Been forced to look death in the face?

Realised you were close to dying?

I have – more times than most should ever have to endure in a lifetime. 

But unlike many, I have been fortunate enough to bounce back and recover after a long periods of convalescing. During these times I’ve discovered something happens to your mind and sense of identity.

As a consequence of repeated hospital stays or lengthy home incapacitation – frequent flyer status, social standing, business achievements, assets, bank accounts, beliefs, and moral judgements; amount to nothing.

a curiosity to medical students

You become a mere statistical entry in a medical database, and in some cases a curiosity to medical students.

You are subjected to a continuous brainwashing, paraded in front of various doctors and support staff – constantly hearing your list of defects and health conditions relayed, repeated, and discussed by each successive nursing shift – and visiting specialists.

After time, this begins to define who you are; and replaces your long forgotten past.

All the important meetings, crisis discussions, strategic manoeuvres and undertakings made during my career, disappeared from my memory – as if it never happened.

And the reason?… I became so intensely focussed on surviving and improving my health outcome – every thing else didn’t matter; so my vivid past was packed away into my deep subconsciousness.

I had gone from being a high flying entrepreneur travelling the world, an innovator in the advertising industry, building the careers of hundreds of people, creating positive commercial outcomes for most of the worlds leading grocery companies; and reaching over 2 billion television viewers with my unique style of advertisements – to becoming a bare shell of my former self.

Don’t get me wrong, I felt extremely privileged to have defied the odds and the expectations of the medical industry and recover physiologically. Remarkably I had achieved a cure from a non cancerous but highly invasive craniopharyngioma brain tumor, and a related critical condition known as panhypopituitarism; caused by the crushing of my pituitary gland from the tumor’s uncontrolled growth.

Followed a few years later by life threatening complications arising from two separate ‘out of control’ heart arrhythmias; triggered by the side effects of toxic steroids I was required to take.

Finally on top of everything else I was struck with an excruciatingly painful case of bowel epiploic appendagitis, likely resulted from the massive abdominal haematoma an inexperienced nurse caused me; by incorrectly administering a blood thinning injection deep into the subcutaneous layers of my belly. 

Notwithstanding the four crippling back to back surgeries I suffered, and lengthy recoveries needed to rectify each of these life changing conditions.

The outcome of these experiences?… I was left with compromised mobility, had uncertain future prospects, and developed an obsession in human physiology.

Each morning if you are lucky enough to have slept, your first thoughts are weighed down by the burden you face – until you are able to rationalise the situation and try put a positive spin on it.

For a period spanning about four years – I was totally disabled.

At times I couldn’t walk a hundred metres, unable to care for my self or travel independently. My entire persona and sense of identity, built over five plus decades was gone. It seemed like the things that previously defined me, motivated me, set me apart from the pack were almost another person.

The amazing hard won achievements from my earlier life – now appeared incomprehensible.

reduced to being completely dependant on my partner

I was reduced to being completely dependant on my partner.

There were moments I wasn’t sure of ever getting better, but held firm to a belief of overcoming these temporary setbacks, and carried on regardless – everyday… bit by bit.

I was grateful to the former version of myself for working so hard, having the foresight in leaving a few bucks to fall back on in difficult times. So the relentless financial stress of providing for my family had been taken care of – at least for the time being. I certainly would not have survived the additional burden of having a job, or business to manage; when weighed down by serious health issues.

As my medical knowledge increased, it began to dawn on me my time poor diet and previously stressful lifestyle was an inevitable death sentence anyway. 

The truth being, like most of the population, I was almost certainly pre-diabetic, and showed signs of the numerous life shortening consequences linked to that condition.

The irony was the brain tumor that almost killed me, has probably saved me from prematurely dying from a heart attack or stroke down the track.

Via self education I began to unravel the facts from fiction in modern health advice, and realised I had been misguided for most of my life in adopting a low fat, high carb diet with lashings of poly-unsaturated margarine and vegetable oils. So I started to cut-out gluten, breads, pasta, sugar, and processed foods as best I could – and it helped immensely with my wellbeing, recovery and overall health.

For a number of years I would diligently exercise each day, progressively building up the duration and intensity. After awhile I found myself with regained muscular strength, stamina, and a fitness level not experienced since my youth… yet I could hardly put a sentence together.

I was forced to accept I was suffering from a little discussed issue after recovering from disability, and in particular from the rigours of brain surgery. I had to some degree diminished neuroplasticity, which subtly manifested itself in everyday basic functionality.

I was similar to someone afflicted with a low grade acquired brain injury, struggling occasionally with comprehension, concentration and memory.

Initially, I could not sit at the computer any more than ten minutes before being incapable of continuing – mentally exhausted. Performing even the most simple tasks, at times, was extremely difficult and taxing. I could only realistically achieve one problem solving challenge per day – and so projects took a long time to complete.

But I pushed forward, focusing on the short comings I was grappling with – head on. For instance I would try to learn new computer skills, but also attempted to relearn some of the programs previously mastered years before. I can tell you the mental strain was like standing in-front of a solid immovable brick wall. I could visualise the outcome I needed to achieve yet battled to transpose the action on the keyboard; it was very frustrating – but I stuck at it… everyday.

In private, I would verbally count down to myself difficult numerological sequences as a way to improve my linguistic and cognitive skills – “seventeen million one hundred and two thousand six hundred and twenty three, seventeen million one hundred and two thousand six hundred and twenty four”.

Slowly but surely, I was able to regain lost synaptic connectivity.

Then amazingly, I began gradually to re-discover my self; and became reacquainted with some of the crazy things I had achieved in my forgotten previous life.

I watched some archival home movie footage my father had made of the various boats I had owned and sold, the various houses lived in, and the business initiatives I was developing from twenty years ago.

Memories began to flood back with vivid intensity.

Then I had the courage to sort through some boxes of documents and files from my old business. It was like reliving the emotions of each key milestone again. The effort, sense of drive, positive spirit, and sheer audacity required to build a global media business was spelt out once more. 

But I also came across some of the struggles, disappointments and injustices I had experienced as well.

An outcome not anticipated, was being able to recall clearly the individuals whom had blatantly betrayed my trust through-out my life, and had taken advantage of the blind faith naively placed in them… just like it was yesterday! In hindsight, during a good portion of my adulthood, I was completely unaware of the slow growing tumor pressing on vital structures on the base of my brain – ultimately leaving me compromised and vulnerable to exploitation.

However tumor or not, everyone accumulates these kinds of experiences with certain people over time, it’s called wisdom; and it seems you can never completely erase the strong memories of being so gullible. 

It’s one of life’s contradictions – should you be in an accident, people who don’t know you from a ‘bar of soap’, will run in all directions to assist in any way they can. Yet some people who profess to be loyal to you, will stealthily set out to destroy you – driven by envy, rivalry and greed. 

