All clear

To expand on what most of you would have read - yes, I got the all clear today. After three and a half years of tedious bullshit, I was given the moment I've been building up to since I was diagnosed. No more leukaemia. No more medication. It is over.

I feel pretty great, if not a bit cautious of how surreal the situation is. I've not technically had cancer for quite some time. Nearly three years, probably. But then when a doctor gives you the official verdict like he did today, then it makes it all the more legit. And this has always been a journey that felt nearly infinite in its length of time, so it never felt like being complete until the whole thing was done.

Anyway, I'm having a drink tonight because I feel like I could do with one. Thank you all for your messages of support over the years, your collective presence, and for hoping that I got better. I'm not really into superstitious stuff, but I genuinely believe that it made a difference.

Big love, as always.

This is a bit awkward.

Years ago our cat Barney disappeared for about 2 months. Inexplicably, without warning, he just upped and left for eight solid weeks, until finally he strolled through the front door, sheepishly crept into the living room and stared at us like he'd just shat on the bathroom floor. As he sat there hopelessly denying culpability, we could all tell that his conscience was wrestling with a desperate need to escape. He'd only come back because he felt like a right arsehole about leaving in the first place.

Well, here I am, similarly going through those motions. Nearly 3 months without an update and I feel obliged to give you a bit of a catch up as to what's been going on, all in the while horrendously ashamed that I've gone this long without even the slightest hint of a dialogue. Is that the right term? Dialogue? Well none of you guys ever leave comments so I guess it isn't. BITCHEH!

But don't worry, I'm not mad, and I hope you guys aren't mad at me. In fact, I really hope that your mood doesn't hinge on the regularity of my blog updates. If it does, seek help. If it doesn't, I envy your life's probable excitement that is likely generated by a reason to get up in the morning and a social life that doesn't involve two hours of travel, supplemented of course by extortionate costs and weirdos who complement you on your socks.

Oh what the fuck am I even talking about here? The be all and end all is that I've been a lazy, decadent dullard who can't seem to juggle the responsibilities of numerous things at once. The result of this absolute shambles has been utter negligence towards this blog, and here we are without an update in three months. One must start to question the passion that I have for the site these days as I seem to prefer lazy days involving watching episodes of Frasier to letting you all know what's been happening in Ryanland.

And yes, I'm trademarking that shit before you get any ideas.

The truth is, the longer this blog remains as an account of my life as a cancer 'patient', the more and more I lose interest in contributing to it. The way I see things, this whole cancer thing has, well... no. I don't want to say that it's ended. That's tempting fate a bit, yes? But... I'm moving on. I can't let leukaemia define who I am and the longer this place reminds me of my struggles through it the less inclined I am to hold it in such personal regard.

Don't worry though, this isn't a 'fuck this I'm abandoning ship' kind of deal. It's more of a 'we really need to move the furniture around a bit'. I really love blogging, writing and - if your words are to be trusted - entertaining. But things should really change. My life isn't that interesting these days, but I feel the things that I observe are. So if I can find the spark that can ignite my creative side again, then exciting things may well happen to this place.

So yeah, this space. Watch it.

Ryan.

p.s. The first change: Helvetica for all.

S M A S H

Kings and Queens and all your knights.

Hello.

Thought I'd just swoop down here and drop off a quick update regarding the weekend's proceedings. Seeing as I badgered you all not once but twice into donating money for Ellise I thought it'd only be fair to tell how how she actually got on. She smashed it. Much in the same way that Lenin smashed the Bolshevik revolution, or how Rivaldo smashed the sperm race, Ellise took the piss out of 10k, finishing the two laps of Regent's Park without a sweat even breaking upon her forehead. This of course means that London marathon is in the process of being sorted and similar expectations will have to be met. The hopes are all on your Irish shoulders now, Ellise. 

Well... obviously she did sweat. She's not RoboCop. But still. SMASHED IT.

Thanks for the donations to those who parted with their cash. To those who didn't, how do you sleep at night? If you're unable to answer that question and are indeed having trouble falling asleep with your TAINTED CONSCIENCE then you can rectify this by finding a link on the previous post and donating. Otherwise, out of my sight you hellions.

I'll let you judge how serious I am with that thinly veiled belligerence. But yeah, nice one guys.

The next three weeks are going to be utter hell for me due to deadlines and exams, so apologies if I don't update this. If I get a spare moment I'll try and write some nonsense about abandoned buildings or disconcerting weather formations or trigonometry. 

Ryan.

The present is a point just passed.

I feel old today. Not in the 'oh my bones are creaking' or the 'God I hate kids these days!' sense, you understand. Balls to it if I'm going to go on one of those tangents; it's not like that hasn't been written and read and then written all over again.

What I mean is... I feel like a substantial portion of my lived has been lived. Not the most significant portion, or the most worthwhile portion. Just a stretch of time that I can look back on and think 'wow, a lot has happened here'. Now as harrowing a thought you think that might be for me to be dwelling on, it hasn't shitted me up nearly as much as I thought it might.

