A Picasso No One Can Repaint

The Mad Hatter's Drawing Board

Every good farce needs its Mad Hatter, and mine arrives armed with a drawing board. That drawing board, the one we have returned to many times over the last six weeks, was the receptacle of imperceptible scrawls by a mad scientist whose antics do not, on the surface, look like a frenzy of demented absentmindedness coupled with a sense of all-knowing confidence.

No, what comes out at the end is what makes this a Mad Hatter you could, in your complete docility, be persuaded to strangle. The task itself was simple enough to state: to improve laptop performance in a tightly controlled environment.

There we were at the end of last week, on the cusp of completing this intensive work of art, in the sense that the automation now had snapshots, verbose logging, and user-initiated rollbacks, all at my insistence, achieved in stages of improvement that registered close to fifty versions of the code.

An AI-generated infographic on the blog content. (Click to enlarge.)

Two Questions

Then two questions, from different perspectives, quite literally upset the applecart. The first was why something that could be done by policy was being implemented by scripts. It was possible because the architect, the same mad scientist, had tinkered with the engine enforcing policy, in what I saw as a neat piece of coding.

The second question concerned supportability, to which I responded that, although there was a spectrum of knowledge available, the code presented a level of complexity that no one would grasp beyond tweaking it. My own suspicion, if I am honest, was that the code would eventually be ripped out rather than developed and maintained.

I suggested it was a work of art, the progeny of the architect, and that you will not get another painter to daub on a Picasso. A good analogy, but probably too suggestive in its reading, because the architect was soon back to trying to fix it. What resulted was a new design for what the code did, and we were back to square one with deployment by policy and preference; twenty-three tweaks had become ninety-two.

Policy Versus Scripts

The policy-versus-scripts argument comes down to something quite practical. Policy carries comprehensible text and well-known, configurable settings that are recognised right across the industry when it comes to endpoint devices.

Scripts, by contrast, are bespoke by nature, and far too many of them end up impossible to maintain or are simply left to function with their faults until something new can replace them. I am firmly on the side of adapting the concepts as designed and moving them into an implementation that others can actually support.

Skimming through the document, I could already see problems, some easy to correct, but others requiring a total rethink. The concept remained the same in terms of what was to be delivered, but there was a paradigm shift in the implementation that could no longer be done in the phases the scripts were best suited to.

A Promise Disappointed

Worse still, the settings from the scripts did not transcribe directly into policy text; I needed a reference website to derive the policy text for each required setting. Then came the realisation that many of those settings from the script had no commensurate policy text at all.

It did not help; it merely exacerbated the amount of unnecessary work that could have been done right the first time. I sense a kind of aversion to explaining or describing anything that has been done, with emails and Microsoft Teams chats substituting for this essential piece of communication that I have requested many times before.

At the end, an XML file that could have saved me hours of work was in the wrong format for ingestion. None of it was helpful; a promise at first sight was, in truth, a total disappointment deserving of excoriation, but I am too polite for that. I have a pattern-recognition insight into things that suggests an Originally Conditioned Distraction (OCD) to fix. At a glance, I saw that an XML delimiter had not been properly set.

Meticulous to a Fault

Perhaps I am meticulous to a fault, but it is to forestall and arrest faults before they cause issues. Erring on the side of caution always trumps bludgeoning through like a bull let loose in a china shop. Many may not agree, but you do not build a forty-year IT career on being reckless, especially after learning from interesting or costly mistakes earlier on.

This remains a work in progress. I am hoping the transition from scripts to policy will hold, though there are the various unhelpful gaps I have referred to the architect. So, I await the response, before chivalry from the Middle Ages requests the violent disembowelment of someone mercifully dispatched before they wreak additional havoc on the peace of our noble workplace.

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Thought Picnic: Success, Suffering, and the System That Fails Both

The Illusion of Success

Sometimes, success appears to be a façade amid emotional turmoil, the vulnerabilities that are part of life's struggle that no one else sees. There is an assumption that if you have the means and cachet to buy anything, then you are suitably supplied to purchase your salvation.

Society simply does not recognise the struggle of the successful as legitimate. There is little sympathy for those who appear to have everything, and this dismissal creates a terrible sense of isolation in which high-achievers quickly learn that their struggles will not be taken seriously.

Misunderstanding Resilience

There is also a misguided understanding of resilience. Indeed, many of us do exhibit herculean feats of resilience against adversity, fighting storms of life that threaten to overwhelm us, but something inside refuses to give. Belief, faith, grit, or sheer guts: we are bowed but not broken, attacked but never defeated. We become the narrative of possibilities that once seemed insurmountable.

Yet this very resilience can become a trap. High-achievers are often driven by perfectionism, a relentless internal standard that demands excellence in all things. Mental illness does not respond to willpower or determination in the way that professional challenges do.

You cannot work harder to overcome depression. You cannot manoeuvre your way out of bipolar disorder. For someone whose identity is built on achievement and competence, seeking help feels like failure, an admission that you are not as capable as you believed yourself to be.