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve come to accept that people with disingenuous behaviour traits are prevalent in all networks and groups, ever since hominoids evolved. It’s been an important component in the development of human culture.

See it keeps every one on their toes, ensuring complacency doesn’t set in, and inspires you to do better – and not make the same mistakes again.

It’s one of the reasons the entertainment industry flourishes.

Ever since Roman times, stories have been told how heroes and heroines have overcome adversity or have defeated a villain – its very entertaining to watch such dramas unfold and reach a satisfying conclusion.

Soap operas, mini series, movies – all offer an insight on how to deal with a difficult person or situation – but most importantly these stories always demonstrate how you must adapt to meet the changed circumstances.

Yet It seemed like I was now living in my own version of a ‘future switching’ Hollywood movie script. I had literally awoken my consciousness and sense of self, but I was quickly slapped in the face with future shock!

It was just like I had been asleep for four or five years and woken up in the future. Things, people, and places had changed and or moved on; whilst I was still languishing in the past.

I was quick to discover a number of companies had adopted my former advertising innovations, and one or two people were representing my unique business language and motivational speech as their very own.

I had sold my business just before my brain tumor diagnosis, but there were still many people making money and trading off my previous ideas and initiatives.

very few people are capable of genuinely original creativity

This issue became very motivating because I was reminded of my life-time observations in the advertising industry, that very few people are capable of genuinely original creativity, most merely follow trends and adapt other peoples work as their own – I was different – ideas have always been my currency.

In the early phases of my recovery, I figured on easily falling back into the same business model that served me well for over twenty odd years. 

But the reality was now substantially different.

Whereby previously I had identified a specific opportunity when first starting my business ‘way back’ in the early nineties. In particular, the advertising agency industry had become very complacent, lacked accountability, and charged ludicrous amounts for television commercial production; whilst the advertisements produced where hopelessly ineffective.

It was all about timing when I offered a cost effective alternative with a third party endorsement platform, that worked well for both consumers and advertisers – the likes of which, had never been seen on television before.

I was able to crack the tightly controlled ‘old world’ television media industry.

But it wasn’t that easy, for instance – the networks not only supplied the advertising space, but also become fervent competitors chasing the same advertiser dollars for their own initiatives. This was a conundrum because the fox was guarding the henhouse.

But in this ‘new world’ I was rediscovering, the digital technology companies had transformed the advertising industry with the greatest democratisation any sector had previously witnessed.

Barriers to entry had collapsed, technology placed media accessibility in the hands of anyone with a smart phone.

Advertising dollars rapidly shifted away from traditional media.

Fourteen year old kids were producing slick, high quality video content from their bedrooms – and making millions.

Narcissistic influencers literally controlled the futures of many organisations.

The internet had become flooded with self proclaimed life coaches and health gurus.

Moreover the digital technology companies had gained the capability to monitor everything about you.

Wow, things have changed for the better since I was gone?

Television viewership had almost evaporated, or at least largely shifted to subscription based streaming models. The hen house was now guarded by a couple of 600 pound gorillas – as the digital technology companies assumed control and dictated how things were going to be run.

High street retail groups began to implode under the weight of their increasingly outmoded bricks and mortar cost bases, whilst the more nimble online retail businesses boomed. At the same time just about everyone with a ‘side hustle’, joined the explosive and exponential growth of the digital online store phenomenon.  

But in the grocery category, the handful of retail groups dominating the landscape had emerged with sophisticated promotional and marketing power unmatched because of their ‘first party’ consumer data intelligence.

The dynamic was no longer a wide variety of brands competing against one-another on the supermarket shelf, but was now in some instances culled to just one remaining brand – pitched for survival against the incumbent home brand. 

Independent packaged goods television advertising had vanished, as brands risked being delisted if they did not embrace ‘key partnership ad-spend’ with the media omnipresent grocery retailers. The minuscule advertising budgets that still remained were being funnelled into the digital technology companies coffers, because of their ability to target advertising content precisely to the right audience – with a capability never seen before in history.

With the seismic shift to online spending occurring, a corresponding massive investment of distribution warehousing and fulfilment facilities right across the globe was driven the key players – a battle of the titans was occurring behind the visibility of consumers; in the crucial fight to control product delivery direct to households.

Meanwhile a cultural revolution was taking place around the world that sought to redefine many historical events in light of modern thinking; scrutinise classic literature for unacceptable language, stereotypical gender casting or racist inferences; and boycott any company that didn’t move quickly enough to realise their long held ‘brand name’ could cause offence to minorities. The stakes in the advertising industries had significantly increased; as any ‘tone deaf’ culture mistakes in media communications would see you definitely ‘cancelled’!

On top of this, the remaining traditional media establishment were upping their game and responding with new and invigorated competitiveness; leveraging their political allies for protection and redrawing the battle lines.

Notwithstanding the emergence of COVID, which rapidly shifted the concept of a physical workplace to becoming groups of connected individuals; trusted to work just as productively from home – as face to face meetings became a thing of the past.

So, did I really fit into this environment anymore? Was the same opportunity available to disrupt the advertising industry I previously enjoyed… still existing? Does a sixty something brain tumour survivor have the wit to outperform the new crop of digital/social literate content creators that are storming the advertising scene?

Despite spending near on two years watching YouTube videos every day, endlessly researching developments in social media advertising, up skilling my editing capabilities, building a number of websites and creating a suite of new creative concepts that would have been highly effective in my previous business or any well established media organisation – I never moved forward.

So what’s holding me back?

In spite of regaining my vitality, sense of identity and hunger to contribute to the media industry, and completely reversing the situation whereby the incapacitated version of me now seems like another person. I know this would be the wrong decision.

I’m in the third act of my own story, and its time for me to adapt to the changed circumstances, and apply my unique skill-set where it is more relevant – I need to match my ideas with a timely opportunity.

And what is that business model?

Well you’ll have to wait and see.

Have you ever felt your life slip away from you?

Been forced to look death in the face?

I have, and I’m thankful for the experience.

Because it has given me clarity of the future.

And ultimately saved me from my past.

See there was a time, many months post my brain surgery; the medication I was supposed to be taking for the rest of my life – began to have serious adverse effects on me. The endocrinologist I was seeing at the time admitted me to hospital whilst she played around with my dosage regime in an attempt to mirror what the medical text books told her should be happening.

So here I was, a new arrival in an open ward shared with three other patients in a private hospital.

Hospitals are a place where families converge to show respect to those who are dying or seriously ill. The patients are generally parents or grandparents and each have a life story filled with achievements, milestones and precious memories. 

Each visitor reveals a little more about your ward compatriot

Every time somebody visits, given the lack of privacy, all conversations are public; and overtime build a picture of a persons life before they became incapacitated and a shell of their former selves. You can’t help but listen to the doctors and specialist discussions with family members as each visitor reveals a little more about your ward compatriot.