Let me start from the top.

Abandoned breweries. That's right, this life affirming epiphany came to me whilst dicking about in an abandoned fucking brewery. And when I say 'let me start from the top', I really do mean from the top. On a roof - to be exact - overlooking the breathtaking landscape that is Sheffield. But when the sun is setting and drawing a close on what has been a rather spectacularly beautiful day and you get the entire cityscape sprawled out in front of you, and you catch glimpses of buildings that have so much personal meaning, whether they be University tower blocks or former halls of residence or malevolently imperious hospitals, you can't help but take a moment and appreciate the very fact that a chapter of your life is soon to be finishing. And that's exactly how I felt today.

My life, like the life of everyone else, is ticking along. One day I'll be having this same moment, looking back over time that is yet to pass and wondering where it all went. Until then, I guess I'll just amuse myself speculating over what that time will bring.

Fat stacks, I hope.

I grow old... I grow old...
I shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled.

Badman Scribe.

Click this.

Get outta my head, Charles!

As of last night I was writing a few snippets and such about Find Your Sense of Tumour, which turned out to be a pretty great experience all in all. However, having woken up this morning to then immediately endure one of the worst panic attacks I think I've ever had to suffer through, I thought I'd change the tone of this entry and talk about something that's a bit of a grey area for cancer survivors.

The very thought of having to endure some kind of psychological issue has always shitted me up a fair bit. Obviously no one goes through their life without avoiding some kind of mental trauma along the way, no matter how devastating or inconsequential it may be to their everyday life. The fact is, every human being has a unique psychological bedrock that's equipped to deal with certain challenges or obstacles (or whatever you'd like to call them) in an ostensibly myriad amount of ways.

But is that really true?

I would agree to a certain point. The resilience of the human mind is an incredible thing to behold, and something that I've recently seen first hand amongst some remarkably headstrong individuals. Saying that though, an experience such as cancer or anything that not only brings one's mortality into question, but also their ability to perhaps live a normal lifestyle, can be potentially devastating to the manner in which they compose themselves and deal with issues that are mostly flatulent or paltry. What I'm getting at, and this is beginning to concern me on a personal level here, is how does one keep a hold on things when there is seemingly no end to the problems that are piling up on the horizon?

To make this explicitly about me, then. I worry about a lot of things. Uni, for example. Have I made the correct decision in coming back this early? Can I juggle treatment with a steady routine of work? Can I keep myself motivated to work through the random bouts of pain in order to keep on top? If the last few days are anything to go by, then most certainly not. And that's not all. What about life after uni? How can I work if I'm being consistently perturbed by little niggles that have a worrying tendency to develop into drawn out calamities? And then there's a potential family life. Will I be able to even start a family, let alone provide for one?

A whole amalgamation of worries there that might seem a bit overblown, yes I admit. But I can't deny the fact that for me right now it's the elephant in the room, and the more I try to leave it and ignore it the more it begins to have an ill-effect on my general well being. I can deal with with a bit of anxiety here and there no problem, but full blown panic attacks during the morning routine of Rice Krispies and tea? Nu uh.

I'm not entirely sure what I want to achieve with this post. I usually use this blog as a form of lighthearted release - a jovial look into the world of a cancer survivor. Very rarely do I use it as an attempt to reach out and make real sense of the horrors that this awful affliction can bring to the table. But now, maybe more than ever, I think I need to know if there is a right way to do this or a wrong way to do this and, more importantly, if I'm actually doing it right or doing it wrong. Some guidance would be a bit tidy.

Sorry if this seems a bit unhinged. I'm not doing nearly as bad as the mood of the writing suggests, and I'm as confident as ever that I'll pull out of this with my head held high. It's just difficult to be reminded that all this cancer business doesn't just end with the word 'remission'. It sticks with you for a long, long time. Maybe not in your bone marrow, but certainly in your head.

I just hope I don't become part of the cliche and have it define who I am as a person.

Big love,

Ryan.

Oh, and also.

Any of you feeling charitable? Well you should be, because my old man and my girlfriend are putting themselves through some physical torment all in the name of helping others and it would be great if you could throw a few pounds to both of them (or just one if you're the kind of person who likes picking favourites) as they definitely deserve it. You could probably hazard a good guess as to what charities they're raising money for as well...

My Dad is taking part in one of Beefy's walks in Birmingham during April and is looking to raise £750. You can find his page here.

And in May Ellise is doing a 10K run dressed as a superhero. If that doesn't make you donate money well then what the hell is wrong with you? Her page rests here.

I know I post a lot of these charity things put what's a man supposed to do when he inspires such good will? But seriously, it'd be absolutely incredible if you could spare the slightest amount for these two incredible people. They need your support!

Big love,
Ryan.