Dave Kean

Like all children, I loved Christmas growing up. There was the anticipation, which led to the seemingly endless waiting. Watching the presents collect under the tree and wondering if Christmas day would ever actually arrive.

Of course as I grew older rumour on the playground was that Santa was not real, that it was just our parents. A year or two later I admitted that I knew and the innocence of childhood was slowly replaced by my typical brand of cynicism.

I know that some people just love this time of year. But as the year draws to a close and I start to think about the New Year, anticipating what comes next, I also find myself thinking about friends and family members that aren’t here.

People who will enriched my life no more, and this emptiness is repeated in countless households around the world.

I know that cancer isn’t the only disease that takes life, but its impact has been felt by many. It changes the life of both the afflicted and affected and very few people have not been touched by it in some way. Not a day goes by where I don’t think of mum or my grandfather.

My 2012 will be spectacular; I am building something very special and feel fortunate to have a close family and so many wonderful friends in my life. I face this year with more confidence that I have in many years, and I’ve not going to be able to share this with people important to me.

However, despite my naturally cynical nature I do have one request, that’s it, just I one measly little request.

I’d like a cure for cancer, that’s it.

Tweet

Its done, surgery went on for just about four and a half hours and thankfully the last thing I remember before the recovery room is being told to take a couple of deep breaths and count backwards from 10, last number I recall getting out was 8.

I was told in recovery (and some of this comes from Min, who had her shit together better than I did at that moment) that everything went very well. The important part is that the tumour was removed and the surgery went about as well as it is possibly could have.

Today I had a call from the surgeon where we went through what happened, that more of the base of my skull had to be removed than he hoped, and that took the time as it was very delicate and required using a smaller, more precise auger than he’d usually use. If all the tumour was not removed it has plenty of space to grow into over the next month or two without getting into anything vital. I prefer to see it as glass half–full.

My balance is OK, I’m struggling to get through doorways with out hitting them. That’s is hopefully down to only having one good ear and it will get better. During surgery they had to remove the bones in my eardrum and did a partial rebuild with some very sexy looking titanium pieces that should restore some hearing to my right ear, but we won’t know for sure until the swelling goes down.

There has been a lot of pain (and great pain drugs) and when I took the dressing off there was more blood than I was told to expect. The eardrum is still bleeding, but the incision around the back of the ear cleaned up OK at the clinic. I really don’t look good with a shaved head.

Thanks to Min for the ride, thanks my dear your presence when I came around meant so much. To Rob and J for hanging out with me last night and today. And to everyone else for the e-mails, calls and texts. I have the best support group, even the nurse yesterday said that.

I went to Safeway to get some cat litter today, upon reflection that was a mistake and I felt far more out of it than I expected. It’s a drive I’ve done 100’s of times and it took so much concentration to remember where I was going. I’ve learned from that error.

Time for more nasty drugs and a nap. Next doctors appointment is Thursday and then more recovery.

I could not sleep last night, not really surprising considering, so if this does not make much sense then that’s what I’ll blame it on rather than the usual narcissism and lack of talent. I was sitting in my office at home and pulled out some slides (as in photo slides) of a trip I took in ’92 to South East Asia. I’ve talked about this briefly before; the short version is I was traveling through South East Asia for a few months accompanied by a Swiss girl, Lili. It was a wonderful time, having the chance to fully indulge a passion and just what people in their 20’s should take the opportunity to do.

This all happened in late March, about 10 days after we watched sunrise sitting on top of an active volcano. We traveled across the Bali Straight from Java to Bali and down to the tourist resort of Kuta. We spent a few days there before heading up into the mountains of Bali and Ubud. The mountains of Bali are just beautiful and I really need to find a way to get some of my slides scanned. After Ubud and the Elephant temple, Monkey forest and just wonderful scenery we ended up in Lovina. It is a stunning place, 5 miles of unspoilt black sand beach looking over a beautiful, beautiful bay. Bali is a beautiful place and this was a lifetime away from the crowded beached of Kuta and Nusa Dua.

Lovina is known for two things, the fantastic beach and dolphins. And like most tourists that ended up there, we were there for the latter, but the beach was wonderful.