Diagonally from me was a frail old man, he looked kinda like the Mr Burns character from the Simpsons. When I become aware he was starring at me and whispering something, I concentrated harder and could just make out he was saying “help me”. I thought ‘Jesus’ this doesn’t look right, then he become louder “help me, help me, they’re trying to poison me”. I noticed the pale skin on his arms was stained purple with bruises from a drip line inserted into his arm.

With out hesitation I pressed the nurse call button only to be greeted dismissively from the nurse who appeared to be very familiar with the behaviour. “Mr Erlich, don’t pull these out dear your daughter will be here soon”.

I felt foolish.

Directly opposite me was a guy named David who looked just a couple of years older than myself, but he remained motionless and unresponsive albeit the occasional gurgling sound. His wife arrived and held his hand whilst she spoke to him “Gramme from Blairgowrie says hello, oh the Johnston’s are coming over on Sunday” It seemed in recent times he had a fulfilling life complete with a holiday house and many social interactions. He looked like he was straining to respond but was unable speak or raise an eyebrow.

he’s never been the same since… i should never have agreed

She turned to look at me, I smiled; she then said “he’s got Parkinson’s we had a terrific Christmas he wasn’t like this at all – but one of the doctors recommended he have a colonoscopy and he’s never been the same since… I should never have agreed.” Just then their daughter and her partner arrived, and it became apparent this loving family was struggling to deal with the challenging circumstances.

Adjacent to me was a gentleman who seemed in his seventies, grandfatherly, with a large gash on the side of his head – no doubt from a recent fall, I figured. He got out of bed and approached me “what are you in for son” “complications from a brain tumor” I responded. He looked deeply concerned and caringly grabbed my foot “brain tumor, oh that’s no good – my wife’s not very well and I’ve got to get out of here to see her”. He then walked over to the nurses station and I could hear him say “who’s in charge here, I need to go and see my wife Vera she’s a very sick lady”. The response was firm “John the doctors are saying you need to be here till Thursday so that’s four more days”.

I felt deeply sorry for old John he cared very much for his wife and just wanted to see her.

Each morning at around 6:00 a.m. I would be visited by the endocrinologist – she was around my age, a bit unconventional and incredibly forthright, and not used to being questioned about her expertise. The truth being I was gradually loosing confidence in her and no longer buying into her schtick. Up until this point I had been very trusting and naive with the advice I’d been given, and assumed the medical fraternity would always provide correct information based on the latest research – unfortunately the reality was eventually proven to be different.

She had the results of the latest blood test and I was keen to get a handle on how much my body was able to produce the steroid cortisol on its own. “Well how much we got?” I impatiently queried, “not enough for someone like you” she vaguely responded. “How much is that?” I asked, “225” was the answer. See your cortisol production goes on a rhythm; the peak is approximately 8:00 a.m. and the lowest point around midnight. Blood test are generally taken first thing in the morning to measure your highest reading, the statistical range is between 148 and 750. I’ll take an informed guess that my previous normal prior to the tumor crushing the pituitary gland was mid 500’s. I was to learn down the track 225 was an ok result, and just within normal range and could have been something to build on.

What I didn’t know at the time was the impact of the endocrinologists insistence on tripling my hydrocortisone dose, would eventually cause further adrenal gland atrophy, until over time my morning blood test reading only measured 50

It took 18 months of perseverance, disappointments and near death experiences to regain the levels back to where I started post brain surgery.

Every morning like clock work Mr Erlich’s adult daughter would arrive and dutifully set up camp next to his bed. She was a flurry of energy, wore a faux Leopold skin coat, talked loudly whilst running her own families affairs, and ‘got things done’ during the day – she was the quintessential Jewish matriarch. I was impressed at her industrious management of their complex families needs, whilst taking absolute control of her fathers hospital stay.

She said to me “they give to you, you gotta give back – you know how it goes”. Her father was 98 years old, lived independently on his own and only recently retired. He had a housekeeper two hours a day and the daughter would visit him every afternoon. Fiercely independent, successfully self employed for generations, and adverse to hospitals and medications.

I admired this family unit greatly.

But it was when visitors were obliged to leave for the day – the real shenanigans started.

i’ve been held against my will, they’re trying to poison me

The ward was quiet except for the distant chatter of nurses, when I overheard a telephone call frail Mr Erlich was making – I could hear the other person on the line ‘clear as day’. He had rung the police and was saying “I’ve been held against my will, they’re trying to poison me”, for a moment they were taking it seriously until realising the circumstances, “can we talk with one of the nurses please” was the response.

Later that evening after falling asleep, I felt a lurking presence and awoke to find old John sitting next to my bed rifling through my phone; I grabbed it from him as he apologetically said “I’m sorry is this yours?”. See the medication he was taking was making him do weird things. Nonetheless we chatted for hours as he told me about his recent fall, concussion and how he gained the large laceration on his head. He delved into detail about the house he and his wife lived and raised a family in – the location, renovations and the annoying step that led to his tripping over. I enjoyed his company and the time spent with him immensely, as he distracted me from my own medical predicament.

A few hours later in the middle of the night old John started to have a conversation with an imaginary person, it seemed they were scheming to break in to the hospital so he could escape and go see his wife…”We’ll get Ronnie from the back street and the two of you will distract them and then I’ll make a break for it – see Vera’s not a well lady”.

Moments later he sprung out of bed, marched over to the nurses station with his hand shaped like a gun, then in a commanding authoritative voice said “right – you’re all under arrest”. Initially there was a surprised reaction until old John continued with “I’ve got to get out of here and see Vera, can someone call me a taxi – she’s a very sick lady” The answer was a firm “Thursday John, Thursday – now go back to bed dearest”. The incident become the talking point for days amongst the entire hospital wing.

My desire to finally get some sleep was thwarted by David opposite me, despite not moving or talking for days, his bowels would function with regularity. It would take a team of four people to change his continence protection, leaving a lingering stench that wafted through-out the ward. At least his gastro-intestinal system was working well.

I should have twigged something was awry with the endocronologist and there were warning signs, for instance she referred to me as one of her ‘panpit’s’ being short for panhypopituitarism (no pituitary function), which was the condition I was left with after surgery to remove a tumor from the base of my brain. She couldn’t understand why I was feeling so wretched and wasn’t entertaining the notion I could have been over medicated. Alarm bells rang when I asked about a critical test result that measures ACTH, the hormone the pituitary secretes to stimulate the adrenal glands into producing life giving cortisol – her response “can’t tell you, they’ve lost the results”. Looking back in hindsight, I believe she purposefully withheld the data because it was likely to have shown an encouraging number, contradicting her diagnosis to substantially increase my steroid dosage. Incredibly her sense of righteousness and perceived authority was more important than my long term wellbeing.

