February 5^th 2001 saw us arriving at Melbourne airport, to be met by Paula who welcomed us to her home in Altona while we found a place of our own. The new, more aggressive Camptosar chemotherapy was continued via Michael Green. I continued my running, finding many pleasant and safe runs along the coastal paths. In fact, there is now an ultra run which I have set up called the Hobson Hobble taking in much of the route I discovered in those weeks.

We found ourselves a house to rent in Werribee while we spent a few months looking around and deciding where in Australia we wanted to settle permanently. I had been a member of Lions International in Dartford and in Pietermaritzburg; now I transferred to Werribee, my third club in three different countries. We were finding Australians so welcoming, interested in our views and why we had come to their country – we felt relaxed and safe. We also introduced ourselves to the local trad jazz club – more good friends and I became treasurer of yet another organisation!

Running was not the pleasure it had been in South Africa and the UK, for two reasons. Firstly running was much more of a minority sport and ultra distance running even more so; I could find no local running partners or clubs which did other than short distance track work. Secondly, Werribee is on the flatlands west of Melbourne – flatter than flat, giving me a complete change from the hills of Pietermaritzburg. I made contact with the Australian Ultra Runners Association, (AURA), opened my mouth again, as I had with Collegians in South Africa, and was snapped up as treasurer. I didn’t really mind and enjoyed sorting out some of the financial problems which were with AURA. This time though the problems were not caused by dishonesty; apathy would be nearer the mark.

The chemo continued with tests every month or so to see how the fight was going. Tumour markers were tumbling down to the level which exists in all healthy people, so I was sent for a CT scan. This is like a super x ray, with the dye injected pre scan, showing up the tumour position and size. The only tumour which could be seen was isolated in a section of the liver. Michael Green put the proposition to us that surgery would stand a good chance of removing the growth completely. If that worked it would mean a life free of cancer. However, it might not work and it most certainly would be would be very painful, would we think about it? The alternative was to stay on the dreaded Camptosar chemotherapy for the rest of my days, so thinking was not needed – I had nothing to lose and everything to gain, so we went for it.

April 2001 saw me in the Royal Melbourne Hospital for a liver ‘resection’ which is the medical term for slicing a big chunk off, in my case over 20%. The liver regenerates and it is possible to take off even larger slices, but this is major surgery leaving the patient in a lot of pain afterwards as the internal stitches bite into one with almost any movement. It was far more painful than the colon surgery had been, but I was still discharged in 4 days, (which really was too early from a pain management point of view), but not before the news was given that all the tumour had been removed and that a biopsy of the surrounding areas could find no trace at all of cancer cells. The pain of the internal stitches, the inability to even walk was all worthwhile as we contemplated a healthy life, free from cancer again, together. We were free, out of jail – Yippee

Running and health gradually returned. We planned to tour around so many parts of Australia, which we had not been able to even think about with the two weekly chemo sessions. We were almost ready to leave for our first drive to Adelaide and South Australia, when a tumour marker test was done, ‘just to be absolutely sure’.

September 2002 What a shock. It was back for the third time and this time the scan showed it was not only in the liver, but it was also present in small spots in the lungs. It was still the colon cancer, and not a liver or lung variety of cancer, but the end effect was the same. Now we were in trouble, because as Michael Green explained, you cannot slice the lungs away as had been done with the liver, and in any event, the cancer was now in so many parts that it would be pointless. It was now just a question of time, depending on my reaction to different chemotherapies. His prognosis was fifteen months, maybe more since I was still so fit.

This was such cruel news, harder to take even than the original news of cancer had been in 2000. We had got out of jail and enjoyed the taste of freedom again, now we were back in and looking at the scaffold. More tears, but then the old spirit rose up again. What is all the fuss about it being just a question of time? That is what it is for everyone, from the moment they draw their first breath – its just that they do not know what lies in wait and when; we did. Not only did we accept it, we planned to keep giving it a scrap and we would start by repeating the Comrades cancer and chemo run in Australia..

First though it was back to more chemo. We were offered the choice of going back to Camptosar with its bad side effects, or to give a new drug, Xeloda, a try. The attraction of Xeloda was that it was in tablet form, meaning that I would not have to attend hospital for infusions every second week. Side effects were not really known, but since Xeloda was a drug which the liver converted to the first chemo I had been given, 5FU, the prospects were good. And so it proved. I took the tablets for two weeks in every three and was amazed at the lack of side effects A slight headache on one day each three week cycle and a few mouth blisters towards the end of the cycle, but that was nothing compared to what the Camptosar had done. Not only were the side effects down, but we were free to live a normal life. There was one positive side effect in that the thinning and greying hair was replaced by thicker, dark hair with a few curls for the first time in my life. The one negative effect, which was quite bearable, was a dry skin which often flaked off.