Throughout Indonesia there is someone selling something, at Lovina it was Sarongs and boat rides to see the dolphins. As we stepped onto the beach we were greeted with “Sarong… You buy sarong…” repeated over and over by a couple of persistent sales women. According to my diary we brought four sarongs between us as presents for 20,000 rupiah, which was about $7 at the time.

We weren’t there to shop; we were there for the dolphins. That meant we had to get up at 6am, walk down to the beach and get on a boat that motored out into the bay.

At the time I wrote, “There were 4 of us on the narrow boat and we were joined by other boats, I counted 17 in total. All jockeying for position in the bay. One of the boats spotted the school of dolphins, the call went out and off they went.”

“The dolphins were coming right up to the sides of the boats and after a couple of minutes the dolphins disappeared under the water.  The boats slow until someone spots them and the chase is on again. The dolphins come right up to the boats and the whole thing was well worth the early start.”

Indonesia really was one of my top traveling experiences. Yeah, you can enjoy great beaches and nightlife at places like Kuta, but there is so much more to see like the history of Borobudur and the beauty of Ubud. It’s a vast country, and I saw very little of it, but what I did was wonderful. It was traveling at its finest, adventurous, off the beaten track with welcoming hosts and so much to experience.

It has been a weekend with a lot to get done, a lot to prepare for, drugs to be taken, house to be cleaned and thoughts to be distracted. As part of that I took a trip Safeco to watch a rather resurgent Mariners team taking on the leagues best in Philadelphia. A good Mariners win, he first I’ve seen since last May I think. A beautiful night for baseball.

Today is surgery, I’m getting picked up at 6 to head to the hospital, and I’m scared. I’ve had friends phoning and just seeing how I am, friends are planning on staying over once I’m home and I’m so grateful for all the offers of help and messages of support.

Today as part of the preparation I got my head buzzed, #0 blade all over, and it’s not a good look for me.

The distractions have been good, thanks guys.

A man walks into a doctor’s office. He has a cucumber up his nose, a carrot in his left ear and a banana in his right ear.
“What’s the matter with me?” he asks the doctor.
The doctor replies, “You’re not eating properly.”

What a day, a lot to think about and not much to say right now. The problems with the tumour are more significant than we hoped for, so round one of surgery has been brought forward 5 weeks to next week. Finish the current round of chemo and then it’s time to open me up and start trimming pieces out.

There are a couple of big issues, but the biggest is the tumour putting pressure on the jugular. This is increasing the blood pressure in my brain and it needs to be taken care of quickly. Out of everything we talked about, looked at, poked and prodded at for four hours today with the surgeon and oncologist, taking a scalpel to something around my jugular scares me the most.

And I think that’s a reasonable thing to be scared at.

Just the view out the back of my house,,.

I’m so touched by the support and calls I’ve received over the last few days. Friends I saw in Montreal who called to see what the results were, someone who insisted they be there for me today, bosses at work who shared personal experiences and called HR managers to make sure I had what I needed. People have insisted they are taking me there, waiting for me, staying overnight and so on, and so on.

Thanks guys, all of you, I promise I’ll find a way to show you how I appreciate it.

I’ve been plenty emotional today, not unreasonably. The most emotional part was when someone said not to worry about the cats, they would be looked after if anything happened. We both lost it at that moment.

Yesterday I spent a lot of time with friends. A little time sitting on the beach and a quiet drink, followed by nap (which came after day-2, I’m really appreciating naps again) and then an evening sitting on the deck with friends drinking chocolate Martinis, explaining cricket, looking at CAT scans, deciding who is getting what,  joking about work, telling rally stories and generally laughing my ass off.

It got pretty dark at times and it is a very different type of therapy, but damned effective last night.

Tracy get’s the Miata, she asked first. Carey gets the tools, he desperately needs some level of organization to his garage. Mindy gets to spread some of my ashes on my favourite rally stages, a little on Pikes Peak on the open hairpin bellow the W’s and a little more on the E-town stage in Maine, specifically on the “R4/C> !TREE OUTSIDE” (she was clear she needs some explicit instructions on the where). Mathew has first pick of my prints and on it went…

Yeah it was jet-black humour at times, but by fuck it was effective to know I have friends who know me well enough and were willing to go there. Being more of a quiet, sober observer last night perhaps made it even more effective.