In some respects I’m thankful because this hospital stay became a turning point whereby I would vow to learn as much as possible about the pituitary and endocrine system’s and take control of my outcomes. I delved in deep unearthing obscure but useful research studies conducted in Soviet Russia to life long patient outcomes in Scandinavia – I ended ended up knowing more about the subject than any specialist I’ve since met, I even had to educate my GP on how the HPA axis works (i.e. the interaction between the hypothalamus, pituitary gland and adrenals).

I was fortunate because the tumor left a slither of viable pituitary tissue which had the potential to partially or fully restore function, dependant on surrounding structures remaining undamaged. It was enough hope to embark on a determined quest to be steroid free, because taking no action meant I remained a cardiovascular time bomb with a limited life expectancy. See the steroids were leaching calcium out of my bones and depositing it through-out the tissues, magnesium markers dropped dangerously and despite spending time in the sun; my vitamin D levels plummeted. I suffered from induced high blood pressure and was in a constant state of hyperinsulinemia which meant I was gaining weight uncontrollably. Moreover corticosteroids leave you immunocompromised and defenceless against the ravages of influenza or worse.

Coming off the steroids was against conventional medical advice for my condition and for good reason – you can die. Over a period of two years somehow I managed to achieve the goal and survive… but only just.

Thursday came around and old John was excited to be leaving when his son arrived to pick him up. There was some final paperwork for him to resolve at the nurses station which gave me a chance to talk with his son. “Boy he sure is keen to go see Vera, she’s sick right?” he paused, pursed his lips and slightly shook his head – enough said. “And the house where he tripped over?” – turned out he had been living in aged care after his wife passed away years ago.

A day or so latter it was my turn to leave the ward, as I was gathering my things frail Mr Erlich’s matriarchal daughter came over to me and wished me well and hoped I would get better soon – I felt comforted by her kind heartedness. Just then David lying opposite’s wife arrived and took her usual position seated next to her ailing husband, when he inexplicably said “hello” this was remarkable as he hadn’t uttered a word all week. It was such a positive note to be leaving the ward on. We shared our goodbyes and you could see the renewed optimism in her eyes.

I would like to believe he eventually got back on his feet and had some semblance of a life.

I often think about old John, and hope that when his time comes; he will be reunited with the love of his life Vera.

And who wouldn’t want to live to the ripe old age of 98.

Behind the hospital gowns and the failing bodies are real people who’ve been in their prime, previously created a life supported by family; and will one day be remembered by fond memories of who they once were.

.

Having survived a brain tumor and multiple surgeries – I’ve seen the best and absolute worst in people. But it was running a global media business prior to knowing the real reason for my health decline, that exposed me to some hard truths about human nature.

But first I have to make an important qualification – its not all bad! See there are remarkable people I refer to as ‘beacons of light’ who give you support, encouragement and hope without trying to leverage something out of you. They’re generally family members, close friends, the occasional work colleague, and sometimes a medical professional. They provide the motivation to keep going – despite those who want to exploit your sickness.

When I was youthful, the older generation would often refer to the importance of ‘character’, and I never understood what they were talking about – but I do now! See good character means you can count on a person to maintain trust, integrity, and dependability no matter the circumstance – good or bad. You can rely on them not to take advantage of a situation to someone else’s detriment, and demonstrate consistency of good judgement and behaviour. People of poor character will kick you when you’re down.

they would throw you over a cliff if it meant getting the smallest advantage

In the business environment relationships are based on superficial values and therefor you can expect a certain harshness in dealings, because it’s all about the bottom line. But in my time running a business, I motivated team members by offering incredible incentives – ranging from luxury watches, cars, airline tickets, and in many cases substantial cash bonus’s. Further, when ever an employee developed a serious medical condition, and was unable to work; I kept paying their salary even after all entitlements expired. I provided generous maternity and compassionate leave, and worked tirelessly to ensure people were rewarded every step of the way – and what do you think happened? There were a few people no matter how much you gave them, they always wanted more; and showed little gratitude for the benefits received, just a heightened sense of entitlement. Moreover they would throw you over a cliff, if it meant getting the smallest advantage – let’s just call it survivalism.

But after furnishing the careers of hundreds of people over a couple of decades – did any reach out in my darkest moments?

Zilch – zippo – zero! Well not quite true, their were a couple of ‘beacons’; but I forgive the rest anyway.

If and when you finally recover from a long term life threatening condition, your mindset changes from hoping you’ll live long enough to see Christmas – to focusing on the future. But the weirdest thing is you remember having a past, it’s like you’ve been asleep for years – where you left off remains clear as day.

My biggest disappointment, was coming to the realisation how I’d been betrayed by some people who closely watched my capabilities decline over time; then unashamedly ‘helped themselves’ when my guard was down. You don’t worry about such issues when you’re fighting for your life, until with the clarity of day – you are able to trace back details and events. I supposed they figured I was unlikely to get better – did they get away with it? Let’s see!

betrayal is one of those lowly human character flaws that is the most repugnant

Betrayal is one of those lowly human character flaw’s that is the most repugnant.

Similarly there was a person I paid a substantial amount of money for services over a number of years; until the project was finally completed. However the brain tumor which I had no awareness of, weakened my normally astute mental aptitude. Further, my encroaching symptoms were misdiagnosed as a mental heath disorder and was inappropriately medicated with a serotonin inhibitor; compromising my decision making capabilities even further. With this mind fog, I was somehow cajoled into extending this guy’s services… for an additional twelve months contract! When I eventually explained I had mistakenly renewed the deal because I was taking medication – he turned incredibly nasty and threatening, pointing out I’d signed the document. In good faith I honoured the undertaking, but the only services he provided was to diligently invoice me each month for nothing. This was a person whom I’d travelled the world together, shared thoughts and confided with – yet when it came to money… he decided it was more important than our relationship. Some people will say that’s just business, but the experience left me frustrated with myself for being so stupid.

So about four years elapsed, I was still recovering from brain surgery when I was told he reached an untimely death during a sporting incident.

I felt sorry for his family and the tragic circumstances in which he died, but I decided at the time not to attend his funeral. In hindsight it was the wrong decision, I should have honoured the contribution he previously made.

I never wished bad intent on this person despite my grievances, because I know karma can be unmerciless – I just hope it spares me for my ingratitude in this instance. See it’s one of those invisible laws of the universe you don’t have to believe in until it serves or strikes you… when you least expect it.

Others can demonstrate a changed attitude and behaviour towards you when you are chronically ill. See there was a time I was regularly admitted to an emergency department with an out of control heart arrhythmia. During one of these hospital stays I was wired up to heart monitors, with my blood pressure and vitals checked every fifteen minutes. A heart surgeon recommended I needed two ‘back to back’ heart ablation procedures to correct a complex arrhythmia. Without these operations I was at imminent risk of having a stroke or suffering a cardiac arrest. When, out of the blue I received an urgent and demanding text message from a former business associate, chasing some obscure paperwork. The monitors went off the scale and numerous alarms sounded… nurses scrambled in all directions!

