Filed under: Advertising, America, China, Doctor, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Eye, Health, Travel
So today, I am going to the surgeon for my eye.
As I’ve written a bunch about, it’s not going great – in fact this is the first time in my life I’ve had an issue that [1] has lasted almost an entire year and – despite being diligent about the treatment I am on – [2] has got worse rather than better.
Last Tuesday I was given some medical results that led to – with no hyperbole whatsoever – the 4th worst day of my life.
Given the days that ‘beat it’ include my Dad dying and my Mum, you can tell it not only was bad, but really fucked me up for a bit.
To be quite honest, it the impact it had on my feelings, thoughts and behaviors scared me – which is why I am so grateful to so many people for reaching out and checking in, with a special mention to Peter, who – with the people he represents and works with – not only organized for one of the World’s leading surgeons in my diagnosis to get personally involved in my case, but to also provide me access to a place where they offer very specialized help and support to people in my situation an an island far, far away from distractions, interruptions and noise. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but it’s pretty obvious words won’t do it justice.
On the bright side, it also led me to churn out my Life vs Age ‘thing’ … which was more my way to try and drown out the noises and concerns screaming in my head than any act of magnanimous generosity … and yet it led to 2 publishers, a Grammy winning founder of a production company, BBC Radio 4 and literally hundreds of people getting in touch to share their stories and offer their help.
For one of the worst days of my life, it was nice that some sunshine was still able to find a way through the cracks.
Anyway, the reason why last Tuesday was so bad was because of a result I had relating to the pressure in my eye.
Despite being put on the ‘nuclear option’ of meds, my surgeon broke the news to me that not only had they made no difference whatsoever – which is obviously bad – they didn’t know what was triggering it, which is an extra-level of bad.
In fact his exact words were:
“I’m sorry to tell you this Robert, but your eye pressure is currently out of our control”/
If they are words you don’t want to hear, what happened next was definitely not what anyone would to hear.
Made worse by the fact I was the one that inadvertently opened the door to it.
Because when he said that, I stupidly asked, “Just how out of control is it?”
To which he described this …
Yep, an oil rig on fire with oil not just fueling its anger, but spreading it.
As images for a patient to consider, it’s not just scary it just destroys all your hope and confidence which is why later today I get to discover if the treatment we’ve done to try and counter it has been the equivalent of calling in Red Adair – the US oil rig fire fighting legend – or just throwing more petrol all over it.
For fucks sake, I hope it’s the wrinkly, Yank with a penchant for putting out flames option.
Guess I’ll find out later today … but I don’t mind admitting I’m not just shitting myself, I’m terrified. I feel so bad for the doctor who will be giving me the test because not only will they have a patient who will be as tense-as-fuck, they will feel me trying to read their every movement, expression and reaction in a bid to work out if they’re about to tell me good news or utterly fucked news … despite the fact they’ll literally be passing me the result about 3 seconds after the tests are complete. [Once an only child, always an only child, haha]
Anyway, this is all my way of saying there will be no more posts from me for over a week – you lucky bastards.
Well, I say that, but there’s one that I pre-wrote for tomorrow and one utterly terrible pre-written one for Halloween … but I don’t come back properly until the 3rd November – Mum’s birthday. Though they’re pre-written too – haha. That said, I should point out my absence is not down to whatever the results of my eye will be – I’m actually off on a ridiculous and wonderful trip to Shanghai, Beijing and Nashville – and so I just hope the news I get later today doesn’t take any of the shine off it.
Or should I say take any of my shine from being able to truly enjoy it.
We’ll see. But look after your eyes because I tell you, it’s only when you realise you may not be able to see the world around you that you actually start valuing the World around you. What a fucking sick way to find out … biology is a dark, sick and twisted bastard, haha.
Till the 3rd Nov, bye lovely people …
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AN UPDATE:
Had the test results and sadly, they were not good. Again. But there were some very positive news.
1. I’m officially a ‘medical celebrity’ who will apparently be studied and talked about by surgeons and trainee doctors for years so that’s a great achievement, obviously – haha.
2. The problem that started this whole journey off way back in January is finally fully under control [even though I’ll need meds for it for the rest of my life]
3. Because of this, the operation is still going ahead on Nov 12th, made possible by the intervention of Peter, who I mentioned above – who has ensured one of the world’s leading specialists in my area of diagnosis will come to NZ from the US to assist my surgeons with the approach for my treatment. Which is, let’s be honest, fucking amazing.