And if the unsteady stagger to the car in heels was anything to go by (which got an ovation from those of us watching from the house, it was that impressive) at least one person will be keeping her husband awake tonight driving the porcelain bus.

Monday morning started way too early, as Mondays tend to do, with a drive to Vancouver to catch a direct flight to Toronto. The drive was almost spot on two hours and other than the early start a breeze. But in return for dragging my arse out of bed at 3:15 I was rewarded with a just magnificent sunrise over the Cascades.

The northwest really is a beautiful part of the world.

I sat in a restaurant in Vancouver Airport getting breakfast and the TV is on. The Canucks are playing for the Stanley cup and are up 2-0 in a best of 7 series with two narrow wins at home.

Game 3 is in Boston tonight and it seems like everyone who works in the airport is wearing a Canucks shirt or hat, all the screens in the airport have a “Go Canucks Go” ticker across the bottom

The first 15 minutes of the local news bulletins are about the Canucks, and even the local news is broadcasting from Boston today. This is a big deal, and it should be.

I digress and once again my narrative is non-linier (see I’m a writer, maybe not a good one, but I understand enough to recognise a non-linier narrative and yes the book is starting to get a little shape to it, thank you for asking).

As I was driving north this morning, just as the sun was peeking over the Cascades I suddenly felt absolutely over whelmed by what’s going on. I thought of my family in England, my just amazing friends.

A year or so ago my ex went into one of her monologues about how bad a person I was, how lonely and how sad my life was. I remember her saying that I will talk about my friends, but really I’m alone and sad. Classic ex for those who know her, making herself feel better by putting down those around her.

Something this morning reminded me of that lecture. Yes there is the irony is that as she is becoming more and more isolated as the year goes on, but that’s another discussion. Over the last year I seen time and time again that I have so many friends, some incredible friendships. I say this not to prove her wrong, as I stopped caring a long time ago, but because these people have always been a huge part of my life and there were times I let that get away from me a little.

I really do feel thankful for my incredible family and my friends that make up my surrogate family in the US. Thank you, no matter if you live in Washington, Vermont, Oregon, California or where ever, thank you from the bottom of my heart.

These are people that I believe in and in return believe in me.

I just started crying, I could not hold it in and had to pull over for a few minutes. The emotions were not of feeling sorry for myself, but being thankful for the richness of my life today. That I have so many people who get me and are willing to bring the discussions down to my level.

The support I’ve had over the last three years, especially over the last 5 days has been overwhelming and this morning the emotions got the better of me and all of a sudden it needed to come out. And it did while sitting on an exit ramp just south of Bellingham.

So to Tracy, Alex, Carey, Mathew, JB, Min, Rebecca, Mike, Carl, Bill, William, Roger, Kim, Tom, Deb, Kat, Andrew, Chris, Anna-Marie, Stephen, Bob, Rob, Rob, Rob and the rest of you, thank you so very, very much. Know the calls, the emails, your time and most importantly friendship is all greatly, greatly appreciated.

I have the richest and most wonderful life, and I appreciate that.

Visiting someone for what may be the last time is a strange and rather complex thing. With my grandfather it was pretty clear this was about it. With mum I really hoped there would be at least one more time. Both visits ended with the same words “I love you”, both times my elder was coherent and knew we were saying goodbye.

I love mum and miss her and would wanted one more visit. Not to say goodbye, but because it’s mum. Over the previous few years I’d got used to seeing her sick, and clearly this was sicker than ever before. I was accustomed to the thin hair, the way her skin was and how quickly she got tired.

The last time with mum there was no jokes, no lectures, and no “Da Vid…” All things that had filled the room in the past, even on the day before.

Granddad said he was ready before he went, never to any of the grandkids, but to mum and she let me know. It’s shocking how much comfort that gives me even today.

I don’t think mum was scared before she died, I know she was not quite ready. She wanted to be at home and never quite made it.

I’ve often thought about one last visit and what it would have been like. I can’t help but wonder. How would I make it through? What piece of denial would fill the room now there are no lectures or jokes.

I’ll never know. The last words were “I love you” and we both knew it to be true.

Now if you will excuse me, I’ve a pile of pills and prescriptions to sort out and work out what needs to be taken when.