In November 2002, I ran in a 10 km race promoted by the Peter MacCallum Cancer Institute. As an ex charity fund raiser, I was most impressed by the organisation and the way it sold the principles involved in its work to beat cancer. I had won a minor prize which led to my going to the podium, where I grabbed the mike to tell the audience that I had run with cancer and chemo, giving them the message that life goes on and every chance should be taken to enjoy it. This went down just as well as it had done in South Africa, leading to the plan to do a fund raising and message spreading run for Peter Mac. Of course the Peter Mac fund raisers were delighted to hear from me and I have to say I found them very easy to work with.

Now we were in January 2003 and the fund raising race chosen was the Victorian 24 hour championships held at Coburg. The race was in April, which with hindsight was perhaps too close in that I missed some fund raising openings. Major support from my Werribee Lions Club made it simpler to approach other potential donors. Peter Mac’s media links produced television and the Herald Sun newspaper at the track to get the story and pictures of what was being done. I had done several 24 hour races whist still in England, with a best distance of 115 miles or 184 kms. They were races when I was in peak fitness and capable of pushing myself on and on and on. I had reached the stage, five years ago, where I never wanted to do another 24 hr, because of the discomfort of trying to beat a previous best time and failing. Silly? You are right, but that wish to improve performance is what drives runners onwards. Now I had no pressure to run a good distance; I just wanted to be able to run and enjoy the 24 hour, taking it easy, and spreading the message. I would have been delighted to clock up 100 km.

In the months leading to the race, training was spoiled by an achilles tendon injury, but rest and ice gave a partial clearance and I was able to get back to running most days, BUT the one negative side effect of Xeloda was beginning to make its mark. The weakened skin was blistering too easily, but I was still managing to run by use of plasters and sponge inserts. Then disaster struck; in the week before the race, a huge blister came up under the left heel. I was trying all the commercial blister aids but with little effect. Meg came up with a sponge heel wrap round insert which had a slightly elevated heel and protected the sides of the foot. I had a comfortable left shoe to run on, just one day before the race.

On race day, the first few hours went well with me relishing the atmosphere and the double dose of TV interviews from different channels as I ran. Peter Mac had its fund raisers there to support me and I had Meg and other friends. All the other runners and their support crews knew what I was doing and their encouragement really helped. It looked as though it was going to be an easy and enjoyable run. The sun was out, the heat increased, the feet swelled and then the blisters started. Not just one on a toe, but all around the edges of Meg’s insert at the sides and back of the left foot.Off the track for attention, popping blisters and covering them and then back on without the insert. It was not to be – I had to leave the track 4 times for attention as more blisters came on both feet; even the magic blister man Michael Gillan could not help and I finally had to retire after about 13 hours when I could not even get the shoes back on.He did teach me several tricks whilst being treated, on how to shorten the healing time for blisters. Showered and changed, all I could manage on my feet were beach flip flops.

I woke after a sleep in our tent at trackside and after a meal I wanted to do my bit to repay the race organisers at Coburg, so I sat with the lap recorders for the last period of the race. I had not been there long when the Herald Sun reporter and photographer turned up, with one hour to go, looking for action photos. So, I retrieved my vest and race number and it was back on the track, hobbling round in flip flops, but this was to produce great photos and a full page story in the Herald Sun. Two post-race radio interviews followed, also helping to get the ‘carry on regardless’ message out to cancer patients and their families.

After that it was a few days before I could walk again, and three weeks before the feet had improved enough for me to do any running. What seemed like acres of dead skin shed itself from both feet as the blisters healed and the fact that the Xeloda drug was no longer being used kicked in. It had worked well for six months, bringing the tumour marker down, but we always knew it was a temporary respite only. In February the tumour marker no longer fell, in March it was rising again, so too in April. Now we were going to have to look for yet another chemo drug, but first I was going to have some time off chemo altogether. Michael Green had only the Camptosar to offer again, or another new drug, Oxyplatin, which was also given by infusion and which he thought I would cope with easily. He was quite happy for me to have a few months off chemo altogether before starting the Oxyplatin treatment.

