It’s a hell of a thing, knowing your skin wants to kill you. Run a thousand miles, and the killer isn’t just with you at the end. He’s all over you. He came at me again this week. My third melanoma diagnosis in five years. It’s cool, don’t worry. Twice now, this motherfucker tried to kill me, and both times it was me who walked away and him who ended up floating in a tiny little jar.
When my brother was dying from liver cancer back in 2010 it was such a wake up for not only him, but everyone around. In the process of letting go of his life he became a much better person which was remarkable because he wasn’t a bad person in the first place. But all the arrogance, striving for success and other worldly concerns fell away and he became a truly wonderful person. As his executor who was left to wrap up his life the lesson I took away was that the hearse doesn’t have a tow bar.
Well said. I've had many skin checks over the years but I'm about a year overdue right now. For people like me - with albinism - annual checks are important. And if you have skin cancer in the family (I do) it's even more important.
Life is a rollercoaster. I love that quote from Parenting (Parenthood? The Steve Martin comedy.)
Two things stand out for me right now, in the middle of this state of flux and in the middle of waiting (waiting, ENDLESS waiting for my house to be finished so I can move out of this claustrophobic house opposite a football club with a nightmare of a landlord and property manager).
One is walking. I enjoy walking. Especially in the bush, surrounded by unspoilt life in the form of flora and fauna. Alternatively, I quite like a stroll along the beach, particularly if I don't have to slog my way through dry sand trying to bog me down or trip me up. (I can't see the holes either!)
The other is my dog. She's awesome. I am her First Human. My husband is the Spare Human. She'll settle for walking with him if I'm not able but she tells me her opinion of this before and afterwards, and she tells him what she thinks of this for the first hundred metres or so after leaving the house. "Wait, YOU FORGOT SOMEONE. WE MUST GO BAAAACK!" She'd make a good sheepdog too, as evidenced by her determination to keep the flock of humans together. Except if I say "Beach? Do you want to go to the beach?" In which case - as happened this week - we abandoned the Spare Human in Brighton and took off at a power walk. (It's ok, he had his car.)
I'm learning to play, not something I really did much as a kid, definitely not by the time I was in the middle of primary school. It was school, chores, reading or watching TV. I think playing was too noisy? Or something. I was allowed if I went outside, away from the house, alone. Which, come to think of it, I did. Then, when I was in high school, when I was allowed and I was visiting Mum and co, I used to take my bicycle up to the forestry with the dogs, literally DRAGGED my bike up a road so steep I'm amazed that cars could drive up it, then I used another better road to coast down with the dogs Tam and Patsy following behind. They were always super happy for those adventures too.
Perhaps I found my happy place back then and now Silkie (also a black dog like Tam and Patsy, just a different breed) has helped me redevelop that happy place (without a bike) in a new location. Sometimes it's the simple things that make life fulfilling.
This week I stared down what would’ve been my second cancer diagnosis in ten months. My first diagnosis was marked by denial. We danced around that C word as though it could kill…which of course, it could. Because the C word was never used, I had to clarify that my elderly mother understood what was happening. “You know I might have to have chemo” I said. “Yeah”, she responded. It’s only now, seven months after the malignancy was cut out of my body, that the word cancer is acceptable in this house. This week, I was advised that I don’t have cancer this time. But as JB demands, don’t fuck around, waiting to decide if you’re scared enough to ask the question. Take the precautions. See your doctor. Choose life.
A someone sitting in the 'Alfred-on-the-Park' [Hospital in Melbs on Fawkner Park] with 1/3 less skull than a fortnight ago, this article has great resonance for me.
You kinda 'get' that things are serious when your surgeon tells you, "get your affairs in order" [Will, Advanced Care Directive and Powers of Attorney]
I'm starting a new immuno-therapy trial this week to supper-charge my immune system and finally put the dreaded 'C' to the sword.
Although I've planned my 'going away' party down to the nth degree. I like it here [[ife]and have a lot more to do...
Alas, we find ourselves in similar positions both physically and mentally as I head into my 62nd year, but I'm not equipped to express it so eloquently or succinctly as you have here. Mine, more clumsy then poignant. But I will do as you say and do something I love doing which is my Friday Night Stout review (look it up). It's not much and not read by many but it does bring joy to me and hopefully others. Life's too short for s@#t beer.
Keep well sir, I'll miss your dry, wry take on life, when either you or I shuffle off. My Mum's partner is dying, and to me, watching, it seems that it's the small things that are the big things in life - shared laughter, sun on the skin, a meal with loved ones, a hug from a friend, the dog's joy when you walk in the front door, and all the best possibilities of our human nature - kindness, humour, gentleness, loyalty, intergity, joy, generosity, and above all, else love. Dying is rarely easy (although I do know one person who died a perfect death) but seeing the love that surrounds my Mum's partner, as he wrestles with his impending death, well, it clarifies things.
