Prior to May 2017, I would never have imagined myself saying those words. I swam, I cycled, I ran. I even managed to put them all together and do the odd triathlon.
The source of the pressure was a 15cm tumour in my chest. From there, things moved fast – scans, biopsy, the works. In the end, they had a name for it, Thymoma. Cancer of the Thymus. A small gland in our chest that’s remains active until puberty. The morning of 7 September, I made my peace and said my goodbyes. My girlfriend Rachel of only nine months and my family were the last faces I would see. Almost 10 hours of surgery would see me lose my right lung; a section of my pericardium would be replaced and a new prosthetic vessel would bring blood to my heart.
Micheal Ganly, my employer prior to getting sick, was a support throughout. He knew the importance of having a routine and an ‘identity’, and he supported my return to work in every way that July.Unfortunately, normality didn’t last too long. The results of a scan that October showed the cancer had returned. Within the week I was back in treatment. Ten sessions of radiation, and six cycles of chemo.
When I returned I started with Rory in palliative care at St James’ Hospital. Up until then I had associated palliative care with the old, the very sick and the dying. What I learned with Rory was that it’s so much more.
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