Whatever happens, the kindness and generosity of so many is what I’ll remember most from this whole shitshow. Though PM’s generosity is more than anyone else’s, haha.
While today had both shit and not-shit news, I feel way better than I did last week as we have a plan and an even stronger medical team. In fact, when telling a friend how much pressure had lifted from me, I told them I felt “like a new man” before correcting myself by saying, “I feel like the old me” which may be bad news for many but was meant to convey how I could feel my mischief, energy, take-no-prisoners-or-shit attitude rushing through my bones which means all is good and why I send big hugs and thanks to each and every one of you.
Everything you said and did meant the world to me.
More importantly, it made a big difference.
❤️ Rx
Filed under: Attitude & Aptitude, Colenso, Collegues, Context, Doctor, Emotion, Empathy, Experience, Eye, Family, Friendship, Health, Nurses
Yep, that’s me.
Looking more and more like a pirate.
In fact all I need is a hook and a hat and my metamorphosis will be complete.
Sadly, I don’t look like this because I am going to a fancy dress party, I look like this because I’m going blind.
Good news. Only in one eye.
Bad news. The other eye is fucked from years ago.
I’ve written a bunch this year about my ‘new’ eye problem … how it seemingly came from nowhere when I was holidaying in Penang at Christmas.
I’ve also written how it is part of a rare, auto-immune disease that’s been triggered by the trauma my other eye experienced when I was 21.
I know, it makes little sense … but the upshot is my eye is getting worse – not better – which is humbling, frustrating and terrifying.
What makes it more painful is no one knows what triggered the disease in the first place, nor do they know what is causing it to sustainably resist all the treatment despite all the tests I’ve had, and having.
And boy, have I had a lot.
Injections.
Laser.
Drops.
Photographs.
Scans.
Blood-tests.
So many eye tests, I know all the letters without looking at them. Hahaha.
I’ve been seen by optometrists, surgeons, specialists and – because it is such a ‘unique’ problem – a fuckload of medical students.
Hell, the chief surgeon called me a ‘medical celebrity’ … possibly the best backhanded compliment ever articulated.
And while an operation in November will hopefully dramatically slow down the speed of my vision loss – potentially even restoring some of it – they’ve already told me I will be facing a lifetime of treatment and care.
The problem is my eye is a fucking diva.
The disease – if left untreated – will take away all of my vision.
The medicine for that creates massive pressure that can also take away my vision.
And the pressure meds are causing weird cataracts that are already robbing me of my sight.
[And no Andy, it has nothing to do with the size of font I use on this blog … though now, when I write a post, I have to make it so big that it could easily double as a fucking billboard]
So for the Doctors, it’s like a giant game of whack-a-mole, just with eyes …
Or said another way:
My eye is a perfect storm of fucked-up, pain-in-the-ass, one-in-a-million problems.
Aren’t I lucky, hahaha.
Now, before this gets too depressing, I appreciate that compared to many, I am in an incredibly good position.
I’m not just saying that, I mean it.
I have great doctors and nurses looking out for me, which I’m incredibly grateful for. On top of that, I’ve been brilliantly supported by everyone around me – including my team, everyone at Colenso, all our clients and the artists I work for, which is epic, because it’s definitely made life more difficult for them all.
Plus I’m in the best physical – eye aside – shape of my life.
Annnnnd the operation in November offers me some real hope and positivity about the future [for my eye, at least – ha] albeit it’s not a dead cert by any stretch of the imagination.
However I must admit, even with all this good stuff, the worry of seeing [excuse the pun] the potential loss of my independence is not a great feeling.
Without positive and successful intervention, my eye will be able to fuck me up in ways past bosses and colleagues only dreamed of pulling off:
From robbing me of my ability to drive.
To robbing me being able to travel with ease.
To robbing me of my ability to experience different forms of art.
To, albeit much, much further down the road, robbing me of my ability to work.
And then – worst of all – robbing me of my ability to see my brilliant son growing-up.
I know that’s all worse case scenario … I also know I’ll find a way to adapt if/when I get to this situation … but it doesn’t feel great. Though what’s strange is it’s less about the loss of my vision and more about the loss of my relevance.
By that I don’t mean in terms of my career – though that isn’t exactly awesome either, haha – but more in terms of being able to contribute to life:
My life.
My families life.
My friends lives.
My teams lives.
My colleagues lives.
My clients lives.
Societies life.
Maybe for the first time I’ve realized how important all that is to me.
Not because I see myself as some sort of’saviour’ or any bullshit like that, just I find real joy in helping people find theirs.