I’m still not 100% sure how I’m going to handle this, how much I’m going to talk about what’s going on, but for now this is up.

“When someone goes after you, the only way is to take the fight to them” – Sir Vivian Richards.

Not sure why I pulled out a Viv Richards quote, but it seems to fit after the last 72 hours. That time has been full of expletives, running around, discussions, emotions, distractions, planning, understanding, meetings, contemplation, talking, decisions and a few tears.

Everything has been so compressed, so sudden and once again first time I take a moment to breath I find friends have rallied round as soon as they heard. And they are being perfect. I’ll get onto what gets described as the tyranny of positive thinking at some other time, but once again I know I have the best friends and family there is.

The short version of events is this started about 6 weeks ago, it felt like an ear infection and I ignored it for a few days before finally going to me doctor. He looked in said “yep, text book ear infection” and prescribed some antibiotics and that was that.

The antibiotics did not do much over the next ten days, so he prescribed stronger ones and once again they did not do much. He referred me to the Ear-Nose-Throat specialist, and that appointment was Wednesday. The ENT looked in my ear, then stuck a probe up my nose and much to her credit kept a very professional bedside manner as she told me to wait while she arranged a CAT scan and MRI for Thursday morning and a follow up appointment on Friday.

Friday I arrived for my meeting to be introduced to a surgeon who asked me to sit down and immediately goes into how there is a growth behind my right ear that’s crushed the eardrum and has invaded the usually air-filled bone that makes up the base of my skull. He’s clear this is bad news and I suddenly want to throw up.

Over the next hour he talks me through the CAT scans and MRI. There are time I don’t understand what they are saying, there are othe moments when I’m just staring at the screen feeling numb. They answer my questions and then it comes to the $64,000 question we’ve both been skirting. What does it mean, and what are we going to do about it.

“The what does it mean?” part was easy, none of the three of us in the room had to say it, but he did anyway. The cancer is back, and it’s an aggressive one.

As for the second part, the “what are we going to do about it?” question, there was a moment of silence and he calmly said “We are going to shrink it, take the pressure off the brain and then we are going to cut it out.” Ever so matter-of-factly. I may go into the rest of that conversation another time, but I’m trying not to dwell on the cutting out part, that’s scaring the shit out me right now, by the current timetable it’s going to be sometime in late July.

I spent last night out with friends, they worked very hard at keeping me distracted and we ended up in Neumos in Seattle listening to Hells Belles, an all-girl AC/DC cover band who did a fine job in keeping me occupied and pretending everything was normal until late into the night.

This morning was another doctors appointment at UW, I’m not in the mood to go into that in detail, but the first round of chemo, oral this time, has been started and it looks like I can tolerate this OK. Which is good, as I’ve big plans for the next week that I really don’t want to break.

Again I will never be able to show my appreciation to the best group of friends anyone has ever had, how they were immediately there and understand the support I need by just calling to see if I’m OK rather than seeing it as a problem that’s there to be solved.

It’s ever so comfortable to have people I’ve known more than a decade just get how I am and what I need. The last three days have been brutal and I intend to write about a lot of that in some detail, but I believe in myself, in the team looking after me and maybe most importantly the people I choose to have in my life.

As I said at the beginning there has been a lot of tears and emotions, this is not straightforward, it’s been mis-diagnosed for approaching two months and this is a complication. It’s taken me a couple of hours to write this, I’ve stopped a number of times for little emotional breaks and I will get into the feelings and emotions behind those another time.

One of my friends this morning did suggest I name the tumour, and conveniently she had a name in mind for it. I’m not going to go into it here, but it’s not much of a surprise to people who know me. She finished the phone call by telling me to look forward to one day being able to say “X the bitch is gone!”

I’m open to suggestions about what it should be called; I really have the best people in my life.

Mum “David, why are you reading a motorbike magazine”

Me “Because I’m thinking about… err getting… a motorbike… Maybe…”

I now know exactly where this conversation is going next, and all of a sudden I’m 14 again and it’s not going to go well.

My mother is in bed with cancer and can hardly move. Yet somehow she draws deep and finds the energy to roll back the clock 26 years to give her 38 year old son a scolding… This is why I fly 5500 miles and deal with changing airplanes in the outer ring of hell known as Atlanta. Awesome…

Mum “Da Vid…”

Yep, my name is pronounced as two separate words, this confirms what’s coming…

Mum “Why would you want to buy one of those?”