Recent Tragedies

Two stories in recent times have got me thinking that many mental health struggles are barely addressed or are given the stiff-upper-lip treatment of “you'll pull through as you always do”. We give just enough space not to interfere, and then the news drops: those stalwarts of stoicism, or what appeared to be that, have taken their own lives.

Robert Carradine, 71, died by hanging last week; he had been diagnosed with bipolar disorder. I am in South Africa, and I have just read the news that Ian von Memerty, 61, who was Zimbabwe-born and a South African entertainer who hosted some popular television shows, had died by his own hand in Johannesburg. He had long written about the desire to take his own life.

The Reality Behind Success

None of this brings any comfort because these are successful men who had tasted the kinds of worldly success that many could not even dare to dream of, and yet it is their demons that have driven them beyond the edge of despair to suicide. The fact that these men are quite close to my age range also indicates that you probably do not grow out of the things that ail you.

Success often brings its own form of isolation. As you rise in your field, the pool of people who can truly understand your experience shrinks. Your old friends may feel the distance growing. Your new peers may be competitors rather than confidants.

The high-achiever becomes trapped in a gilded cage, surrounded by admirers but profoundly alone. This loneliness compounds mental health struggles, leaving fewer people to turn to, fewer spaces where vulnerability is possible, and fewer relationships where you are seen as a whole person rather than as your achievements.

There are also practical fears that make seeking help feel dangerous. Will your employer question your ability to perform? Will clients lose confidence in you? Will colleagues see you differently?

Despite progress in mental health awareness, significant stigma remains in professional environments. For high-achievers whose identities are deeply intertwined with their professional success, the risk feels existential.

When the System Fails You

Moreover, even when they overcome these barriers and seek help, they often find the available support inadequate for their specific needs. Therapists may struggle to understand the unique pressures of high achievement: the constant scrutiny, the isolation that comes with leadership, the weight of others' expectations.

The two times I have used therapy, because I presented none of the symptoms of depression, suicide, or a mental health crisis, it was felt I was trying to abuse the service. Yet, I had a compelling narrative. I was recovering from cancer, mounting debt meant I was about to lose my home, and my status was rock bottom.

Surely, with such a catastrophic change in life, I was a candidate for therapy. I guess because I had a modicum of coping mechanisms and I was too articulate for my situation, only shocking assertiveness could pierce into the needed support framework.

The scheduling demands of high-achievement careers often conflict with traditional therapy models, yet their chaotic schedules are often part of what is driving their mental health crisis.

Bridging the Gap

It is impossible to tell how much help, consideration, or support Carradine and von Memerty got through their struggles. For their survivors, bridging the gap between the sorrow they feel and appreciating the release that death brought to the suffering of their beloved ones is something you cannot begin to fathom.

Perhaps the most fundamental challenge is the myth of self-sufficiency that high-achievers internalise. They have succeeded through determination, intelligence, and hard work. This creates a belief that they should be able to handle anything, including their own mental health.

Cultural narratives about success emphasise individual agency and resilience, celebrating the self-made person who refused to give up or give in. These narratives leave little room for vulnerability, little space for acknowledging that sometimes, despite all your strength and capability, you need help.

A Personal Reflection

Even with my encounters with suicidal ideation, which I have written about as recently as a month ago, my only prayer still is never to be presented with no other option but to end it all. This is not said from any position of strength, ability, or capacity; rather, it is a recognition of human frailty and vulnerability. We are faced daily with a spectrum of mortality, but for the grace of God, there go we.

Addressing these challenges requires a fundamental shift in how we think about success and mental health. We need to recognise that achievement does not immunise against suffering, that success can indeed be part of what drives mental health crises rather than protecting against them. Until we can create space for high-achievers to be vulnerable, to admit to struggling, to seek help without fear of judgement or professional consequences, we will continue to lose talented, accomplished people to the silent epidemic of mental illness.

The deaths of people like Robert Carradine and Ian von Memerty should serve as a stark reminder that success is no protection against despair. The answer is that success and suffering are not opposites. They can, and often do, coexist. Recognising this uncomfortable truth is the first step towards ensuring that achievement does not become a prison from which the only escape seems to be death.

May their once-bothered souls rest in eternal peace.

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A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

When Schedules Don't Matter: Between Flight Times and Body Times

Journey Times and Assumptions

Now that I think of it, these things should not be left to guesswork. The assumption I had, and the reality were different things, even when traversing time zones. How I could have missed that timing escapes me, especially for a journey I have made so many times. This time, I saw it plainly: the flight information stated 11h25, not the 10h30 I always had in my mind and when talking to people about it.

I am looking forward to a long journey watching Africa displayed before me as my kind of long-haul flight entertainment. As aeroplanes do not get given speeding tickets in the air, we did Amsterdam to Cape Town in 10h28. The scheduled duration and actual flight time rarely align, yet I still find myself calculating based on what I think I know rather than what the timetable actually says.

The More Immediate Concern

Before settling into my seat, though, there was a more pressing matter to address. Using the customer assistance service meant I was one of the first to board the aircraft, and I went to the toilets first before returning to my seat to check the journey duration. It was then that I noticed the discrepancy in flight times.

