I felt like I was hovering. I felt the air beneath my feet, as the wheels turned 360 degrees over and over again.
The hovering was nice, it was relaxing. For a moment it even took my mind off of the cancer. The disease that had been riddiling my body for nearly 10 months now.
I remember that day a lot. It comes by in flashes. Fainting as I made my way up the stairs after a long day of work. Carol and I thought it was just exhaustion from working so hard on that board paper for two weeks straight. I guess it was a mixture of things, but ultimately it came down to the tumour in the lower end of my spine.
It took me weeks to come to grips with it. To come to grips with the reality that much of my time on this earth would be cut short. Even those who survive the intial treatment only have a couple more years left in them.
Mortality is something we rarely think about. It's a state so far away into the future that there's really no need. Unless you find out your sick or get hit by a car, the chances of dying in your 40's are pretty low.
The chemo has recently started to take its toll. I can no longer keep down solids. The muscles that were able to keep me up for 3 hours running 42 kilometres at a blistering 4:40 pace have now atrophied away. The realisation that I will most likely never run again hits home hard. A dream vanished, a life slowly vanishing.
So here I am now. Being rolled to my next bout of chemo in a wheelchair. With a patient's arm band hanging loosley off my wrist. Half the man I used to be. But that doesn't mean I won't keep fighting.
Every now and again I write for 5 minutes continuously and do not stop until the timer runs out. What you read is a stream of words coming out all at once. No editing, no worrying. I find this creates amazing stories as you just have to let the words take you, rather than force them out. Enjoy.