Dad is sitting across the other side of the hospital bed, he sits back to watch and starts smiling at what he knows is coming.

Mum “You’re 38… Why would you want a motorbike? Tommy tell him to stop being stupid…”

The grin disappears from dads face with a start, he’s now involved, he decides (wisely) not to say anything, knowing that 2 or 3 seconds of silence is all that’s required before…

Mum “David I worry about you so much already, you are not getting a motorbike…”

Ooooh, well played dad. He’s out the game and did not even need to open his mouth. If only I had that skill…

Me “Mum, I’m 38, if I want a bike I’ll get a bike. I’m just looking, I’ve not decided I will actually get one…”

Mum “I worry so much, if there is anything dangerous to be done, you’ll do it. Won’t you?”

Me “Biking is not dangerous”

Oh shit, all that’s missing is the “but muuummmm…” whine to start the sentence. I’ve lost, but how do I get out of this with any semblance of dignity?

Mum “Yes it is, Caroline’s son… You remember Natalie? And her daughter Caroline? Natalie was at Marks wedding. Anyway… He fell off his motorbike and hurt himself! It is dan-ger-ous and you are not to do it! Is that clear?”

Mum hardly pauses for breath and continues  “I worry about you enough now that you live in America and do that racing thing, you are not getting a motorbike! Is that clear? And you are too old for that racing thing you do, you’rs not supposed to be doing that at your age.”

I’ve done that “racing thing” for the last 24 years, it’s not the first time I’ve heard this part of the argument. I remind myself to stay away from the “I’m here now aren’t I, I’ve not died?” logic. History shows reasoned arguments do not do well.

I catch movement out of the corner of my eye and that’s my dignity making its exit with out me… Well fuck…

Mum “I just want you to be safe and happy…”

Me “OK, I’m not getting a bike, you are right it’s dangerous.”

Mum changes track “No need to be sarcastic, you are old enough to do what you want. I just want you to be happy.”

Me “But Muu-umm, I was not being sarcastic”

Mum “David” said rapid fire now. “But are you happy?”

Me “No, I don’t have a motorbike.”

Mum left me a series of mostly short notes, I left them in England after the funeral and have conspicuously ignored them since. Not 100% sure why, I think it’s mostly just the emotions around them.

I read a couple and put the rest in my bag to read once I get home, perhaps accompanied by a nice bottle of wine. Though, as it’s mum, maybe whiskey would be more appropriate.

It’s taken me a while to get there, but I’ve read a few and there have been a few consistent themes. First is the love she has for dad, my brother, her granddaughter and myself. Secondly she is proud of how I’ve made my way in world. Most importantly she wants me to be happy too.

Family around mums bed in the RSCH

I have spent the last couple of days thinking about my foundations, the things that shape our formative years and make us the people we are today.

I spent my teenage years and perhaps the first ten years or so after I left secondary school in a voracious quest for experiences, travel and following passions for racing cars and seeing some obscure corners of the world. I had some adventures, made a lot of mistakes and I think learned something from both the experiences and the people they brought into my life. Some made brief appearances, others I worked alongside for a year or two and a few are still there.

I am still on something of a quest for experiences. Certainly not as focused as I once was, more sure of what I want and the compromises I am willing to make to get what I’m after.

Growing up I was a rather clumsy child, any athletic or academic success came because something (or more often) someone engaged me. I think every report card that came home from school had “Could try harder” written against more than one subject.

There were exceptions, geography, geology, physics and playing rugby were about it. I had some exceptional teachers in people like Mick Shehan, Jane Croker and Mike Dearsley, all motivated and taught me lessons that have never left me.

At 16 I left school, apprenticed myself to the Ministry of Defence, occasionally wore a uniform discovered motor racing, independent travel and never really looked back. I know I could never afford to see the world on my terms so I found a career that allowed me to travel on the company credit card. I got to see some far corners of the world, had some incredible experiences that I’d never had got any other way and have never regretted the choices I made.

After 10 years or so of working I found myself at the end of one of life’s cul-de-sacs, I had gone about as far as my talent and enthusiasm for late nights and continual jetlag could take me in the world of professional motorsport and was clearly getting burnt out on the travel and hours.