This person knew I’d suffered a brain tumor and was aware of my pending heart surgery, yet was insistent I needed to urgently locate this missing document; despite my absence from the business scene for well over five years. My partner watching from the hospital bedside, stepped-in and appropriately shut the dialogue down. It’s an example how some people can be oblivious to the impact of their actions. Nonetheless, I forgive them – because the world doesn’t stop just because you’re sick.

And then there’s the eye rollers, people who are sick of you being sick, and attribute your medical condition to an ‘unhealthy mental state’. It’s a very unsympathetic stance and usually motivated by ignorance rather than malice. Its understandable because you become a burden, and people have to make concessions to accomodate you – you’re not like your easy going self they used to know. But its a change you can see in people, and it weighs heavily on your already fragile self-esteem.

nowadays you are only one web click away from knowing more than any doctor

Whereas a typical medical practitioner’s response when they are unable to diagnose the symptom’s you complain about – is to tell you to see a psychologist, because the problem is all in your head. Its not helpful and I’ve read many stories of others been given the same condescending advice only to be diagnosed with a serious condition down the track. Nowadays you are only one web click away from knowing more than any doctor; and some don’t like that – preferring to control your expectations.

On one occasion I printed a number of research documents to share with an endocrinologist I was seeing post brain surgery, only to be dismissively told “oh what are you reading now!” Ironically the research data demonstrated it was possible to wean off steroid replacement therapy for patients with a similar tumor profile to mine. I moved on from her and was eventually able to achieve the goal of coming off steroids… totally – despite her ill-founded advice.

Even my local GP found my constant medical conditions annoying to him. On one occasion I complained of severe abdominal pain, only to be told “look, you are obsessed with your body”. A few hours later I ended up in an emergency department in agonising pain, and was diagnosed with bowel appendagitis. After spending a week in hospital, the resident surgeon decided I would be fine to go home, and didn’t require surgical intervention. A week or two later the crippling pain came back with vengeance only to be adamantly told by the same fellow I still didn’t need any surgery.

He was incredibly arrogant and disrespectful, and didn’t like being challenged over his decision.

Eventually I found a more competent surgeon whom operated immediately, and found a nasty mess of bowel adhesions and appendages stuck to the abdominal wall. He also removed the original dead appendage tissue and repaired the site of an internal abdominal bleed.

The unfortunate truth is if I took the advice of some medical practitioners over the years I’d be well and truly dead. 

But what ever you do, don’t take my approach as good advice – remember the shinning beacons – they also exist in the medical field, and will likely save your life.

My biggest take out from being unwell for a period of time, is not to hold a grudge against those who have mistreated you. Otherwise you could become bitter and withdrawn.

You need a certain gullibility to succeed in life, taking risks with people until they prove themselves otherwise is part of the human experience

The only exception is for those who have stolen or engaged in deceptive conduct – retribution should come in the form of legal or criminal repercussions. But what ever you do… don’t wish karma on anybody, because you’ll never know what you could be unleashing.

Despite the medical trauma happening to me – in my mind, I had already gone to a better place.

See there was a time when I owned an old trawler style boat based in the Hawkesbury/Pittwater waterways – she was a real classic, solid, the type with a sliding door next the helm, with a mast and boom…pretty as a picture. However the doctors voices continually interrupted these pleasant visuals.

“Nope, no good, his heart beat is over 210, geez blood pressure over 180, hang on he’s going into SVT”. The emergency lead was a mature aged woman, very much in control, kinda motherly.

However I particularly noticed this junior doctor, Asian, much more empathetic, who seemed to be on his game.

i knew in my heart i was dying

I knew in my heart I was dying, I figured my out-of-control heartbeat, and abnormal rhythm was going to end with a fatal cardiac arrest, stroke or clot in the lung – sooner or later.

There was sweat dripping off me, I was pale, cold and clammy… well, I was more or less running a marathon, whilst lying paralysed on a hospital trolly. The doctors faces gave it away, they were measured but panicked nonetheless.

“We’re going again – charging – stand back – clear!” WAAACK.

Did I tell you about the woodwork? They don’t build them like that any more, teak parquetry flooring, lacquered wood everywhere. The steering wheel was like something from an old sailing ship, I’d have one hand on the wheel, one foot standing out the door, she just chugged along forever. 

“Hows he looking?”, “OK we’re now down to 130, wait a sec – WHOA! back up again – hang on! He’s gone into afib”.  “Oh crap!”

I never anticipated being back in hospital, it was just like any other evening, my partner had gone to a yoga class that bans mobile phones, whilst my teenage daughter and myself relaxed at home.

When out of the blue – it struck. At first a noticeable palpitation in the chest, then a pounding, followed by a throbbing in the neck. My legs suddenly buckled from underneath me and I found it difficult to breath, somehow I managed to crawl onto the bed. There I would wait for a minute or two hoping it would go, but it didn’t – Jesus Christ here we go again!

My daughter remained stoically calm as she called emergency services, I could hear them relay instructions to her; not long after the haunting wail of the ambulance’s siren would disturb the neighbourhood once again.

You see I was a brain tumor survivor with a long history of complications, and had regularly found myself in the back of an ambulance for one reason or another. However I figured I had beaten the tumor, and had even successfully weaned myself off the recommended steroid replacement therapy. But I remained weakened and depleted, so any niggle or ailment was amplified disproportionately.

The paramedic ask me why there was a tear rolling down my face. I told her ‘I was sick of this’ and ‘I’d had enough’, but I was really upset that my daughter was subjected to another traumatic event that she didn’t need to experience.

Holey smokes this was bad

In the emergency room I’d been blasted by the defibrillator twice to no avail, when the Asian guy reassuringly held my hand “I’ve checked the results: there’s no evidence of a heart attack and we can’t see any clots, but your electrolytes are all over the place – hang in there”. The emergency lead interrupted “look nothing’s working, we’re going to stop your heart and restart it – OK?” At that point my partner was ushered out of the bay, things were going to get ugly… they’ve decided to kill me. “Here we go, are you ready? I want you to take a deep breath… one, two, three” HOLY SMOKES! this was bad – everything started to fade and turn sepia like an old western movie and my lifeless body ached everywhere… is this what it’s like to die? – Bloody hell.

You know one of the most enjoyable parts of cruising around Broken Bay is an area just outside the entrance to the Pittwater. Sheltered but susceptible to gentle ocean swells, it’s a very gratifying experience gliding over each rolling swell, one after another; so therapeutic.