The flow is low and feels constricted. Whilst the urgency is pressing, the initiation starts late and the duration is long, much longer than usual. However, there are times when it suddenly seems to unclog with the greatest ease and relief. I have noticed this in the past couple of days, and it elevates concern.

The trouble with bladder plumbing, a consequence of prostate cancer and radiotherapy treatment, is one I cannot ignore, even if I seem to manage it well. Though on Saturday, as I walked back home, I found neither refuge nor respite, no place to flash my "Just Can't Wait " card. Consequently, I wet myself. The incontinence underwear was no match for the torrential release.

A Saving Grace

The cover of darkness and the length of my winter overcoat became my saving grace, concealing the wet patch on my bright red chinos and sparing me the shame and embarrassment. What a relief when I eventually got home.

The usual dearth of facilities for people with conditions like mine is something I navigate daily, but Saturday reminded me how fragile that management can be. We make assumptions about many things: flight times, the availability of toilets, our own bodies. Sometimes reality has other ideas.

A Google NotebookLM AI Audio Overview Discussion of this blog

Sixty and not tiring to retire

A Miracle in the Making

Considering only man's machinations and all the wiles that deceive us, when that little boy was placed in the hand – not hands – of his father, they were solely thinking of his next breath. That was the precariousness of the situation as it was conveyed to me.

Then came the subsequent hour, for only a city could support him; my small town lacked the medical facilities for such an early arrival. Then the weeks in a bottle, or more accurately, behind glass, and then years have turned into decades. Today marks a diamond jubilee.

Living Proof

I am a living miracle of blessing and good fortune. There have been many doubts and confusions suggesting this day might not be seen, an endless list that needs no further mention.

Congratulations are also owed to my parents. They have a child of 60, yet I still navigate the parent-child dynamic, as if I had never become an adult. That has spawned many stories as well. I am simply filled with gratitude. It is incredible: I am really 60 years old, and I get to tick that other age group box.

Gratitude and Partnership

So many people over the years have shaped this story, and for the past seven years, my partner Brian. His unwavering presence has been a steady source of strength, especially during some recent uncertain moments of my life. Work and health issues, marked by fragility and doubt, created challenges and milestones; Brian's support has been invaluable.

Sharing this part of my extraordinary journey with him has inspired dreams, ignited hopes, and declared visions. We are not tiring to retire but eager to aspire and grasp the essence of our imaginations. Thank you for celebrating this jubilee with us.

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Thought Picnic: Adversity Reveals True Love

Finding Clarity

I have just stepped out of the shower to warm up because I was out in the cold for an extended period. My moments in the shower can be thoughtful and meditative; the washing of water seems to include an invisible internal cleansing of the mind, allowing clarity to emerge.

On the last day of my 59th year, it has been slow and perhaps somewhat lazy. Though I intended to do certain things, I was caught between youthful rampage and ageing progress; my voice reduced once again to a slur, revealing fatigue and lethargy, yet my mind was in overdrive.

Reflecting on this year, I decided to focus firstly on caring for myself, leaving behind situations and complications that caused unnecessary anxiety and stress. This was especially true in my different relationships and the communities to which I belong.

When Family Comes Last

Regrettably, family was last, with respect to friends, church, support groups, and work. In all those areas, I still maintain some influence and respect. I can offer advice and anticipate a degree of consideration, even if my nuggets of wisdom were not always valued.

With family, I had become like a clashing cymbal. I am contacted for a viewpoint, but they have already made up their minds. It was as if my perspective no longer mattered, and this was inadvertently displayed through many significant situations within the extended family network.

I had to decide that there was no point in being the dog barking in the dark. I will not become like Ahithophel; it’s not the end of my world or the world itself.

Having faced two bouts of cancer, I see similarities between the support I received then and now. Apart from my other sibling abroad, there was none. My transactional credit waned during periods of adversity and ill health; now, it counted for little beyond platitudes. The mere fulfilment of all righteousness could not be achieved through a cursory glance.

Adversity Reveals True Love

It brought to mind a song by Chief Commander Ebenezer Obey from the 1960s, “Ọ̀rọ̀ ṣeni wò, kálè mẹni tó fẹ́ ni.” This translates to, “May a momentary adversity reveal those who truly love us.” Perhaps I am truly loved, but love must be active, tangible, experiential, and felt. Somewhere along the line, that familial connection was lost in its journey to me.

My focus on other relationships became a source of strength: the unconditional love of Brian, the prayers and counsel of my best friends, my neighbours, and at church where everyone was concerned about my wellbeing, and at work, where professional support systems and the understanding of many who have been touched by cancer in their own families meant they appreciated some of what I had gone through.

Peace in Letting Go

Then I no longer need to hold anyone to account. They have their own lives to attend to, and the deliberations leading up to any decisions made contrary to other counsel are their prerogative, over which I should not arrogate the power to control. It is essentially none of my business.

However, the radio silence I have self-imposed since August has been a source of peace and rest, whilst I devote my energies to regaining full strength and vigour.

I keep all of them in my prayers, supplicating for their wellbeing, health, prosperity, and peace. May the goodness, peace, and blessings of the Lord continue to abound in grace and mercy with lovingkindness towards us all. We are signing out of 59 at midnight, by the grace of God.

