by Keith Brady
Here I am, just over three years down the track, still surviving a glioblastoma. A nasty bugger it is, or was. When I look back, my journey feels strangely filled with good luck.
Friday, 21 June 2022 was an entirely unremarkable day. It was the start of a long holiday weekend here in New Zealand, nothing more. At the time, I was attending a video conference meeting with a contractor in my role as Acting Construction Manager at New Zealand’s only petrochemical facility. About halfway through the meeting, a massively painful headache hit me. That was the only sign that something was seriously wrong.
After the meeting, I took some painkillers, ate some food, and went for a walk, hoping to shake whatever this was. Fortunately, someone in the office realized something wasn’t right and called an ambulance. I had no idea this was happening. By then, I was becoming disoriented and confused. All I wanted to do was vomit, go home, rest for the long weekend, and try to sleep it off. That wasn’t to be.
At the hospital, a CT scan showed a mass in my head. I was told I needed to go to Auckland Hospital for an MRI to determine what the mass was. More luck came my way when I was flown by air ambulance instead of going by road. Our roads are not ideal, and as I later learned, the tumor was very large. It had pushed my brain slightly off center and was pressing on my brain stem. Too much head movement was not a good idea, so the smoother air transport may well have been lifesaving.
Within 48 hours of the MRI, the tumor was removed. The surgeon said it needed to happen as soon as possible, as things were not looking good. More luck followed. The surgeon explained that the tumor was in a location that was relatively accessible and could likely be fully removed. The surgery was successful.
I can still function mostly like a normal walking, talking human, whatever normal means these days, though with a few issues along the way.
Three weeks later, the results came back. They were not what I expected. In my mind, surgery was the end of the story. I thought that within weeks, or maybe months at worst, I would be back to normal and back at work. I was wrong on both counts.
Because I was feeling so much better after surgery, I truly believed there was no way it could be cancer. I was wrong again. When I heard the prognosis, something in me refused to accept it. First, I told them they had it wrong. Then, when they said there were occasionally outliers who survived a bit longer, I decided that was it.
I was going to be an outlier. Why not?
I was going to fight this thing with everything I had. There was a slim chance of surviving, and I was going to take it, thank you very much. This skinny little weed was not going down that easily.
The initial seven weeks of radiotherapy, along with daily chemotherapy, went surprisingly well. I was not sick. I lost some hair and felt a bit lightheaded, but that was about it. The six-month chemotherapy regime was much tougher. Every three weeks, I took five days of chemo, and the first day always meant a couple of hours of vomiting. Those six months were physically hard.
At the same time, they were some of the best months of my life. I socialized a lot, tried to live as normally as possible, and appreciated the everyday routines of life. I swam regularly, saw friends, and even used my chainsaw, much to my oncologist’s dismay. It was exhausting, but it was good.
The best part was that my head felt decluttered. It was as if all the rubbish had been removed, and I could think and see things more clearly. I told myself I was going to do more with my life. In my spare time, I would solve all the problems in the world too. I just needed a bit more energy.
Throughout this entire journey, I held onto the belief that no matter how dire things became, this was not going to get me. I felt as though I had been given an opportunity to start fresh, to do something else with my life, and I was determined to take it with both hands.
The cancer, the surgery, and possibly the radiotherapy have all had lasting impacts. I live with an acquired brain injury. My livelihood was taken away. I experience ongoing fatigue and frequent headaches. That is the reality.
And still, I feel lucky.
I am alive and kicking thanks to modern medicine, skilled and compassionate people, luck, hope, and a positive mindset from day one. I am now carving out a whole new life, and I am enjoying it.
In the past 18 months, I have written a book that is now published on Amazon. I have also done several public speaking events, something that once terrified me. Now I embrace it, along with all the other changes in my life.
There is still plenty more ahead. Somehow, I am very lucky to have had this happen to me.
