Living With Death
The Story of Cancer. A man’s journey from diagnosis to death.
It was Friday; I had just finished shaving and examined my neck in the bathroom mirror. The lump had grown. Now it was clearly visible, forming a hill on my throat. It is probably nothing. I just kept telling myself that; although I never really believed it. I wanted to try and make myself believe a lie. Believe that I am well. Believe it hasn't returned.
When you hear I have gone
Do not feel pity for me
For I am only going to
Those I sent before me
Early in September I sat in the Oncology Department of James Cook. The Doctor talking bollocks about biopsies and chemo; I didn't hear a word. I switched off a while ago. When he had told me it had returned. The poison coursing through my blood. An expiration date was placed on my life. I told my daughter that same day. Buying some jelly elephants to lessen the blow. She didn't cry. She wouldn't. I knew her heart was broken even if she wouldn't let it show.
When you hear I have gone
Do not dehumanise me
I was only a man
But nothing was alien to me
I refused to believe I was dying. I wasn't, it couldn't be true. I used to believe I had some magnificent destiny. I believed I shared magic of long lost heroes. I couldn't die until the final battle was won. And then I would die in a noble way; in a traditional Viking funeral. I told my daughter I would survive. I'd been shot more than once, leapt out of planes. I'd faced death before, emerged and broke free. How can I accept I am destined to die?
When you hear I have gone
Do not abuse me
For I have seen and been
To places you have only seen in films
I had countless operations, all to keep me alive. Tubes to breathe, tubes to eat; but a tube won’t help me survive. Every fortnight my daughter came. She tried to hide it but I could see pain and worry etched on her face as she looked at me with adult eyes. Her big strong hero, her only dad, a living skeleton. I had grown weak, a shell of a man. The drugs were to blame. They claim to help you, to cure this disease but they don't. They are there to help kill you. You only survive if you are stronger than the cancer and it dies first, if not you go hand in hand. The Macmillan nurses tried to help me, they told me to set 'goals' to strive to, a reason to live. My first goal was Christmas. Meg would be here. She wanted to come. Spend Christmas day with her dad because it might be his last one.
When you hear I have gone
Do not judge me
For I have only regretted
The things I have not done
On the first of November I took my daughter back to her mother’s. She hugged me tight and kissed my cheek, before scowling and telling me to shave. "Love you" She said as she got out of the car, nearly forgetting to say goodbye. "See you later Alligator!" I called out and she turned. Smiling she replied "In a while crocodile!" and went through the door. Solemnly I drove home, stopping only to buy a bottle of vodka and one of coke. I would drown my loneliness and sorrow away.
When you hear I have gone
Do not pray for me
Just save your prayers
For someone who gives a damn
I barely ate now, relying mainly on my prescribed drinks of Strawberry or Chocolate. Never hungry but only having them to avoid hospitalisation. Taking painkillers constantly, just to cope with the day. Morphine and Oxycodone, Fentanyl and Diamorphine. Spending my days in a drugged up daze. I spent my days in pain. The drugs numbed my physical pain but nothing could take away my mental agony. Tormented by sins of the past. The four things I hated the most are now alive and striving within me; sickness, old age, loneliness and sorrow. I am torn between living life and craving death. I woke on a Sunday, feeling better than I had in a while. To celebrate I decided to cook a dinner for my brother Steven and I. I was just putting the veg in the steamer when a wave of nausea overcame me. Calling for Steven I rushed to the loo. My guts emptied into the cold porcelain bowl but the acidic taste remained. Returning to the kitchen, my younger brother stood there. He patted me on the back and told me to rest. He looked at me as though he could see the angel of death on my shoulder, as if he could sense my time was almost up.
So when you hear I have gone
And I have touched your life
For either good or ill
Just think of me, occasionally
The end is near. I know, I can feel it. I have lost all appetite and my body is shutting down. I feared for my daughter. How would she fare without me? I reassured myself she would be fine. She had her mother and her aunties; Rachel my friend who stood by me through it all and Katie who could relate having lost her dad as a teen. Megan will never be alone. She has my strength within her and will always survive. I felt weak. Fear suddenly overcame me. I was disorientated, dizzy. I felt like a furnace but my skin was cold and clammy. Shaking, I picked up my mobile and phoned my brother upstairs. Urging him to phone and ambulance. My breath was irregular, my heart beat slowed, drifting in and out of consciousness as I am lifted by the paramedics. The voices sounding distant and distorted. I am taken back to times of my past; I was a soldier at war, killing the enemy. Watching my mates die. The image fades away, and is replaced by a newer memory, in a hospital in Scarborough, holding my newborn daughter in my arms. The images faded away and were replaced by bright light, distorted voices all around me. I blinked a few times and the light broke up. I am staring up at a tiled ceiling, two nurses standing over me. Explained I was in hospital, I was stable. I didn't really listen. I could she the shadow of death in the corner. Here is where I would die. Drifting away back into a subconscious state I felt a feeling of peace come over me. My mother was in front of me, holding out her hand, telling me, "Don't be afraid." I wasn't afraid. Why fear death? It is an inevitable fact of life. A voice in my head still fought it, screamed out that this can't be the end. But I don't struggle or fight. I accept my fate. I allow my mother to lead me away, into the light. Because right now this is the only thing that feels right.
Bryan Howard Thomas passed away on 1st December 2011 at 4.30pm in Leicester General Hospital; He will be greatly missed by his friends and family.