And while I am sure many people have experienced or discovered this revelation – be it because of age, gender or health situation – it served as an important reminder to me about what ‘value’ really means.
Because while titles, money, success and popularity are all very nice, feeling you’re connected and contributing to life is maybe even more vital.
How fucking ironic I’ve only been able to see this because I may not be able to see anything in the future.
Life certainly knows how to write the darkest of comedies.
And I certainly know how to write the most depressing post on a Monday. Ever.
Of course, the really bad news is that ‘talk to text’ technology means that even if the worst happens sooner rather than later, I can still rant on this blog. Which may sound terrible to you, but is quite lovely to me.
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As an aside, nothing has shown how much of a previous generation I belong to than trying to use ‘talk to text’. I “ummmmm” and “ahhhh” and take about 10 goes to say the simplest command or sentence … whereas Otis – who uses it a lot because of his dysgraphia – is clear and concise first time, every time. Regardless what he is expressing or trying to make a machine do. Proving I am from the generation where type was power, whereas the future – and kids – are all about voice
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But in all seriousness, while this post is depressing as fuck – I’m OK. I just needed to get it out of my system.
Not for sympathy or a cry for help, but just to get it out …
Because as weird as it may sound, now I own ‘it’ rather than ‘it’ owns me, and that’s helped me remember the one thing I know I’m good at which is being a fucking competitive piece of shit, so now I’m sure I can give it a good fight rather than let it have an easy win.
Even more so if the op in November goes well.
And if things do go south … then I’ll have a good excuse for my bad spelling and dress sense. Plus I’ll officially be more pirate than any person at TBWA will ever be. So they’ll either have to hire me into old age to maintain their agency positioning or I’ll get to Lord it over them for the rest of my days.
Win:Win:Win in every way.
Jesus, is this post ending on a high?
I think it is …
What fucking rollercoaster of a rant … but kinda perfect for a Monday.
So with that, have a good day, normal bullshit returns tomorrow. Promise.
Filed under: A Bit Of Inspiration, Attitude & Aptitude, Birkenstocks, Colleagues, Confidence, Culture, Daddyhood, Death, Doctor, Effectiveness, Emotion, Empathy, Family, Fear, Happiness, Health, Jill, Love, Mum & Dad, My Fatherhood, Otis, Perspective, Socks
Back in November of last year, I wrote about how I was eating healthy.
It was quite a big thing for me to talk about – which is weird, given I have absolutely no problem writing about death, unemployment or the size of my best friends appendage, to name but a few of the subjects I’ve waxed lyrical about that many smarter people would rather shut-up than share.
But since then, more things have happened and while I genuinely feel uncomfortable to write it, I am also quite proud of myself, so here we go.
You see what happened was back in August, my doctor asked me to spend 3 months focusing on my health. To try and retrain my habits. To make different choices about my diet. To see what might happen by doing it.
And while I’ve been a helpless – and willing – slave to the seductive powers of pasta and sugar for basically my whole life … I decided this was the time I was going to go all in.
So I did.
65g of carbs a day. 25g of sugar a day. 1700 calories a day.
Every day.
And while it was hard at first, once I knew what I could do – and eat – it was satisfying. Well … more satisfying than I imagined. And that only grew when the results of those first 3 months came in.
I’d lost 22kg.
I’d dropped 4 sizes in clothes.
I saw every one of my health measures hit ‘healthy’.
My doctor called to ask if I was OK as the results were so extreme, he thought either the original results were inaccurate or I was doing a different sort of damage to myself.
[For the record, he was wrong on both counts – I was just in a very intimate relationship with chicken and spinach]
And as good as all that was – and it was very good – the biggest change was that I have started to like myself for the first time in a long time.
Yes, I appreciate that sounds tone deaf and dramatic given there are people who face real challenges and problems, whereas I have an amazing family, a wonderful life and lifestyle and a rewarding and fulfilling job … but it’s true.
In my defence, I didn’t really realise it until I started coming out the other side. Mainly because I think the impact was over time … slowly but surely, bit by bit … until at some point, it found a way to settle permenantly just under my surface.
And while it only popped up to mess with me at certain times and moments – and I suspected what may be behind it all – it is only recently that I was able to confirm my concerns about my health, maybe more than my actual health, was the cause of it.
Or should I say, the concerns about my sub-optimal health.
Just to be clear, what I’m talking about is self-esteem.
God it’s a weird thing.
It’s in your power and yet you’re also powerless to it and I felt I was in its grip.Putting me in a corner that I didn’t think I could get out of so I adapted my ways and choices to try and counteract it, without realising I was just giving it more power over me in more ways.
