When you’ve walked down the valley of death, everything changes. 10 years and fighting...x

Well. Finally the ultimate time of reflection has arrived I guess. Tomorrow will be my 10 year ‘Canniversary’.

10 years since they brutally cut the murderous malignancy from my mouth. I’m welling up just typing this, so by the time you read it my MacBook will be stained in my tears no doubt.

Talking about it was never my strong point. Every time I start having any level of serious conversation I pretty much just break down and cry. That’s why I set up the blog I guess, an opportunity to talk to my counsellor without you seeing the whites of my bloodshot eyes.

It has been a real rollercoaster of a decade. When I got diagnosed I was 29, I was hitting it pretty hard in Brighton and I was totally invincible. I guess I was always a decent guy in the sense that people trusted me and I made friends easily and have somehow managed to retain most of them. But, I was really immature in many ways, totally no idea where my life was heading, bounding from party to party to festival to bar to club and a few days at work in-between. Work was pretty hedonistic and hectic in itself. Call centre management is a role that befits my natural (and not so natural) energy levels. That’s why until very recently I carried on doing it. I’ll do it again, I have no doubt, it’s just part of my fabric and it’s my natural habitat. Fast, furious, full of energy and passion, it resonates with my personality perfectly.

I’ve changed from being a manager to being a leader. I always said that if you have to tell someone you’re their manager, you’re certainly not a leader.

I think my change professionally reflects where I’ve travelled privately. I used to be a shouter, still am, but I used to dominate rooms full of people as a necessity. Now, I’m happier contributing and encouraging others to be the focal point too. I’ll never be a shrinking violet, but I’m much more comfortable now with who I am, who I want to become and why my contribution has to be so much more constructive than self absorbed.

When you’ve walked down the valley of death, everything changes, absolutely everything. I can barely remember not having had cancer. I struggle for it not to define me at times.

Some relationships disintegrate, some form inseparable bonds. People show you what they’re really made of when you’re potentially going to die. I’ve realised that it’s crucial to give your time to people who are scared, who need someone to offer that shoulder to cry on because I’ve been that person and it hurts when someone you trust just drops you like a hot coal.

Nothing is ever the same again. For me, when I get a lump or a pain anywhere within 6 inches of my tumour site I pretty much collapse into blind panic, still do now even though local reoccurrence is actually not where the cancer will strike if it is to rear it’s ugly head again. My lungs will be the site of secondary metastases, should it occur.

I stress a lot less about trivial things than anyone else I know. In some ways, life is a lot easier for me now than it was. Late trains, lunatic drivers and crap service rarely even raise an eyebrow of irritation whereas people around me get their knickers all twisted in knots.

Being told you probably won’t make it to see your 30^th birthday when you’re 29 is an indescribable level of pain to deal with. Invincible one minute, pretty much dead the next. Listening to your girlfriend hyperventilating at the news, telling your mum half the story because you know she can’t handle the absolute truth. After all, no-one should ever outlive their children. Trying to say the word ‘cancer’ without a huge lump appearing from nowhere in my throat. Vowing never to have kids because I’d not be around to see them grow up. Spending £30,000 on credit cards because I didn’t think I’d ever have to pay them off. Just some of the things that I lived through as a result of that lump of mutant cells.

I think the most important change is that I know that I don’t want to die without having made a significant positive impact. I know I have the ability to improve the quality of other people’s lives. How many remains to be seen, but having cancer has really made it clear to me that life is not about revenge and greed. Life is a precious gift that can only be enhanced through kindness and balance.

What will tomorrow bring? Well, pizza inevitably, because Pizza Saved My Life (if you don’t know this, I’ll explain the story tomorrow). It’ll bring tears, it’ll bring hugs and it’ll bring a lot of reflection and a little celebration.

To you all. If you can make it to the Bocabar, Bristol on Friday night, we’ll be having Pizza. This is an open invite, even if you feel you might not be included, you are. This is a time to celebrate life, not hold onto past frustrations. I’m still here, I’m still fighting and I’m more up for life than ever. I couldn’t wish for more love, for more reason to be here for a good time and a long time. Fi is my rock, my baby mother, the Ying to my Yang. My family and friends relationships grow stronger and more inspiring each day. I have no illusion that I’m one of the very lucky ones.

This is a significant week in my brief existence on this planet. Its magnitude is something I’m aware of, but will not understand for a while yet. Thank you all for being there, for not being there, for being.

One Love

Jez

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