Strength to Endure: A Year of Recovery, Work, and Gratitude

Jolly Off the Year

As my year of work concludes today, I am filled with wonder and gratitude for all it has been. For so long, I have had the opportunity to finish the year on or just before my birthday; that's one of the benefits of it falling just ten days before the end of the year.

A Year of Significance

Many things make this year significant. A year ago, I was recuperating in Cape Town after radiotherapy for prostate cancer. It was also a difficult time; we had barely enough to make ends meet, but for the generosity of friends who contributed to help.

Although I should have extended my sick leave, I was eager to return home and regain some normalcy. From my experience 14 years ago, one of the signs of recovery was returning to doing what you once did: work, travel, the everyday routines, even if there was barely any strength to cope.

The Return Home

I returned to Manchester on the 30^th of December to find my home in complete disarray, and I had a house sitter for the seven weeks I was abroad. After about 20 hours of travel from door to door, I still don't know where I found the strength to run the vacuum cleaner around the apartment while keeping my composure at the state of my home, the occupant aware of when I was returning.

On the 3^rd of January, I signed on my work laptop and informed my managers that I would be back on Monday, the 6^th of January, and we would take it as we went. I did not use a paced return-to-work plan but dove straight in. Aside from the two-week break I took at the end of August into September, I have worked every single day, bar public holidays and hospital appointment days.

The Body's Remarkable Capacity

The body’s ability to adapt and condition itself to the challenges of a working environment, without what I had previously experienced, is admirable. The side effects of fatigue, nightly insomnia, bladder incontinence, and a fluctuating voice, notwithstanding, strength grew to endure and thrive.

There were times I wondered if, by the will of my spirit over the exhaustion of my body, I was doing too much and not adjusting pace, momentum, pressure, and ease enough. Thankfully, I had great support from my manager. He demonstrated much emotional intelligence and empathy as I pushed myself, sometimes being the first in the office and the last to leave.

The People in My Circle

Brian, my daily strength and support; Kola, my friend into the fifth decade; Funmi, who took me from the office at closing during the summer months; colleagues who were kind, understanding, and considerate; and the professional support personnel who listened, advised, and counselled. I could not have had better people around me.

To a stranger, they wouldn’t realise this was a man, 18 months after a prostate cancer diagnosis that required active treatment starting 15 months ago. Then, in September, the PSA readings were the lowest they have ever been. I read stories of men whose results were over 40 times the highest reading I had in March 2024.

Gratitude and Blessings

God, I am grateful for Your mercies and loving kindness.

To top it all, I still had 14 days of annual leave at the start of the month and agreed to work five more days this year, with the plan to carry those five days over into 2026. On the eve of turning 60, it has been a wonderful year. I am blessed beyond measure, and that is my testimony, for I live to tell better stories. Thank you to all who made 2025 the year it was, and there is more to come.

It's A Wonderful Life

Help is coming

Sometimes, it is not clear what things people are going through: demands, pressures, trauma, psychological issues, unmet goals, unfulfilled dreams, or just the humdrum of daily life. In all this, one must continue to live and seek to thrive, because that is what living is all about.

I just finished watching an abridged version of the 1946 film, It's A Wonderful Life, on Amazon Prime Video, which would form the themes of our discussions in church during the Advent season that started last Sunday, but was deferred for the silver jubilee of our bishop's enthronement as a bishop in the Church of England.

There were times when I shed a tear while watching the film, which, on its release, barely broke even at the box office, but over the years, has become a Christmas staple of generosity and redemption against the odds. The need for a life partner, for prayer, and knowing you have a guardian angel can make all the difference to an existence bordering on despondency.

“Senior Angel: A man down on Earth needs our help.
Clarence: Splendid. Is he sick?
Senior Angel: No, worse. He's discouraged.” A conversation in heaven from the film.

Under the darkest clouds

The concept of being discouraged stems from various factors, including losing confidence or hope, feeling that one's efforts don't make a difference, or believing goals are out of reach. These issues meet us in different places and affect us to varying degrees.

There may be the kind of resilience that helps one see beyond the present, or sometimes one can get overwhelmed to the point of seeking an outlet. Either way, this represents the fragility of our humanity, which is difficult to explain to people who see us as stalwarts and leaders, in thought and deed.

In the last few months, even as I seem to have powered through a lot of things in health, at work, and in general relationships, I am drawn to the realisation that I might be exhausted. Feeling a lot better after cancer treatment, whilst grateful for the developments and progress, does not make it less impactful. It was a daunting situation, with support coming from just a handful of people.

The safety of withdrawing

Apart from the two weeks' break I had in August and September, I have worked since the first working day of the year, returning from sick leave and hardly structuring the return to work. In terms of family, most just thought it was another headache; only two of my siblings kept engaged from when I was diagnosed through my treatment.

I began to cut down on my social interactions and withdrew into my shell, my engagements mainly limited to my partner, my best friend, my church community, the work environment, and a few friends. I need the time to myself without shouldering responsibilities or fielding issues. I have done enough for the purposes of legacy, if that matters at all.