Which is why as I have got more in control of my health, I have felt a bit of a rebirth.
A bit more confidence about what I can do.
A bit more happiness about who I am.
From the superficial to the deeply, deeply personal.
Part of this is because I’m now wearing smaller sized clothes than I have in literally decades and I’m almost ashamed at how much that has affected me. Of course, it’s also bankrupting me as I have to basically buy new t-shirts that no longer look like I’m wearing a man tent dress … but it has changed more than just the size, but what I choose. Because frankly, more things are now available to me and so I’m experimenting with clothes like I’m a 10 year old kid. Well, I say experimenting, but it really has come down to a few t-shirts in colours that aren’t black and some socks [which is, let’s be honest, already a shock given my Birkenstock obsession] in a range of ridiculous colours. Fuck, I even colour coded my t-shirt and socks once … something never ever done in my life. And – to be honest – never to be done again.
But it is in terms of my family that I am the most indebted.
Because I’ve likely increased the time I’ll be here for my wife and son.
OK, so there wasn’t a identified risk that was going to cut it short … but health is always going to make it last longer and that means everything to me.
Because I love my family.
Love every little thing about them.
Of course they can annoy the fuck out of me, but I am sure I am far worse to them – even though this shocks me as I’m obviously a saint.
But as my son is just 9, I want to be around for as long as I can. I want to see the life he builds, I want to be there for the choices he wants to make. I want to just be in his life and have him in mine for as long as possible. With my wonderful wife by my side. Building new adventures and sharing them. Together.
Now I appreciate that all sounds very Hallmark card … but I do, that’s maybe all I want in some ways … and I’d be denying the truth if I said I hadn’t wondered if this was going to be as possible as I hoped it would be.
And yet … I felt it was an impossible situation to change.
I wanted it.
I knew what could help it.
But I didn’t have the skills or the energy or the willpower. Always having an excuse why I couldn’t dedicate the time and energy to it. Which is mad given I have a fuck-ton of energy and willpower to do a bunch of other stuff … but I had convinced myself that I’d met my match and so that affected me deeply in my head. Loving my family but not knowing how to make sure that love could be around for longer.
I know, it sounds pathetic, but I bet I am not the only one who has faced this psychological prison. And just to be clear, it’s not that I hadn’t tried things to change it. I had. And failed … over and over again. Which not only made me feel a bit more shit about myself, but also convinced myself I was not going to win this battle.
Which is why the pride Otis has in what I’ve done that makes me almost cry with joy. And what breaks my heart is that he obviously had the same worries about how long I’d be around. Not overtly. Not daily. But he tells me how proud he is of me and how happy he is I’m ‘healthy’ … and so while no one knows when the ‘end day’ will come, removing some of the more blatant concerns that it could be sooner than you hope, is a psychological gift in itself.
Now I am not going to say if I can do it, anyone can.
I couldn’t do it for 53 years and you don’t have to be healthy to be happy.
I hate that attitude.
And I was happy … I’m just saying I’m happier now.
With myself.
Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t have issues – I do, bloody loads of them – but it means I have less than I’ve been carrying, which is nice.
In fact, as of today, I have 30kg less problems I’m carrying – ha.
But let’s not ignore the reality that doing this is really fucking hard – especially at the start – and I needed a Doctor to basically scare me into it and needed to actively choose to not make excuses for not sticking with it. Which is why if anyone resonates with my story and wants to chat about their situation – or what I did to try and get out of it – then just get in touch and I’ll listen and share.
While there is a conscious mental decision to be made, at its heart it’s simply about food choices and portion choices. Oh, and investment … both in time and – sadly – money.
Because it’s a privilege to be able to do this, because – ironically – eating less costs more. Or it does if you want to make it easier.
But the good news is there’s choices that actually are good … and you’re talking to someone who thinks kebab and chips is fine dining. So if you want to know more, I’ll tell you what worked for me and how I did it and then you can decide what’s right for you.
Which leaves me to say a huge thanks to my family, doctor, clients, colleagues and whoever the fuck invented 99% sugar free buffalo sauce … because they made this happen. They made this possible,
And while I may fuck up occasionally, I now know I won’t fuck up every single mealtime and that’s a win in my book, because this journey has taught me things about myself and my habits that have been a revelation.
In fact the only thing I am disappointed about is I’ve still not used the overpriced bloody treadmill I bought. Though I’m glad I got the cool, foldable, wifi and bluetooth enabled one … which means there’s some things about me that will never change.