“Good, he’s back with us… 80 bmp, 100, 160, yeah nope 220, aargh” she was pissed! “load it up again and increase the dose” I could only muster a meek protest ‘oh fuck no’ but quickly apologised for my profanity. “ Yes fuck, I know. Are you ready… one, two, three”

I kept my boat at Halvorsen’s historic boat shed, up the end of Cowan Creek nestled in a beautiful National park. The place was interactive history, though partially derelict, shipwright workshops, upholsters, slipways, nothing had changed for 60 years. Old Mr Halvorsen would arrive every day in his classic Rolls Royce just before lunch to pick up the mail. There was even a vintage factory whistle sitting above a clock. I was privileged to have experienced my time there.

“OK this is a problem I need 250 ml hydrocortisone STAT” My heart kept dangerously racing despite every attempt to bring it under control. So now they were bringing out the big guns – steroids. I understood their damaging side effects by hard won experience, and tried desperately to intervene; explaining it would take a month for my adrenal system to get back to normal after such a massive dose. Less than impressed the lead Doctor laid down the law “Look! you’re in an emergency room and I’m here trying to save you – alright?

There’s something about diesel displacement boats I just love, the harmonic hum of the engine, the slow pace, you can tow a dingy behind without bother, and take in the scenery. And around the waters of the Ku-ring-gai Chase its a natural fit. But its the faint whoosh you can hear each time the propellor turns that’s subtly mesmerising – whoosh, whoosh, whoosh, whoosh…

“Tim…Tim,TIM!” the Asian doctor gently stirred me from my fixed ceiling gaze, only then realising I had completely lost track of time. “You’re doing alright, your heart rates down to 130, your blood pressure is dropping too, but your heart rhythm remains in atrial fibrillation”. This guy had a comforting manner and you could tell he’s was going be somebody important someday. “You weren’t looking too good back there, but there’s some colour in your face and you’re no longer critical. I’ve spoken to cardiology and they’re going to admit you, but we have to monitor you for a while yet”.

We would take our toddler son on wondrous adventures, cruising in and out of the fjord like inlets shrouded by bushland.The Kookaburras would cheekily sit on the boat rail, as we ventured ashore to explore sandy beaches, waterfalls and enjoy a picnic or too – oh, but watch out for the goanna’s they’re huge, and will boldly steal your lunch. Our son would endlessly splash around the shallows, and protest when it was time to go back on board. And when the sun was setting, we would be perched on the flybridge with a cold drink in hand, smooth teak deck under our bare feet – the slight burble of the generator breaking the stillness of the twilight. Such is this magical place.

“Mr Buchanan, Mr Buchanan” one of the nurses broke my daydream “well done – you’re back in sinus rhythm, and your heart rates back to normal… I’m taking you up to the ward now”. 

As I was wheeled away, I nodded my head toward the emergency lead doctor in gratitude, she briefly smiled, but was busily trying to save someone else’s life.

And so began a new chapter, another set of challenges and obstacles to overcome and defeat.

But who I’m I to complain? 

And… should you ever get a chance to cruise the extensive waterways just north of Sydney harbour, take your time and saviour the experience.

For I promise you – it will stay in your heart forever.

months to learn to walk again

You see I’m a brain tumor survivor that was left with a damaged pituitary, but still managed to wean myself off hormone replacement therapy. However it was the corticosteroid – hydrocortisone that was the most difficult to discontinue. It nearly cost me life on numerous occasions. I would end up in an emergency department frequently with various symptoms related to adrenal insufficiency. But after each hospital stint, it would take me weeks if not months to learn to walk again.

For most people getting off steroids, the process is careful dose reduction over time under supervision of a medical practitioner. Let me explain: the adrenal glands are positioned over the kidneys and produce cortisol, which is the stress hormone utilised through out every cell in your body. Without adequate levels you become fatigued, nauseated and can deteriorate to a life threatening condition known as an Addisonian crisis – believe me you don’t won’t to go there. The pituitary gland situated on the base of the brain regulates the adrenal glands by producing a hormone – it’s a complex feedback loop that can be easily disrupted.

If any gland in your body is not being used frequently, then it begins to waste away and lose its abilities. So you can imagine what happens when you take steroid replacement for any length of time – it’s impossible for the adrenals to instantly bounce back into producing sufficient cortisol and can take many years to recover. In my situation after trying for eighteen months, I finally reduced my steroid dose to zero with the help of a specialist prepared to work with me, but my adrenals and the pituitary had a further period of two years regeneration to get back to normal.

During this time people around you, including physicians, can be unsympathetic and dismissive. To the observer you appear well and healthy, yet internally you feel terrible, lack strength, are constantly tired, and inconsistent in your capabilities from day to day.

I became increasingly isolated, unable to work, socialise or do anything constructive. Weather extremes were a nightmare, and I was paranoid of contracting an illness, as my body lacked the ability to mount a proper defensive if I become sick. But I persisted because the side effects of steroids are considerably worse.

I knew the only way to recover was to exercise and would try a little bit each day – too much and I’d be back on the couch for days. There were times I couldn’t walk a hundred metres, but could build that up to five kilometres over a number of weeks, experience a medical episode, and then have to start all over again. But don’t for a second feel sorry for me – I’m totally undeserving.

noticed a young girl in a motorised wheel chair

See there was an occasion when I was scheduled for an appointment with a neurologist located within an inner Melbourne private hospital. The reception area was more refined then I’d been use to – modern decor and plush chairs around a couple of low tables. My partner dropped me off before parking the car, because I was in a phase of barely managing to shuffle a few steps. I flopped into a chair and felt ashamed of my limited mobility, when I looked up and noticed a young girl in a motorised wheel chair. She had striking long brown hair, but her hands lay motionless across a communication board she was slumped over. I could see her pretty face, but her eyes were closed fast, and her mouth pursed down-turned. I understood this expression, no doubt frustrated at the end of another round of pointless and humiliating tests. She seemed a beautiful young girl cruelly denied an ordinary life.

It really hit me hard, because being parent you are often sympathetic to the plight of others, in particular innocent youth. I felt compelled to try reassure her and brighten her day in some small way. When I noticed she had a carer seated behind her tapping away on her phone, then a male colleague joined the group; he was well dressed sporting a fine knit jumper and flashing perfect white teeth. Like normal young people they chatted and flirted with one another, whilst leaving the girl out of the conversation – I wanted to intervene but questioned the appropriateness, when all too quickly my partner returned and helped me out of the chair. I turned around and the group had gone, and had missed the moment to talk with her. Since then, a day hasn’t gone by not regretting to reach out in some way.

I understand now it was just pure luck that permitted me to gain my mobility back. The same random probability that gave me the tumor in the first place. Fate the surgeon was successful in leaving enough residual tissue to enable the pituitary to regrow. And a streak of luck I survived a multitude of near death hospital experiences.

will remain eternally humbled

But sometimes I feel I’ve taken good fortune away from those who need it most, and therefor will remain eternally humbled for the gift I’ve been given. 

Even so, recovering from a life threatening condition or disability, needs to be placed in perspective – you have only bought yourself a window of time. Because no matter how hard you try to hold it back, the rest of your life will eventually catch up with you.