Even at the emotional low points, I must encourage myself. I see possibility within the flux and the fog, knowing the dark clouds have to shift for the sunshine to give light, warmth, and life.

Most of all, I am truly fortunate, exceedingly grateful, and amazingly blessed. “No man is a failure who has friends.” I am thankful for the friends I have; they pray for me, support me, encourage me, give me hope, and restore my faith, showing me such undeserved, unconditional love. It is indeed a wonderful life, after all.

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Photons on the Prostate - A year from starting radiotherapy

Some reflections

What a year it has been since I received the first of twenty doses of hypofractionated radiotherapy at the Christie Hospital. The story isn’t just about the treatment, but also about how the side effects have altered or softened my way of living and expressing myself.

Internally, I experienced fatigue and bladder issues, along with the occasional bowel discomfort, and for the insomnia, I couldn’t entirely blame the radiotherapy. The most noticeable change was in my voice, which sounds close to normal now, but it still sometimes holds that weariness or tiredness.

It wasn’t until mid-August that I felt confident enough to present myself for a bible reading at the cathedral. I had given up my place in May because my voice was still quite squeaky. I am encouraged, thankful, and grateful for the progress so far.

Two episodes of epididymitis in May and August have been worrying; probably some sort of urinary reflux around the pipes in that area, causing considerable discomfort and inflammation. I guess this keeps me vigilant for small changes and creeping symptoms.

My partner, Brian, has been an incredible support and anchor during these challenging times; his care and love have strengthened me, even when I outwardly appear to be doing well. With my friends and the fantastic support from work, I have made significant progress. I am thankful to God for everything.

I enjoy living, and I love thriving. There are even better stories ahead. Thank you.

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Thought Picnic: There is always someone worse off than you

 In the shoes of another

“I cried because I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet.” Helen Keller

I stepped out this evening because I had a craving for hash browns which would normally be served as part of an English breakfast meal. I care nothing for having at supper, what should be had for breakfast.

A younger man met me to ask for alms and we both recognised each other, because over the last 18 months or so, I have been opportuned to facilitate boarding, meals, and other things that could alleviate his situation.

As I had no change, but was going to the local supermarket, I asked if he would want something to eat from there. I had not noticed that he always hid his right arm. This time as we conversed because he was aware I had cancer; he decided to show me his right arm.

Changing a congenital narrative

A condition from birth meant the bones in his arm were poorly formed and the hospital had decided to amputate the arm. He left the care of the hospital because he was not ready to deal with an amputation, but the hand was hanging of the arm, limp, swollen and could develop into a serious life-threatening condition as sepsis or worse.

That had me concerned that I advised him to seek further medical supervision based on how the possible loss of the arm might impact his quality of life. Introducing some humour, I suggested if he had a hook for a right hand, he might get to share thrilling stories with kids, because the state of the limb at this time did not offer any utility or confidence to his situation.

Nipping it in the bud

In a moment of self-deprecation, I averred that I would not want to be the making of a nursery rhyme that ran along the lines of

He was a tall and big man, it would seem,
But the walnut of his prostate was the end of him.

What can be dealt with before it becomes too serious to manage is best dealt with now. We got a meal, a snack and drinks before we parted ways. He said he would return to hospital to see what can be done for him.

I thought about how fortunate I have been, even after two episodes of cancer, no precarity, deprivation, or adversity, I have ever experienced compares to any extent, the challenges this man has seen in his own life. I hope I give him some encouragement that things can change, but anytime I see him, whatever I can do to help him, I would do.

There is always someone worse off that you, count your blessings and be grateful for who you are, and what you have.

A realisation of poorly availing oneself of support systems

The after-cancer misconceptions

There is one blessing of effective recuperation that allows many to perceive one's apparent return to normalcy in most activities, suggests the illness suffered was not that serious.

Let me put it back in context, when I received a diagnosis leading to a prognosis almost 16 years ago, my consultant clearly stated in uncertain terms that if I could not tolerate the treatment, which was chemotherapy, I had probably 5 weeks to live.

In that state, I had already lost a quarter of my normal body weight, and I was in literally unmanageable pain, because I did not tolerate morphine that well.

My left foot was seething with fungating tumours, with two of my toes, the largest and the next about to fall off. However, because I was blogging through the experience, some people thought I was just having a bed rest.

Once again, I appreciate many may have no concept of what cancer is, and how it affects, the spirit, the mind, and more evidently, the body. It is a nasty malfunction in the body that in many cases leads to death. This is not to exaggerate the effect of cancer, but it should not be brushed away with indifference, because one has survived and is thriving after a cancer diagnosis.

It is a serious disease

For those of us fortunate to come out at the other end, to tell our stories, we are no better than those who succumbed to the disease. In my view, it is the medical personnel that battles cancer bringing the body of knowledge acquired from treating cancer to bear on our ailing bodies.

It is the same with my second encounter with cancer, I felt quite different because it was invisible and painless, yet deadly. It was blood tests that informed the need for an MRI scan and then a biopsy of my prostate gland showed cancerous cells for which the consultant recommended immediate active treatment.

This was not a mild headache needing an analgesic, every treatment was radical and impactful with sometimes debilitating and lingering side effects.