You have inspired me with your personal story, and the poetic and profound language with which you told it. Particularly love this: "Without the hard and clarifying lens of mortality, it's easy to get lost in our bullshit." No truer words! Thanks, John. Glad you're OK. I plan to be OK, too. Starting today.
I love babies. Always have. I don't care what gender, colour or general demeanor they are. Comforting a crying baby is my super power. The girls around here always give me a nurse. Watching the look on some of those black babies faces when their mothers give them to a white fella is priceless. Not that keen on two year olds though lol. Check your email JB. When you're fixed,come for a holiday in the dry season and wear a fkn hat !
Thank you for your clarity of the inevitable, something most of us think won't happen soon. Certainly by your becoming fitter will help recovery. My partner (a Naturopath - not the quack type) recommends giving up ALL carbs (sweets, cakes, pastries, bread, rice, pasta, all root veges, all fruit except berries, alcohol, sweet drinks. I wish you well and a speed recovery.
I've been putting off having mine checked for years - I'll book in while I'm up getting the report on my ex smokers lungs ct scan from yesterday - another thing i wish I'd never done or stopped earlier - I have a 25 yo son ( I'm 65 ) & i wanna be around for another 20 years at least!!
Bravo you, King JB, as you front up to your third round. I've had to feel the sting of the laser quite a few times recently, but I figure that's easier than the knife.
The inevitable is weighing upon quite a bit lately - not for me, but for my siblings. I have nine of them, the eldest turning 80 and the youngest 60 this year. We're gathering from all up and down the east coast to celebrate these milestones mid-way between their birthdays and I worry that something will happen before we get together. I so want us to get together.
After that, bags I be the first to go because I don't want to face all that grieving the order of leaving would entail, as I'm the 7th born.
I know platitiudes and cliches are meaningless from we the parasocial in situations like this, but all the same I'm sorry to hear that JB and I really hope the bastard C doesn't get you because you're an absolute champ with a big heart and a sharp wit, and we need you to stick around a while longer.
As for awareness of mortality, it sure sharpens up as you approach 50, your parents pass on, and you realise that the best 2/3s of your life health-wise is likely already gone (if you're lucky and make it into your 70s). As a result I try to live in the moment as much as possible, to be grateful for my incredibly good fortune, and to give a bit back to those I love. We are all specks of sand on the effectively infinite beach of space-time, and I'm not sure there is much more to life than that.
When my brother was dying from liver cancer back in 2010 it was such a wake up for not only him, but everyone around. In the process of letting go of his life he became a much better person which was remarkable because he wasn’t a bad person in the first place. But all the arrogance, striving for success and other worldly concerns fell away and he became a truly wonderful person. As his executor who was left to wrap up his life the lesson I took away was that the hearse doesn’t have a tow bar.
Well said. I've had many skin checks over the years but I'm about a year overdue right now. For people like me - with albinism - annual checks are important. And if you have skin cancer in the family (I do) it's even more important.
Life is a rollercoaster. I love that quote from Parenting (Parenthood? The Steve Martin comedy.)
Two things stand out for me right now, in the middle of this state of flux and in the middle of waiting (waiting, ENDLESS waiting for my house to be finished so I can move out of this claustrophobic house opposite a football club with a nightmare of a landlord and property manager).
One is walking. I enjoy walking. Especially in the bush, surrounded by unspoilt life in the form of flora and fauna. Alternatively, I quite like a stroll along the beach, particularly if I don't have to slog my way through dry sand trying to bog me down or trip me up. (I can't see the holes either!)
The other is my dog. She's awesome. I am her First Human. My husband is the Spare Human. She'll settle for walking with him if I'm not able but she tells me her opinion of this before and afterwards, and she tells him what she thinks of this for the first hundred metres or so after leaving the house. "Wait, YOU FORGOT SOMEONE. WE MUST GO BAAAACK!" She'd make a good sheepdog too, as evidenced by her determination to keep the flock of humans together. Except if I say "Beach? Do you want to go to the beach?" In which case - as happened this week - we abandoned the Spare Human in Brighton and took off at a power walk. (It's ok, he had his car.)
I'm learning to play, not something I really did much as a kid, definitely not by the time I was in the middle of primary school. It was school, chores, reading or watching TV. I think playing was too noisy? Or something. I was allowed if I went outside, away from the house, alone. Which, come to think of it, I did. Then, when I was in high school, when I was allowed and I was visiting Mum and co, I used to take my bicycle up to the forestry with the dogs, literally DRAGGED my bike up a road so steep I'm amazed that cars could drive up it, then I used another better road to coast down with the dogs Tam and Patsy following behind. They were always super happy for those adventures too.
Perhaps I found my happy place back then and now Silkie (also a black dog like Tam and Patsy, just a different breed) has helped me redevelop that happy place (without a bike) in a new location. Sometimes it's the simple things that make life fulfilling.
