties legend Mr T was removing a diamond earring and felt a bump. Two weeks later, he went to a dermatologist, where a biopsy revealed he had T-Cell Lymphoma.

“Can you imagine that?” he said. “Cancer with my name on it—personalized cancer.”

Cancer reappeared several times for Mr T, but each time he kept on fighting. “I pity the fool who just gives up,’ he said. ‘We all gonna die eventually from something or other, but don’t be a wimp. Put up a good fight. Don’t sit around waiting on death. We can be tough. We can be determined. Go out and have some fun and make death find you!’

Eventually Mr T won his fight and was declared cancer free. Many cancer sufferers lose a part of themselves after their diagnosis. Mr T was more Mr T than ever.

My mother

A week after my bowel surgery I was ready to be discharged. Dr Doom was happy to let me go, but on only on the condition that I had someone to look after me. This person had to be someone who didn’t work and was able to care for me. I had a simple choice. Another week in hospital with only a manically depressed surgeon for company, or a fortnight with my mother.

‘There’s not even a choice,’ I told them. ‘Book me in for another week.’

Unfortunately, a few days later I was turfed out of cancer ward B, and had no choice but to head back to the family home - armed with a box of syringes and a bag of drugs.

My mother did was every mother would do. She was unnecessarily patronising (‘how are your bowel movements?’), bought loads of food that I used to eat when I was five (Angel Delight anyone?) and did her utmost to make me believe that leaving the house would kill me.

Luckily at heart I am still around 17 years old, so I did everything she told me not to do. I went on long walks, drank some beer, wrote a few articles, even took a brief jog to the shops.

The nurses were very impressed by speedy recovery. ‘Its all down to my mother,’ I told them. ‘Aaahh, how nice,’ they said.

Eduardo Garcia

It’s a general truth that in life that whatever you do, there’s someone else who does it better than you. Getting cancer is no different.

On October 9, 2011, while hiking in Montana backcountry, Garcia came across a motionless bear cub. Nudging the animal with his knife, he received a severe electrical shock from a 2400-volt power line hidden underneath its carcass. He was air-lifted to the hospital where he spent 48 days in intensive care. The decision was made to amputate his left arm. ‘I was scared," he later recalled, "but I was set on learning how to survive.’ As if this wasn’t bad enough, while in the hospital Garcia was also diagnosed with stage two testicular cancer. This required him to put his surgery on hold to undergo three months of chemotherapy. He recalls, ‘I had to get through [the cancer] to get back to business, which was surgery and recovery of self.’

He now feels that the accident helped his career as a chef. ‘I've got superpowers. I can grab things out of an oven and not get burnt. I don’t cut my fingers anymore.’ He is also still running and hiking.

I emailed him my story and told him that after chemotherapy finished I was planning on going cycling in Tibet. He told me that this was ‘absolutely the best thing I could do.’

Maybe I won’t tell my mother.

The guy next to me in the Cancer Ward

He was around sixty years old. He’d had chemotherapy twice; radiotherapy twice; a new stomach and a scar the size of over his chest. He used to design toys for a living and was still working for Mattel as a consultant. He didn’t speak much, and I never found out his name. In fact, we only had one conversation. It was one that I’ll never forget.

We were in adjacent beds in cancer ward B, a a few days after my operation. Dr Doom had just giving me one of his ‘motivational’ chats and I was sat staring at the wall, considering my mortality. He turned me and said the following.

‘Don’t listen to those doctors, they don’t know shit.’

He had a croaky voice, vocal chords scarred by the radiotherapy.

‘Don’t listen to all those people outside, they don’t know shit either. You can still do anything you like.’

‘The doctors aren’t so sure,’ I said.

He shook his head, then pointed to his chest. ‘Pay attention to what goes on in there. That’s the only thing that’s worth listening to.’

I knew what he meant, but it was only when I read these other inspiring other stories that I understood the full implications of what he was saying. The head knows nothing about survival. Its the heart that keeps us going. Even when the brain, the legs, science, are telling us otherwise, the heart keeps pumping, willing us to carry on. Its what makes us do things like cycle across America, live with a bionic arm, run the London marathon in a dinosaur outfit, love our kids, even though they’ll never listen to anything we say. Its what makes us ignore all the sensible, rational thoughts that tells us to give up. Its what makes us survive cancer when everyone tells us we can’t.

Keep those hearts going. I’m off to watch Rocky III.

Have a great weekend!

Ben

NB: Let me know who inspires you in the comments section below. It’d be great to get some more stories for the long road ahead.