Nine months after I completed radiotherapy, my normal voice is in the forgotten past, urinary and bowel issues persist, night-time insomnia upsets my sleeping patterns that certain days at work find little verve or strength to perform in the afternoons.

Reviewing the support systems

Much as I tried to manage my return to work with the support of experts, by sheer personality and will, I fear I might have exerted myself to the extent that leaves me wondering if I have poorly managed things. My sense of independence tends to dispense of the reliance on support systems long before I have fully benefited from what it all has to offer.

Certain motivations have given way to lethargy, the mix of the political leading the technical in my workplace can exacerbate stress.

What I must avoid at all costs is a relapse and I do not think I am doing enough as both the cancer support nurse consultant and occupational health specialist have notified me of their intention to close my file, as I have recently not leant on them for support in the last couple of months.

From a medical standpoint, I have not been discharged by the oncologist or the urologist, their schedule is to monitor my situation for another two years.

One would think these support systems should run in tandem, but that does not seem to be the case. My response to them would offer thanks and express my concerns.

As for me, each day is a blessing, and things would only get better. I have promised myself; I would rather be able than be a person with disabilities due to my circumstances, but I should do that in view of the limitations borne by my condition.

Thought Picnic: Just trying to be human

Usually totally misread

The way it creeps upon you is strange and unsettling; I try to keep constant what I can control, while letting go of the things that seem expendable, as much as possible. I suppose people see in me a disposition that never suggests I could be as vulnerable, so when I do feel it, it is often read as something else.

I was shocked when I was asked if I had an idea to end it all; though I’ve faced overwhelming situations, I have opposed them firmly with positivity and hope. What I want to be remembered for is quite different from what that might suggest. Put that under the rubric of concern, I was advised.

I am aware that I always want to tell a better story. Those who think they know me rarely sense that sometimes I’m not feeling social or wanting to go out. Usually, when I am alone, I am more of a loner, an introvert, even if I express myself too candidly with words, generally well put together.

What I really feel

Yet, to the question about how I do feel in myself, I can never be negative, even if I do not feel the way I want to feel. It’s an intrusive but understandable question, yet even in my relationships, you’d hardly see past the surface; genuine closeness and physical intimacy are needed to see beneath.

By pressing on, I have avoided exposing my vulnerability, lack of desire, or disinterest. That feels like a luxury I can ill afford, given the demands placed on me to respond, engage, reach out, contribute, be present, and consider others' perspectives, often at the expense of myself.

There was a time I could shut myself away completely — curtains drawn, indoors for days, like Miss Havisham, who’s never stopped her clocks — but no one truly understands that need for occasional hibernation. Yes, I do value solitude and being alone.

I have lost my weakness

Much of this stems from repeated experiences of abandonment across different stages of life, including during illness, where my coping mechanism masks deeper suffering. Even my way of recovering downplays the seriousness of what I face; what people see and what is real are often different.

Heck, Akin, you had a malignant cancer diagnosis just over a year ago, and during those critical moments — from diagnosis, decisions, to treatment while working every day — you faced it largely alone.

I didn’t take a break until a month after radiotherapy, as I realised I had exhausted much resilience and needed someone to lean on, despite many challenges and the feeling that seeking help was somehow wrong.

We are never depressed

There’s so much I want to say, but I can’t put it into words. I have weaknesses easily overlooked because of the 'firstborn syndrome' and the idea that I am a pillar of strength. It’s a constant struggle to live up to that myth, as if I’m superhuman, when I am simply human.

We are never truly depressed — this would be an incomplete reflection, and I don’t want to be scrutinised or given poor advice based on assumptions. We don’t all fit preconceptions or boxes, but others rarely understand when someone’s difference doesn’t match their frame of reference.

How many allowances can be made for others? In the depths of the night, I hear a cry: “Please, don’t forget me.” Just as I want to reply, “Hold yourself together,” I realise I have to cater to these pleas — and it’s a pipe dream to think I’ll always be looked after.

I am tired, not of living, but of constantly meeting others’ expectations, which strains my mental resources, making me want to retreat into my own cocoon. Obligations, responsibilities, duties, commitments, demands — all of it. Yes, that sense of depression can creep in strange and unsettling ways.

Lest I forget, Africans are never depressed when you have the weight of expectations pressing down on you.

Celebrating a return from illness

Many happy returns

One of the hallmarks of recovery is the blessing of returning to doing the things you used to do. After my treatment for cancer in 2010 and the regaining of strength, I travelled from Amsterdam to Antwerp. It was my first international travel in over half a year; I used to travel internationally, at least once a month.

Illness comes with privations, first obviously with health and then another pressing issue is one of means, your resources seem to not stretch as much as they used to, whether you are earning or not. The way I view things, living is wonderful and living well comes with grace and favour, for which I give thanks and praise.

Daring for strength

While going to Cape Town in November looked like returning to normalcy after cancer treatment, I was far from able, I was quite frail. Embarking on a 22-hour journey from door to door in my condition was both determined and daring, however, it was for the care and support I needed in a time of vulnerability.