In the meantime you should to be grateful, productive and give back to those who supported you during your period of intermission. 

And to those readers experiencing similar conditions, my heart goes out to you, and I’m sending you every ounce of positive energy I can muster. I wish you all the best

It’s like the conversation has ended and there’s not much hope for you – it’s out of their hands and depends on your own odds.

You feel like saying ‘what? no! don’t talk about luck, there must be a logical medical solution to this, aren’t you people trained in this stuff – you’ve got machines and things’

the odds are certainly stacked against you

But when you have brain tumor you fall into a category where the odds are certainly stacked against you.

It’s a numbers game: Percentage risk of your tumor being malignant, risk of dying during surgery, risk of complications, and risk of reoccurrence.

And so wishing luck is offered regularly because the risk factors are well and truly understood by the surgeons and medical teams treating you.

There has been a swathe of others come before you, who have played out this statistical dice game. Some win some don’t.

It’s a doctors way of saying things don’t look good for you right now, but you never know your luck in big city.

But unless you’re an uncannily lucky gambler, luck is nothing to hold onto.

When other people are told you have a brain tumour, no matter how hard they try and mask their reaction, you can see on their faces or hear in their voice “Jesus – you’re rooted then!” At best they muster a well meaning politically correct statement of reassurance – but it only reaffirms how hopeless your situation is.

Yet there is one little thing that makes a significant difference when you are facing the prospect of life or death with risky surgery.

difficult for a hard cold darwinian atheist to confess too

And It’s difficult for a hard cold darwinian atheist to confess too – prayer

Yes, there’s nothing more comforting and empowering when someone tells you they are praying for you. Oh my god it feels good, because you are given spiritual hope, and then apologetically grasp at the existence of a benevolent supreme being.

And I can tell you those gifted prayers are savoured dearly when you need them most, I’ve remained eternally grateful and will never forget the positive impact on my outlook.

See we humans are spiritual beings, and for millennia have used spirituality to cope with unexplained phenomena or adversity. It’s wired in our DNA.

The irony is I was raised in a catholic household and around my early teens swore an oath to the dark side – evolutionism.

But now I’ve come to greatly admire and respect people of faith; they have a very powerful force at their disposal.

Would you believe I was a ‘alter boy’ when I was a kid, but was never molested by a priest or cardinal for that matter… perhaps I was just lucky.

You want your surgeon to be eccentric and totally immersed in their profession, anyone else too suave could only be concerned with their self image – I rationalised to my self. 

Brain surgery requires a neurosurgeon with experience, precision, and the patience to peck away at tumors for hours.

‘Lock me in – you’re my man’ I needed this guy and wanted to secure him before someone else did.

But how did I get in this predicament in the first place?

I had an awareness for months, moreover years my health was in decline. Compensating, adapting and denying had become the new normal. In the few weeks before diagnosis, I would email my partner the smallest of changes to a script I was writing – subconsciously thinking it would be the last thing I’d be remembered by.

My body ached allover, I could barely drag myself up the stairs, walked with a distinctive shuffle, staggered into doorways, and had little strength. My skin was an inflamed mess, and I had chronic irritable bowel so serve, I needed a nutritional powdered supplement. Constantly felt cold and frequently endured headaches behind the eyes. But it was the seizures and blurred vision that worried me the most.

truth being i was just inches away from death

The truth being I was just inches away from death, but somehow remained convinced my condition was reversible with diet, exercise and drawing on some inner strength.

Yeah well that was certainly wrong.

I was always active throughout my life – I’d run the odd half marathon, scuba dive, bike ride and go to gym with strict regularity. I held a vision of building a media business, and over twenty five tumultuous years of working my guts out – I somehow managed to achieve it, on a global scale. Before his death, my father was immensely proud of the accomplishment, but I kept from him my real plight. I was on a plane somewhere every week, and just like most other high flying entrepreneurs, my head was in the clouds and I was swimming in debt.

In the early days, I had the self assured confidence to tackle any situation, and the foresight to anticipate my next move. Dealing with people was a breeze, I would accept them for their shortcomings and encourage them to be their best. When someone walked into my office I could immediately tell what their problems was before they could speak, and would have a solution readily at hand. I had challenged a conservative, insular advertising industry and disrupted the establishment with a new way of thinking. I was invincible – at least for the time being.

Then symptoms started to emerge innocuously, bouts of anxiety here and there, culminating in full blown panic attacks. What I couldn’t have know was my pituitaries role in producing the stress hormone cortisol was gradually being diminished, and similarly undiagnosed lower testosterone levels were extinguishing my drive.

I set out to sell my business believing I’d reached a point of burnout and stress overload. One of the most disappointing aspects of human behaviour is ungratefulness and greed. Unfortunately some of those around me whom I had empowered and enriched with wealth, sensed my weakened state and returned the gratitude… by having a ‘hand in my wallet’ and placing a ‘finger up my arse’. Harsh? Just ask anyone who’s sold a business.

The entire process took three years and literally drained the life out of me – even further.

on a hunch my gp checked my thyroid status

On a hunch, my GP checked my thyroid status – the results showed my pituitary wasn’t secreting sufficient hormone to stimulate the thyroid to function normally. ‘Christ that’s got to be a tumor?’ I had little knowledge of the pituitary gland, but I recalled reading how it regulated most of the bodies important systems – without a working one you’re toast. I was told not to over react and an appointment was made with a local endocrinologist in about three weeks to sort things out.

A night or two later I had one of those vivid dreams whereby you feel you are dying. I woke up very cold, and my partner suggested I stay in bed for a while whilst she ran some errands. I decided to take a shower anyway to warm up, then noticing my head was wobbling uncontrollably, I needed to brace myself against the tiles to prevent from falling flat on my face; as a horrid realisation sank in – holy shit… I was about to go!

The ambulance paramedics were nonplussed, nevertheless transporting me to a large public hospital. The response in the emergency department was similarly half baked – until my partner stepped in, took control and gave them ‘what for’. It’s amazing how one little action can determine your fate, as I was almost agreeing to going home and wait to see the specialist. Shortly after, a blood test astonishingly revealed no detectable traces of cortisol in my body… which meant I was in a gravely critical condition, and realistically should have already died! 

Pure luck or was someone looking out for me? 

Five days of exhaustive testing later an entourage of doctors and surgeons were making their way through the ward. Ahead of the pack pranced a younger doctor with a leather bag strapped over his shoulder “have they told you about your brain tumor? You’ve got a craniopharyngioma” this guy had jumped the gun and seemed to delight in being the first to deliver the bad news. ‘Is it cancerous?’ I blurted, he rolled his eyes as if I should have known better “a glioma is cancerous not a gioma – its pressing on your optic nerve, frontal lobe, hypothalamus and compressed the pituitary – they’re recommending surgery” I was half listening because I was still googling craniopharyngioma on my phone. “you’re going to need medication for the rest of your life”… boy,  he enjoyed that one. “Do you think you’ll be wanting to have any children? We can freeze your sperm, cause you need testosterone replacement, thyroid replacement, oh and you’ve got no human growth hormone, but that’s only available for adolescents anyway. But most importantly you must take hydrocortisone twice a day, and if you miss a dose, you’ll need to come into hospital within three hours – or you will go into a coma! OK? Look I’m running late for my next patient”.