A few months were all we needed for Meg and I to nip back to our old haunts in Pietermaritzburg in June 2003, which just happened to include Comrades again! What a wonderful two weeks – our feet hardly touched the ground as we visited friends again. All were amazed at how well I still looked, in fact I felt wonderfully well, but my measure of health, (my running), was reminding me that all was not right. I had run a standard marathon, (42 km), just before leaving for South Africa and recorded yet another personal worst of 4hr 21 mins, these PWs were now coming along with most races I ran, and I knew that it would be touch and go whether I could finish Comrades within the 12 hour cut-off. So it proved – I was down to walking, (limping with a sore knee), with only 7 kms to go when I finally retired from the race. I know I might just have made it, but no regrets, I had done my best.

My old running club, Collegians, held its annual post Comrades party before we left and of course we were there. That was another occasion which we will never forget. I was overwhelmed and, unusually for me, lost for words as my old club presented me with a special commemorative gold Comrades medal – just for having tried. There were many tears shed as we parted – we knew we would be unlikely to see those friends again.

July 2003 saw me receiving the first infusions of the new Oxyplatin. It was worse than the previous Camptosar, in all aspects. Difficult to eat, nausea and retching for the first few days and fatigue which forced me to sleep twice during each day for the first seven days in the two week cycle. I was back to walking and jogging slowly by the time the next cycle came round, but by then I had already decided that I was not prepared to be kept alive in that state. Michael Green persuaded me to try one more cycle with a 25% reduction in dosage, but it was no better. The first night had me unable to sleep and then throwing up by the bucketful. To quote from my boyhood repertoire of smutty poetry, ‘Enough, enough the maiden cried, at last I have been satisfied". That was it, I would rather feel healthy, even if I wasn’t. It is quite remarkable really, but I have felt well ever since the cancer was discovered – except when I was on chemo! It was a big decision to make, not just for me, but also for Meg. Naturally much of her wanted me to keep trying with the chemo, but she was distressed to see me suffering and fully supported the decision to halt the chemo and go for quality rather than quantity. That was it, no chemo options left; but I would now be living the rest of my life, as opposed to being kept alive. A revised prognosis from Michael Green was around two years left. I am planning to show him he was wrong.

This is perhaps an appropriate point to comment on the many, many offers of alternative healing therapies which were sent to me, some by well meaning friends and some unsolicited approaches by agents who had heard my story. Of course, they all offered stories of people whose cancers had disappeared, many claimed that the conventional drug companies were suppressing the alternatives’ stories because those drug companies had hold of such a golden goose with cancer patients. I have no doubt that there is an element of that, but I also have no doubt that research into cancer has produced giant steps forward in the last years, leading to longer and happier lives. Meg can tell me when she was nursing cancer patients maybe 15 years ago, they were kept alive in hospital, but rarely left alive. Absolutely different today. The invariably expensive alternatives really lost credibility with me, when I realised just how many different ones were promising a good chance of what would be an expensive cure or an expensive failure. They even had their own web-sites, but the contents of those sites were managed by them. To me, they are peddling on the fears of the unfortunate sufferers many of whom are desperate enough to try anything.

So many people have asked me how much my faith has helped. The answer is simple, I am a non-believer, but I would not knock those who do draw on their faith at a time like this. If it helps, best of luck to them. I know there are many people who pray for me and many churches, particularly in South Africa, where I am on the prayer for healing list. I can believe that the teachings of Jesus and Mohammed are wonderful lessons on how the world should live, but I cannot accept the belief that there is something waiting for us when we finally stop living this life. To me, this is it, it is not a trial run. What I also cannot accept is the mess the world’s religious leaders have been making, through their intolerance of other beliefs, since time immemorial. But, as I have said to so many of the ‘heads down’ brigade, I secretly hope you are right and can say, "See, I told you"

One of the worries I had was what would happen to Meg when I died. My British Telecom pension was already being divided in two to help Jackie. When I died it would be would be halved again, which would leave Meg just about able to cope financially, but she would not have enough income to persuade the Department of Immigration to renew her visitor’s visa.

Australia was screaming out for more nurses whilst she, as a trained nurse with over 20 years experience, was being wasted. We agreed that she should look for part-time work, so that she could look after me when it became necessary and so that she could move to full time work later. She applied for, and was given, a 4 year working visa by the Department of Immigration but it had to be full time work. However, the Werribee Mercy Hospital, which was so pleased to gain her services, was as flexible as it could be. Management knew of my cancer problem and promised to grant her unpaid leave when necessary. The next step was to apply for a Permanent Residence visa for her, then I would be happy and content that her future was safe.

It was not so simple; by the Department of Immigration rules were that I, as spouse, must also be on a joint application. Meg sailed through, but I failed the health checks purely because of the potential cost of my cancer treatment. Immigration’s rules did not allow consideration to be given to my contribution to the community through AURA, Lions, Jazz Club and the fund raising for Peter Mac. Not only was our joint application for residence turned down, but we were warned that I would probably have to leave Australia when my retirement visa expired, regardless of the fact that we had been allowed in while I had cancer.