It was no holiday, and it did me much good. It was also a time to be with Brian, who doted over me at every step and cautioned me about trying to make a holiday of my recuperation, much as I desired not to have our time together left to the travails of just being nursed. It stretched our resources, but needs must.

The toll of return

I was last in the office the day before I commenced radiotherapy, as I left my workplace, I indicated I might be away for a while and did not know when I would be attending again. My return to the office last Wednesday was postponed to yesterday because of the inclement weather. We have a monthly gathering of Manchester-located members of my team who meet with the head honcho.

My managers were concerned about my facility, ability, and strength to attend, but I had missed my team, the last gathering I attended was in August.

I was up quite early and altered my route to avoid carrying my trolley case up and down steps. It was still dark when I left home, we are in the winter months, and I returned home in the dark too.

Striving over wilting

The day was successful, I had forms to fill in and return on my phased return to work. My voice was hardly in fine form, it exhibited tiredness and fatigue, but I never shirked from conversation or repartee. Everyone seemed pleased to see me, they came to my desk to ascertain how well I was doing, and every serious situation quickly dampened with humour.

By the middle of the day, I was beginning to wilt. Drinking decaffeinated tea is not an elixir by any stretch of the imagination; I just had to push through.

I was not inclined to engage in a harebrained scheme that involved messy activity, but it percolated in my absence as someone still wanted it realised. I gave my candid verdict, and a discussion tomorrow might help shape expectations.

Taking things easy

What yesterday taught me was that while I have every inclination to believe that I can fully return to work, the reality is that I need to pace myself as my strength and body are not yet operating at optimum capacity.

On getting home, I undressed and was already dozing off as I spoke to Brian about my day. I was exhausted, but for the day, I made great progress. I am grateful for that. As for my next return to the office, I cannot tell, it is working from home for the near future.

Homeward bound from South Africa

The weight of travel

Packing your bags is not an easy task, especially if you have three pieces of luggage to evenly distribute the weight, a rucksack with kit and medication, and suit bag.

The suit bag contained a set of pyjamas that for my recent modes of travel have not felt that convenient to wear, a jacket and scarf for the abrupt change in the weather I will encounter, and a spare set of incontinence underwear. If I may reiterate an established notion, I am a traveller, not a backpacker.

Intercontinental incontinence

When you are on a plane and there is a queue for the unisex toilets, besides rocking from foot to foot, you just want to be careful no spillage occurs before you gain access to the facilities.

On both my outbound and return journeys, it has not been that bad, and I have not had to wave my "Just Can't Wait" card. The moment I feel an urge, I do not second guess it, I make my way to the toilets.

I had scheduled my Uber pick up the night before, my assigned driver cancelled, the alternative was stationary just over a mile away for 20 minutes, and not responding to my communications, that by the time Uber suggested he was late, I was assigned a third driver who then arrived within 5 minutes of the scheduled time.

The ride to the airport was easy and fast, early morning bookings before the break of dawn can be a bargain too. He helped load and unload my luggage and I took tentative steps to the check-in counter close to the entrance.

Half a day air bound

Though I have lost my Platinum and Gold loyalty status, you still get some priority service on Silver Flying Blue status. My luggage was checked through to Manchester, and I was conveyed from the customer assistance lounge, taken through security checks and passport control to the boarding gate, then wheeled to the door of the flight where I was the second passenger to board.

Seating was comfortable enough, a slight seat recline, a lounge support for my legs, and a footrest, along with a blanket and a pillow. That was the beginning of the first leg of my journey of just 11h13, I guess I have done that a few times already.

A 3-hour stopover in Amsterdam before I board another flight to Manchester had me ensconced in the customer assistance lounge on comfortable seats. They should consider serving beverages rather than have people lumber off to the shops. A nearby toilet would be helpful too.

A chat with my support person

Then I was brought to boarding desk as one of the first to board. Arriving in Manchester, I stayed on the flight until everyone was almost off, my customer support wheelchair was up a flight of stairs and then I was conveyed to passport control and then to baggage reclaim.

The support assistant was from Somalia and after informing him of why I had travelled to South Africa, I explained why as a Black man he had to be conversant with his prostate health. His uncle recently had radiotherapy for throat cancer at the Christie Hospital and he had chaperoned his uncle a few times.

Between snatches of reality and humour, he got the message and point-blank refused a tip, he felt he had gained so much from our conversation and that was enough. I called an Uber for home and ended up in a luxury car, the driver from Africa had lived in Italy for two decades before coming to the UK.

You will always be understood

He was concerned about his lack of fluency in English that he felt was a handicap. My view was as long as he could put words together, he would be understood. He should always speak his mind and besides, many of those who would typically abuse him are not as successful as him driving an E-class Mercedes Benz, he should in fact celebrate his achievements.

Obviously, on some occasions, he simply got his son into the conversation with establishments or the authorities. Every likelihood was he would get whatever he intended done.

As I arrived at home, he helped unload my luggage and brought them into the foyer, all the help I received from door-to-door of about 18 hours was the preparation for rest after such a lengthy journey. I unlocked my door, my house sitter had outdone himself this time, somewhere between it having been hit by a super hurricane and a full ransack of the house, I was soon pushing a vacuum cleaner and brushing the floors. I found the energy; it was the very last straw.