As he walked away I was trying to comprehend the information onslaught… ‘wait – what do I have to do again for the rest of my life?’

The surgeon and his team eventually caught up, I took a liking to his off beat yet grounded demeanour, there were no pretences as he outlined the substantial risks bluntly. The other doctors wanted to undertake surgery that afternoon, but he assessed I needed to stabilise and would be best to wait a few weeks. The operation was to be conducted through my nose into the base of the brain – there were no guarantees and the surgeon had concerns.

As could be expected I lay awake that night pondering my mortality. It was around 3:00 a.m. when the weeks proceedings began to weigh heavily. Dr. Google searches had scared the bejesus out of me with alarming prognoses – emotions took over. I wasn’t afraid of dying, in fact it would have been a welcomed escape from the pain and humiliation experienced… but that would have been selfish.

Moreover I felt deeply ashamed – I had let my family down.

i’d broken a promise to build a life together

I would be imposing on my partner further trauma, and could be leaving her to sort out the mess on her own. I’d broken a promise to build a life together and provide guidance and support for our teenage children. This sense of loss is greater than any threat of physical disability or death. 

Very much alone except for distant moaning, and the snorts of adjacent patients, I suddenly felt a slight shiver through my neck, then my whole body quivered with a cold sensation running down my spine. It was my fathers spirit, and I knew for certain it was him.

It was just like he said “son sit up straight and take hold of yourself – get on with it”

It’s what I needed, I clenched my fists and thought ‘I’ll give this my best shot and tackle what ever comes my way’ – I can do this!

Being a hospital patient is about statistics and data, you are reduced to a set of numbers and percentage outcomes based on the volumes of people who suffered before you. But what can’t be measured is how in our darkest moments we are given strength by the spiritual connection we maintain with those who have passed.

And, you’ll never know when this experience may one day… come to help you.

So… there it is, I was about to embark on journey into the world of brain surgery, the most feared type of operation; with the poorest of outcomes. What happened? Well that’s another story.

Don’t get me wrong, I was extremely grateful to have survived the adrenal crisis the led to the diagnosis of the tumor. And was filled with optimism I could potentially get some normality back into my life, but its not like having an operation on your toe – brain surgery is inherently risky.

I was fortunate to be a suitable candidate for a technique called transsphenoidal endoscopic surgery, using the nose as a route to gain access to the base of the brain. I was thankful they weren’t considering the old fashioned method of removing a piece of skull and diving in that way.

At least my good looks were to remain intact!

The day had finally arrived faster than I really wanted it too, as I sat patiently waiting in the admissions department of large outer suburban Melbourne public hospital. The place was a throng of activity as immigrants, refugees and everyone or anyone sort medical attention. I’d spent the last few weeks diligently avoiding colds or infections in order not to jeopardise the pending surgery – but now I become paranoid of inhaling tuberculosis – so I shallow breathed to compensate.

I noticed he wasn’t using words

I was distracted by a family group that joined the waiting area, in particular an energetic youth in a wheel chair. He had a short cropped crew cut and firmly clutched a computer tablet, his mother gave the impression of being single and doing it hard, but stoically fussed over him endlessly. His sister, adorned in typical teenage fashions was similarly attentive to his needs.

It became clear firm boundaries had been established to control him, as he tried to wriggle out of the chair. I could just see the tablet contained pictures of family members as he scrolled through with soothing delight. He looked just like any teenage boy – until I noticed he wasn’t using words but uttering a series of ‘bop’ sounds – my heart sunk deep. He appeared to have a range of tones to give meaning to the bops. No doubt he was unfairly burdened with a language development impediment, and had some how found a way to communicate. He was a very likeable and endearing young man, and it appeared the whole family had worked hard to adapt and compensate for his disability. 

When you’re waiting for surgery, time exacerbates fear – hours elapsed until we progressed to another holding area, until finally my time had come.

There were two surgeons necessary to conduct the procedure, one to drill into the base of my skull via the nasal cavity. The other to delicately remove the tumour without causing a stroke, or nicking the optic nerve, and preserving the already damaged pituitary gland and surrounding structures as much as possible.

I had previously met the neurosurgeon and was persuaded by his slow motion like movements and fixed stare – exactly the traits you’d want from a brain surgeon.

However this was the first time I was introduced to the ENT surgeon – I was nonetheless impressed, she reminded me of Sigourney Weaver. This could be handy if the thing inside my head turns out to be an alien bug, and escapes during surgery – she’d nuke it. Well, maybe not, but she was reassuringly confident.

I made some pathetic remark about being ready for the surgery, but my life lay in both their hands and out of my control. I convinced myself that dying during surgery would be an easy way to depart… as you would have no cognisance of the proceedings.

like the feeling of being led to the gallows

I bid a farewell to my partner believing I would never see her again… as I was wheeled away on a hospital bed. It’s weird how you experience a different perspective laying down as I was pushed through opening doors into a restricted access zone – this rarefied no-mans land was the connecting corridor to the operating theatres. The reality of the situation began to set in, as the clinical sterility of the pale blue walls and benign wall art, triggered the onset of a cold sweat and pure fear… like the feeling of being led to the gallows.

When, the icy air was broken with a soothing ‘bop’ tone that filled the space – It was that boy, he was in the same corridor going into another theatre for surgery. And then another bop sound, he was relaxed and handling the circumstances with ease. I smiled as he continued to make make various sounds. He gave me strength to take a grip… I’m going to survive this after all.

If took forever for the anaesthetist to find a suitable vein to insert the cannula into, when I commented ‘why’s it so cold in here’, he replied “yeah the surgeons like it to be freezing, as we could be here for hours upon hours, and they don’t want any one getting sleepy”. The room was full of people decked out in surgical garb, instruments covered in clear plastic, monitors everywhere, but the surgeons were yet to make their entrance. When I was asked to slide across onto the operating table – it was like lying on top of a long skate board whilst my head tilted back, tightly braced into a metal cradle – I felt very uncomfortable.

euphoria then a icky blackness like no other

Finally that moment whereby you phase out of consciousness – euphoria then a icky blackness like no other, you lose all sense of time and awareness

It’s amazing how when you are placed in a highly stressful situation you tend to become much more observant – the people around you, small details… perhaps its a way our senses have evolved to become heightened when threatened, giving you an advantage to survive.

Did the surgeon successfully remove the tumor? Was I left permanently disabled?

Well that’s another story.