At this point I was not sure what was my next step was, to give me a bit of time I went to college and became what we’ll euphemistically call a “mature student”. I think it meant I had a better developed alcohol tolerance when I arrived.

A 26-year-old Dave walked through the gates of coventry university and thought he had an identity. In reality I can see it was more a series of masks that I was trying on for size. The word “person” unsurprisingly comes from “persona”, this is Greek for “mask”. I’m at that point in life where I’m done with the masks, for good or bad.

Going to university was a big deal for me, growing up college was never seriously an option. The expectation was that I would leave school at 16, go out and learn a trade and make my way in the world. No one from my family went to college and besides my parents could not have afforded it. Truthfully, I’m not sure I would have had the motivation to complete my degree had I started at 18.

I finished my degree and through a strange set of circumstances ended up in Seattle and had myself one of those career thingies. Don’t get me wrong I work for an exceptional an exceptional employer, I’ve had a lot of fun leaned a lot about engineering, aeroplanes and made some great friends, but I kinda lost some of the passions I’d had 15 years earlier, working hard and then an unexpected encounter with cancer at 35 made me spend a lot of time re-evaluating.

I’ve never been one for the self help books that seem to be on many nightstands and claim to help you find that ever elusive passion. I know what my passions are, racing cars, adrenalin and genuine connections.

I know that individual perfection I once strived for is impossible. I’m starting to understand my foundations and where they come from. They have to be accepted and lived with, and that alone has come as something of a relief.

This is all part of what I’m still trying to work out and that I’m not making bold statements that “I know who I am”. I’m saying that I think I’ve a more realistic view of my identity and myself.

I’ve been been shy about a lot of the last couple of years. The loss of my mother after a three year battle with cancer was huge, coming soon after the loss of my grandfather in 2008. I really lost the plot for a while, I’m pretty sure was not a great person to be around at times, and I’m truly sorry for that.

Today is another tough day, Dad is undergoing surgery and I’m sitting here in Starbucks on Guildford High Street reflecting and waiting for the call to say he’s out of surgery. I understand what I’ve lost, that was fairly easy, but getting back there, that’s the hard part.

Sorry if this does not make total sense, it’s been that kind of a day.

Today was an emotional day, it’s the third birthday since mum succumbed to breast cancer and she has been on my mind a lot. Today I got a card from dad, he wrote in the card

“Happy Birthday. We are very proud to have you as a son”

This has been a rough day, this evening after I opened the card was especially tough.

Most of us don’t get very far in life without experiencing the death of someone we love. Now I’m in my 40’s people seem to be kicking off at an increasing rate. In the last decade friends have passed, lost spouses, been killed in car crashes and died of cancer. It’s quite the toll when I think about it. I’ve gone to more funerals than I wanted to and probably fewer than I should have.

I lost the last of my grandparents 18 months ago. Other than my parents my grandfather was the person I was closest too in my family. He lived a wonderful life, lived it on his terms, showed unconditional love and his house was usually the first place I’d visit when I arrived in England for a visit.

My father, brother and myself are all non-believers (despite the best efforts of a few friends and colleagues) and I do think that perhaps we could have learned something from the life instructions that religion can offer. A good argument could be made that most religion really started out as a way of trying to understand death a little and maybe make sense out of the loss of a beloved.

When Mum passed a couple of years ago after a long illness I was devastated. I had nowhere to put my pain, no place to show it other than maybe in the shower or in the car. People would ask, “How are you doing?” and I would reply that I was fine and not want to make any more of it than that. I learned to welcome small talk so I could skip describing my grief.

The reality is this has been life-altering. We recover, we get over the initial pain but life is not quite the same. Often it’s the little things that bring it back. One of the more constant reminders is when I call my parents house and dad answers the phone. For the last 25 years dad  almost never picked up, mum always answered with the cheerful and slightly surprised sounding “Oh hello David” before launching in to what ever family gossip of drama she felt I needed to know. I call dad most days and there is a part of me that still expects mum to be on the other end with her distinctive opening.

After watching mum fight cancer for three years before finally succumbing I discovered we must give grief its time and place, and that period may be so much longer than most of us are comfortable with in a world that moves with the pace of this one today.