Photons on the Prostate - XV

The need for quality support

When it comes to talking about cancer, I have had the best support from a Cancer Support Nurse Consultant (CSNC) recommended through support services with my place of work. We have scheduled monthly meetings where for sometimes more than an hour we can address all my concerns and issues around dealing with cancer.

Our first meeting which was via Microsoft Teams, and I insisted on an audiovisual engagement rather than plain audio, we talked for about two hours, and it involved giving her a full background on the process to the discovery of cancer and attendant issues.

Macmillan Cancer Support, the Christie Hospital, and my GP have been supportive but what I needed most of all was someone ready to spend time listening, understanding, appreciating, and recommending how to navigate a cancer diagnosis through treatment and recuperation.

I dare say my engagement with Prostate Cancer UK was a distraction. I was well on the way to having active treatment based on the diagnosis of malignant prostate cancer, but they thought I should delay treatment for active surveillance. While anyone would prefer not to endure surgery or radiotherapy, I could not postpone treatment for the comfort of normalcy while cancer was having a gnaw at my prostate gland.

The usefulness of helpful advice

My CSNC is a registered nurse and quite knowledgeable about many of the elements around pelvic area cancers. Most of the progressive solutions I have had to manage the symptoms and side effects along with after-treatment conditions have come through our conversations. Everyone else was just at the end of a telephone, she was there to be seen and heard. It made a whole lot of difference.

In our last meeting we talked about emerging symptoms and side effects with bowel functions. The literature suggested with radiotherapy, people have more issues with the bowel than the urinary or sexual functions. I however had serious urinary problems that I hardly noticed if bowel movements were regular and working as expected.

She then suggested the documented side effects are not essentially a textbook expectation, that side effects can occur at any time during and after treatment in no particular order along with the fact that for some people, they might not experience some side effects at all.

Some outstanding concerns to address

I was recommended to keep a diary of nutrition and excretion patterns, noting the regularity of movements to find what might be the issue beyond the healing process from radiotherapy. While my energy levels are improving, I still find that I tire easily, my need to use the conveniences intervenes with my comfort, and I need to sit down after walks.

Much as I want to believe I am doing well; I am still not where I need to be. I must consider if a phased return to regular activities is needed. That conversation can wait until late in January. What I must do now is relax, rest, recuperate, and recover. Manage the symptoms and side effects as best I can while celebrating the gift of life.

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - XIV

Blog - Men's things - Prostate Cancer blogs

Photons on the Prostate - XIV

Beyond radical radiotherapy

Three months ago today, I began radical radiotherapy for adenocarcinoma of the prostate. It is just six months after I received a confirmed diagnosis, and it needed immediate active treatment after consultation with a multidisciplinary team on options for surgery or radiotherapy.

I worked through the duration of radiotherapy and for a month after the completion of the treatment. However, increasingly, I suffered more impactful side effects that started with chronic fatigue, and issues with my urinary system that limited most outdoor activity as I needed to be close to available conveniences, and one unexpected effect was the way those elements appeared to affect my voice.

My voice became weak and strained, usually determined by my energy levels that was quite sub-optimal most of the time. While against what my body was telling me, I tried to continue as normal, I really had to take a break and have added domestic support that being at home did not offer.

Time off to recuperate

The decision to travel to South Africa while somewhat frail was not taken lightly, but I knew the essential support for my recuperation was best under the watchful care of my partner. I availed myself of all the customer assistance provided by the airline for my journey, no sense of determination could have propelled me through the experience.

I can attest there has been considerable progress, the occasions of fatigue are less frequent, the urinary issues while still needing medication have eased, the sound of my voice is much better with a few relapses, and the painful discomfort that needed opioid medication has completed gone and I have now totally weaned myself off codeine with minimal adverse effects.

The weather in Cape Town might have contributed to my recuperation. I can begin to consider a return to normalcy, which might take a process of reengagement. Much as I try not to have that preoccupy me and concentrate on recovery, there is a world to return to in the New Year.

Looking ahead

I am grateful for the support and care I have received through the period from anticipation when I first had exploratory tests in February, through further investigations, diagnosis, and treatment. My long-suffering partner, close friends, extraordinary neighbours, siblings, and colleagues compassionately accommodated my vulnerability with understanding.

Each time I present an update, I appreciate how it was fortuitous that we caught a high prostate-specific antigen (PSA) reading when we did because at the advent of my treatment, the PSA reading had fallen within the normal range, but for the fact that an MRI scan leading to a biopsy had detected Stage 2, yet malignant prostate cancer.

The need for men especially Black men over 45 to pay attention to their prostate health. Do the checks and have the tests, catch things early and have the best options for recovery.

Blog - Men's things - Prostate Cancer blogs

Blog - Photons on the Prostate - XIII

Other references

Prostate Cancer UK: Black men and prostate cancer

MedScape: International Prostate Symptom Score (IPSS) Calculator

Urology Care Foundation: Benign prostatic hyperplasia (BPH)

NHS: Prostate Specific Antigen (PSA) test

Prostate Cancer UK: The PSA blood test