The cancer battle was one thing, but this unfairness was difficult to handle. The only thing which had changed since we were granted temporary residence and allowed into Australia, was that the cancer had spread – it has a nasty habit of doing that. Fancy Immigration not realising that could happen. I told Immigration that my chemo had been stopped and that its grounds of cost therefore fell away – it still made no difference to the ruling. Friends abroad could not believe this, those in Australia were not only amazed, they were ashamed at what was being done in their name, particularly when my health was starting to go downhill. An appeal has been lodged, using very strong supportive statements from all those organisations to which I gave my time, also from Meg’s hospital, from the Werribee Mayor and the Federal MP.

Talk about kicking a man when he was down. This seemed most unlike the Aussie image of fair play and give a man a chance, but if you think that was enough., in September 03 I received a phone call from Medicare. The Australian health care system had now decided that it had made ‘a mistake’ when it told me, (several times and in writing), that I would be covered. Never mind that we had based our plans to come to Australia on being able to use Medicare – someone had made a mistake. Fortunately the real costs, which were in chemotherapy are now over, but that Medicare decision will not go unchallenged.

That same month brought my sons out from England to see me again, for what would be the last time, even though we did not know that then. September also saw Meg’s first grandchild born - also in the UK. It also saw her other son moving from New York to take up a post in Sydney, so she is now one happy lady.

My running still goes on, but it is quite a rapid slow down now. 12 October 03 was the Melbourne Marathon, which I completed in yet another personal worsts of 5 hrs 8 mins. I can now only do that sort of run by mixing walking with running to beat the breathlessness which is there as the lung’s visitor spreads. Still it was my first run as a 65 year old, not too many ‘healthy’ men in that age bracket can run at all, so I can still feel lucky. I was hoping to be able to break the 300 marathon mark, counting each ultra as one marathon, but it looks as though I will fall about twenty short.

In general terms I still feel very well. I can run, even if not as well as I could, I can ride my bike for hours with no problem, I still eat enough for two men and the weight is constant.

December 2003. I wondered, as I wrote this book, how I was going to finish it. It did not seem complete, with me just slowing down. The answer has been provided for me in the shape of a surge in tumour growths in the lung and liver, meaning running is now just a happy memory. I need to sleep for an hour or more, about three times a day. Meg and I know it is a matter of weeks now, but the good thing from my point of view is that she has been given time off work for as long as it takes.

I am not in any pain, just frustrated at what I want to do and cannot. Oncologist Michael Green predicts that the sleeping will continue, but will intensify, until one day I do not wake up again. I reckon that is a pretty good deal.

We have had almost four years to prepare for this moment, since the cancerous blockage in South Africa made its appearance. We live each day as it comes and still manage to joke about what is happening.

Friends all over the world have been given the news – with a ‘Good-bye’. And here is the funny thing, the praise I have had back makes it seem as if I am at my own Wake. You see, there are no end of positives in all this!

Web site references

100 km Association www.carey.abelgratis.co.uk/100km/index1.htm

Australian Ultra Running Association, (AURA) www.ultraoz.com

Road Runners Club, (RRC) www.roadrunnersclub.org.uk

Peter Mac Cancer Institute (Australia) www.petermac.org

CANSA (South Africa) www.cansa.org.za

Comrades Marathon www.siyabona.com/event_comrades_marathon.html

Finally have you paid to read this book, you can by simply making a donation to Peter Mac Fundraising Dept, Locked Bag 5, A’Beckett Street, Victoria 8006, or to one of the cancer research charities in the UK, or to a branch of CANSA in your town in South Africa?? If you haven’t, just be careful when you are out running – I will be near and don’t be surprised if your ankles are tapped.

Don’t forget two messages

1) Do not put your dreams to one side for later, you never know what is round the corner

2) All together now as sung by Eric Idle in Monty Python,

‘Always look on the bright side of life

Acknowledgements

To Michael Gillan, the unconventional masseur, who kept me moving in the final 24 hour race and then kicked off the writing of this book with his own suggestions for a title.

To my brother David, for converting my book into a web document.

To Tony Bonds, a great running pal in the UK, who has agreed to be liaison point should anyone want to add comments, however rude, to the book.

To Phil Essam, an ultra running friend in Australia, who is the liaison point in Oz

To Meg, just for being there, all the time.

Footnote

Graham sent me this photograph in late January 2004, he is holding a squash that he had grown in his garden. This is the last photograph that I received. He died on March 10th, without pain and with Meg by his side.

DJI