Somehow beyond brutality
I’m struggling to find the language now to describe what is happening.
.
At each stage I think I’ve witnessed the extent of your suffering.
.
With the chemo came the initial weight loss
the sickness
the fatigue.
.
Radiation brought diarrhoea
more sickness
exhaustion.
.
Surgery
disembowelment
an L-shaped scar running the length of your torso.
.
More chemo
this time crippling you with constipation.
.
Progression of the cancer arrived with ten litres of liquid to your abdomen
confining you to our bed.
.
So then you lost more body weight
muscles weakening without use
your frame aching from half-sleeping sitting up.
.
The last three months spent mainly awake
weeping in pain through three layers of medication.
.
Two weeks ago
the discontinuation of the drugs needed for recovery sent you spiralling:
your appetitive went so your bodily functions reduced.
.
We cheered the three steps you took across the room two days ago.
And the heroic garden trip yesterday.
But now you struggle to sit up.
.
I think about the break you took from the toxic treatment.
An autumn trip to Mexico
healing the body to better fight the disease.
How empowering it was to reclaim your self from your side-effects.
How nurtured in spirit and mind when you returned.
How transformed.
.
With more time
maybe things could have been different.
You came back
committed to a regime of self-administered therapies.
Determined to believe there were better ways to recover
than poisoning
burning
and cutting.
.
But the mutation was simply too aggressive.
The growth too malicious.
The spread too unrelenting.
The original diagnosis
too late.
.
And anyway
we don’t care for could have beens.
There are no sliding doors.
The multiverse a mere mathematical myth.
.
Maybe the reason words fail me is that you’re revealing new layers of agony.
Depths of physical torment so extreme
we don’t have words for them.
.
Perhaps while most would have thrown in the towel long before we reached this place
you fight on.
Shedding more and more of yourself in the process.
Until only your core remains.
.
Never give up.
For us it’s a mantra.
For you it’s a modus operandi.
.
Is this what it means to watch an unstoppable force meet an immovable object?
.
This disease
Cancer
For good reason a metaphorical stand-in for indiscriminate destruction.
There is nothing romantic about it.
Your response -
yes.
Poetry in motion.
This story we tell of
bravery
courage
and hope.
.
Perseverance
acceptance
and joy.
.
The unforgettable memories made along the way.
That are made still.
.
But the facts and events
the medically diagnosed cause and effect
the physical chronicle
the stimulus for your response
is a narrative of pure barbarism.
.
If another person was inflicting these conditions on your body it would be the sickest form of torture imaginable.
.
Maybe we know this generally.
I think I thought I did.
But now I know it specifically.
Uniquely.
Personally.
Intimately.
.
It will end eventually.
We will reach the bottom of the hole.
But just how deep does it go?
.
And how long can you keep falling?
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On Coping is my story of surviving on the sidelines of cancer. It begins in 2022 with On Coping #1, written the day after my 41st birthday. The day my wife Imogen, the mother of my three children, was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. It’s the story of what happened next. Read from the start.