This is pretty much a cut and paste of the email I've fired off to let people know what the specialist, Mr. Bahngoo said on Friday, marginally updated with a few more thoughts.

4-5 years.

That's pretty cool.

Could be better, could be worse.

I didn't know this, but it turns out they don't classify brain tumours as cancerous or non cancerous as the distinction doesn't really apply, they tend to be more or less benign, so it's easier to categorise them on a scale of one to four, where one is a lazy little tumour that sits still and has a snooze (benign) and four is the Very Hungry Caterpillar (malignant)... Mine's a three.

So... I'm looking at six weeks of radiotherapy five days a week, which is going to start soon, possibly followed by chemo, if they reckon that's a good idea after. Then reassess.

There are, as Mark Twain put it, "lies, damned lies and statistics", so the 4 to 5 years of life expectancy I've been given has to be taken with a pinch of salt... and as any of you who've ever seen me cook or speak about salt will know, I take EVERYTHING with a pinch of salt. About six grams of the stuff a day. I'm digressing now, but that's your RDA and you should really try weighing it out and having a look at it some time, it's a lot of salt! Suffice it to say there's a bell curve distribution, so I might be "late" for my birthday, but then I might be around to piss you all off in a decade or two, don't hold me to the schedule, you are I'm sure aware that I've never stuck to them anyway! (I mean if I could drag out fixing the house for THREE WHOLE SODDING YEARS, I might be able to kill some time here too...)

Anyway, that's the news... I've been warbling on about the fact that I've been looking at the whole thing as a seesaw, with death on one side and uncertainty on the other... as one goes up, t'other goes down, and yesterday was the nearest that the thing's got to settling in a specific position; which is as good as I could hope for, given that this seesaw is not one which bends. This thing only ends one way, and I'm hoping there'll be a long time and a lot of parties before then, I expect them to include the following:

WHISKY,

LOUD MUSIC,

IRRESPONSIBLE BEHAVIOUR,

FEMALE VOICES OF CONCERN.

OOPS IT'S DAWN...



Right, fire away with any questions, I'm eating chocolate in bed!

There are SO many people I'm not in email/ FB/ other electronic comunication with, and right at the moment I'm a bit busy to be chasing everyone, so if you happen to spot that I've missed anyone, do let 'em know what's up, if you think appropriate...

LOVE TO YOU ALL, Ben

Right, that was posted Saturday, it's now Monday morning and I'm back to normal blogging:

They say that God works in mysterious ways. I like this expression. I see it as proof that she's a silly cow and doesn't exist.

That said, there is something in the ability of odd, sometimes harsh turns of luck, to bring you into what's important... as previously noted...

I am thinking about the fact that Mr. Bahngoo, the neurosurgeon, told me on Friday about the symptoms I could expect to go with Radiotherapy. Redness, muscle tiredness, mental exhaustion, depression. Ok. This is interesting. I’ve got to state now, that if you’re ever diagnosed as being terminally ill, I highly recommend that you get the news from Mr. Bahngoo, his professionalism was just SO spot on, completely up front, but completely compassionate in his demeanour, I haven’t seen many performances that good… not that I’m suggesting you don’t have better things to do!

What interested me was that, as a doctor, who sees patients in a mechanistic way, with symptoms for treatment, he drew directly from physical symptoms to mental ones without a dividing line. That was good, that was VERY good, because it immediately made me realise that this is the correct way to see it. So far I have been extremely happy and have had a degree of equanimity since diagnosis, but I am aware that as my physical health fails, which it one day will, that may change. I think the key thing here is going to be to recognise that changes in my mental state will be no different than changes in my physical state, and that I must learn to ride them out with patience and acceptance, just as I think I’ve already figured out how to accept and ride out the physical tumour. I may get down, I may get despondent. This is ok, this is something to be accepted. Of course I may just keep on smiling, it’s entirely possible that my current sunny disposition won’t be so easy to shake as he thought, but I am preparing myself for dark days, and think that they will not be there to be overcome, but to be accepted and even, in a way, relished. Everything is to be relished. Especially relish, with burgers. And chips, with mayonnaise.

en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eliminative_materialism


Is a rather wonderful entry. I like that particular school of thought, it appeals to my rational mind and my dislike of wooly thinking… though it’s far from perfect! I don’t think that any suffering which arises has any greater reality or validity than any pleasure, at a philosophical level, so it makes sense not to distinguish between them at an intellectual level, and to try to bring them together at an experiential level also. Easier said than done! I’m working on the relationship between E.M. and zen, how they fit together, or whether they simply don’t.

I’m not sure I’ve mentioned Ted. Ted was the guy in the bed next to me in the first hospital. Ted slept with his blanket wrapped himself sideways, because otherwise it was too narrow to get round. Region of 40 stone. Doctor came round to talk to him about his weight and explained that if and as and when he dies, he’ll have to be sent for cremation in London Zoo, because it’s the only place with a large enough oven… when he needs an MRI, it’ll have to be at a racetrack because standard equipment can’t handle the sheer depth of flesh that is his body. I’m not typing all this to knock Ted, who was a perfectly genial chap, I’m just interested in how people take responsibility for themselves, or don’t. I think that taking responsibility for oneself is verging on the entirety of the meaning of life. Your physical state, sure, that’s pretty obvious… but I think your mental and emotional states too… Ah well, not popular in a country where you need a two day course and a certificate to use a buggering ladder.

3rd May 2010. Had dinner with Ed and Claire last night, delicious and lots of fun. Preceded it by having Davina and George to lunch, which was also a delight. As alternatives to 100 ft yachts and private helicopters go, seeing old friends is as good as it gets!

I’ve swapped emails with Charlie Radcliffe, one of the three Great Charlies in my life… he’s off to Burning Man Festival in the summer, off road biking in the Pyranees after that, and then a Trans Atlantic sailing trip beyond that… asked me along! I can’t think of any more entertaining and wonderful things to do, so I’ve been doing some thinking about my travel allowances. Obviously I ain’t going anywhere till Radiotherapy’s over, nothing doing there. Then I don’t know. NOTHING will interfere with Alexander bar physical inability… if I’m too ill for school, I might be too ill to travel, but will consider it. We shall see. The real problem, however, is HOW to get about… I’m on a car and (guttingly) motorbike ban, presumably for the duration of my visit to this strange little planet of yours, so that’s out. Flying’s been banned, though I can’t remember if it’s 12 weeks or 12 months, will find out soon… and Rachel doesn’t like the idea of being on a train with me, understandably! Boats might be dumb, but they might also be the best shot I’ve got of getting about, and screw it, if you can’t take the risk of having a seizure having fun messing about in a boat, getting from A to B, when can you?

I have no relevance for this, but I cannot not include it. If you have time, have a look at:

catnaps.org/islamic/geometry.html


It’s just a bit wonderful.