“The annihilating flame of the insignificant.”
Boy did that line straighten me up and make me fly right. Great column. Stare it down, go gently and good luck my friend.
Mooney.
As one who lives with an incurable cancer your words today are on point.
This week I stared down what would’ve been my second cancer diagnosis in ten months. My first diagnosis was marked by denial. We danced around that C word as though it could kill…which of course, it could. Because the C word was never used, I had to clarify that my elderly mother understood what was happening. “You know I might have to have chemo” I said. “Yeah”, she responded. It’s only now, seven months after the malignancy was cut out of my body, that the word cancer is acceptable in this house. This week, I was advised that I don’t have cancer this time. But as JB demands, don’t fuck around, waiting to decide if you’re scared enough to ask the question. Take the precautions. See your doctor. Choose life.
A someone sitting in the 'Alfred-on-the-Park' [Hospital in Melbs on Fawkner Park] with 1/3 less skull than a fortnight ago, this article has great resonance for me.
You kinda 'get' that things are serious when your surgeon tells you, "get your affairs in order" [Will, Advanced Care Directive and Powers of Attorney]
I'm starting a new immuno-therapy trial this week to supper-charge my immune system and finally put the dreaded 'C' to the sword.
Although I've planned my 'going away' party down to the nth degree. I like it here [[ife]and have a lot more to do...
Alas, we find ourselves in similar positions both physically and mentally as I head into my 62nd year, but I'm not equipped to express it so eloquently or succinctly as you have here. Mine, more clumsy then poignant. But I will do as you say and do something I love doing which is my Friday Night Stout review (look it up). It's not much and not read by many but it does bring joy to me and hopefully others. Life's too short for s@#t beer.
Keep well sir, I'll miss your dry, wry take on life, when either you or I shuffle off. My Mum's partner is dying, and to me, watching, it seems that it's the small things that are the big things in life - shared laughter, sun on the skin, a meal with loved ones, a hug from a friend, the dog's joy when you walk in the front door, and all the best possibilities of our human nature - kindness, humour, gentleness, loyalty, intergity, joy, generosity, and above all, else love. Dying is rarely easy (although I do know one person who died a perfect death) but seeing the love that surrounds my Mum's partner, as he wrestles with his impending death, well, it clarifies things.
You have inspired me with your personal story, and the poetic and profound language with which you told it. Particularly love this: "Without the hard and clarifying lens of mortality, it's easy to get lost in our bullshit." No truer words! Thanks, John. Glad you're OK. I plan to be OK, too. Starting today.
I love babies. Always have. I don't care what gender, colour or general demeanor they are. Comforting a crying baby is my super power. The girls around here always give me a nurse. Watching the look on some of those black babies faces when their mothers give them to a white fella is priceless. Not that keen on two year olds though lol. Check your email JB. When you're fixed,come for a holiday in the dry season and wear a fkn hat !
Thank you for your clarity of the inevitable, something most of us think won't happen soon. Certainly by your becoming fitter will help recovery. My partner (a Naturopath - not the quack type) recommends giving up ALL carbs (sweets, cakes, pastries, bread, rice, pasta, all root veges, all fruit except berries, alcohol, sweet drinks. I wish you well and a speed recovery.
I've been putting off having mine checked for years - I'll book in while I'm up getting the report on my ex smokers lungs ct scan from yesterday - another thing i wish I'd never done or stopped earlier - I have a 25 yo son ( I'm 65 ) & i wanna be around for another 20 years at least!!
Thank you for such good advice and best wishes for a long fruitful survival. 🙂
Bravo you, King JB, as you front up to your third round. I've had to feel the sting of the laser quite a few times recently, but I figure that's easier than the knife.
The inevitable is weighing upon quite a bit lately - not for me, but for my siblings. I have nine of them, the eldest turning 80 and the youngest 60 this year. We're gathering from all up and down the east coast to celebrate these milestones mid-way between their birthdays and I worry that something will happen before we get together. I so want us to get together.
After that, bags I be the first to go because I don't want to face all that grieving the order of leaving would entail, as I'm the 7th born.
More power to you, King.
I know platitiudes and cliches are meaningless from we the parasocial in situations like this, but all the same I'm sorry to hear that JB and I really hope the bastard C doesn't get you because you're an absolute champ with a big heart and a sharp wit, and we need you to stick around a while longer.
As for awareness of mortality, it sure sharpens up as you approach 50, your parents pass on, and you realise that the best 2/3s of your life health-wise is likely already gone (if you're lucky and make it into your 70s). As a result I try to live in the moment as much as possible, to be grateful for my incredibly good fortune, and to give a bit back to those I love. We are all specks of sand on the effectively infinite beach of space-time, and I'm not sure there is much more to life than that.
Get well soon, fellow traveller.