Ari on the web

Last week I passed the half-way mark of my scheduled eight rounds of chemotherapy. It’s been three months since I was diagnosed with cancer, but the time seems to have passed quicker. Here are a few things I’ve learned along the way: It gets better. When I look back I realise just how far I’ve progressed in my treatment. In late October I was a mess – a giant tumour in my upper chest, a blood clot in my left arm, a massive bruise on my right abdomen, a nasty swelling in my head and difficulty breathing. At the time I thought that would be my experience of cancer. But all those symptoms and complications eased, the chemo started to work and things fell into place. Now some days I feel so well and energetic I need to remind myself I have the disease. Having that bad experience early on makes me realise how much better things are now, and how much worse they could be. Those bad days may yet return, but for now I can enjoy the contrast. And beyond the physical symptoms, the medical t...

At about 5:30 on Tuesday afternoon, I could feel my concentration lagging. My body was tired, my breathing laboured, the feeling was disappearing from the tips of my fingers and my mouth felt like I’d been chewing on Alfoil. It felt wonderful. Why? Because I anticipated the timing with such precision and was so well aware of what my body was doing that none of it was a surprise. After all, this was day six of the latest round of cancer treatment, and so as a veteran of four cycles of chemotherapy I knew what to expect and could face it head on. Each day in the first part of a chemo cycle seems to have its own side-effects “signature”, with a distinctive mix of aches and pains. Given the precision in timing for the delivery of the various drugs that make up the regimen I’m receiving ( R-EPOCH-DA , for those playing at home), it should be no surprise that the side-effects are quite precise as well. It’s strangely comforting to reconnect with each day on the three-weekly cycle, like ...

I’m pretty sceptical when it comes to unconventional medical treatments. I take the approach best expressed by Tim Minchin – “Do you know what they call alternative medicine that’s been proved to work? Medicine.” When it comes to cancer, alternative medicine abounds. A range of concoctions purport to offer an easy pathway to greater longevity and better health. Charlatan Belle Gibson made outrageous claims about beating cancer merely through “nutrition, patience, determination and love – as well as vitamin and Ayurvedic treatments, craniosacral therapy, and a whole lot of other treatments”. The US-based Cancer Tutor website claims that purple grape juice and carrot-and-beet juice are both “excellent cancer treatments with very high cure rates”. Advocates of Gerson Therapy say that cancer can be cured with 13 glasses of juice a day, a range of supplements and coffee enemas. Really. Cancer patients are particularly vulnerable to the lure of such quackery. I think part of the...

“So guess what? I’m not the only one in this couple with a mysterious growth inside me!” That’s how I considered telling my parents and parents-in-law that we were expecting a child at the same time I was battling cancer. But that’s not how it happened. Instead I was lying in my hospital bed with my wife Melanie holding my hand. I was still groggy as I recovered from a biopsy and had a great big tube coming out my side to drain my chest. Days earlier a mysterious lump had been found in my upper chest, and while we waited to find out what it was we all feared the worst. It happened to be my birthday and I was happily receiving gifts from the people gathered around the bed. It came time for Melanie to give me a present, and she handed me one that she’d very carefully selected – a book, “So You’re Going to Be a Dad” . I enthusiastically unwrapped it and held it up for my parents and parents-in-law to see. As I began to utter the magical words waves of emotion lashed the s...

“I was so exhausted I had to lie down for 20 minutes after thinking about brushing my teeth.” Chemo patients often have war stories about their battles with fatigue – played out in the style of the Four Yorkshiremen – and that’s my contribution. The first round of chemo left me largely unscathed, but this past week the second round has hit me hard. The all-encompassing body-and-mind fatigue that has left me whiling away that hours in bed has been more debilitating than anything I have experienced before. The complete lack of physical energy makes it difficult to perform even the most basic tasks, and the absence of mental energy makes creative thought difficult to achieve. Sleep provides little relief, but nothing else does either. The numbing fatigue turns small achievements into major victories. After a quarter hour psyching myself up to empty the dishwasher, I rewarded this act of domestic heroism with a half-hour rest. The medical advice to us chemo patients is to stay a...

The second round of chemotherapy drugs have just been infused, and so far the side-effects have been tolerable. As I was going through the round of treatment it struck me that the whole process could be explained well with a series of haiku poems. Enjoy.   The path to my heart Runs directly through my groin. At least it does now. With a jab and poke The surgeon has created An express route north. And through the passage, For five days in twenty-one, Flows liquid saviour. Like those that follow, The day begins with a 'roid – Breakfast of champions. Appetite whetted, I head from home to ward, where Professionals loom. Friendly smiles greet Those who pass the saloon’s doors; Hope mixed with pity. Atop an arm chair I get myself comfortable. Position assumed. EPOCH’s my order With a side of R for some Sweetness, extra tang. A chemo barman Can turn this toxic combo Into sweet nectar. (But before we start A l...

Tony is usually a man of few words. An old-school barber with an earthy beard and some weathered tatts on his neck, he is damn good at getting the job done with calm confidence and maximum discretion. So when I came in for my two-monthly cut on Tuesday and told him I wanted it off, all off, he was unfazed. “You see, um, it’s like this,” I half-spoke, half-whispered awkwardly. “I’ve been diagnosed with, um, cancer and the chemo means it’s all coming out. I figured I might as well get in early.” Ever the cool professional, Tony sat me in the chair and draped me theatrically in a black smock. He reached for the clippers – this would be a number 1 cut – and got to work. Within minutes the salt-and-pepper (mostly pepper) locks from my head had gathered on my lap in the smock and my head’s full roundness was on display, with only a thin layer of hair remaining on top. When it came to shaving, I warned of the dangers of a blade given the blood-thinner I’d been taking, so instead Tony gave m...