Wednesday, 17 February 2016

Guest Post - Ross Clarke

My brother, how to tell you how much you mean to me as you slip away?

How to put words on the unthinkable, find some way to capture the pain, sorrow and loss.

I don’t have to. One look in your eyes says it all. Through our gazes I feel closer to you than ever before, I get the slightest sense of what you must be going through. And it makes my heart ache. More than it ever has before.

The day you called from the hospital when all this begun is etched in my memory forever. Seeing you the next day finding the humour in being paralysed on one half set the tone for how you would take on the worst life can throw at us.

And I remember you saying this happened to you because you were the one out of all of us who could cope with it best. Never was a truer word spoken my friend. Never were you angry, full of hurt or pity. You took it on as one of many challenges you’ve faced – with determination, grit and grace.

So despite it all, these past 18 or so months have been filled with joy, love and laugh with one liners and wise cracks that only you could think up. You’ve always been more concerned with how things impact on others rather than yourself. Through this you’ve taught us what counts in this fragile life. Thanks Cam.

I don’t know what comes next. But I know this – what we do in this life counts. When we fill our lives with love, purpose, commitment and wit (all very brownian qualities), it matters. It shapes whatever comes next, and what we leave behind.

And you sir have crammed more into your precious years than many do in a full life. Tennis prodigy, MBA graduate, social entrepreneur, environmental power house, the list goes on and on. And all done with vintage style and swagger, a brilliant soundtrack, way too much humility, and a razor wit.

All of that is pretty damn impressive. And I have to admit to more than a touch of jealousy at times. But it pales in comparison to who you are as a person – loving, kind, gentle and fun. A heart of gold. A great friend.

I cherish our time together whether it be in Melbourne, Sri Lanka or London. So many memories that will stay with me and fill some small part of the massive hole you’ll leave behind. And no one can take those from us: sharing some musical treats, frisbee in the park, the little moments when the magic happens.

The only way I can make sense of this all is to take every opportunity given to me, but taken from you, and fill it with as much Cam as possible. As a husband, I will love and support the way you do Nikki. As a father, I will love my kids more than ever knowing this is something you dearly wanted and had planned together. As a professional, I will make sure my work means something and serves a greater purpose.

And as a person, I will always strive to be as kind, gentle and comically gifted as you are my friend. I’ve started doing this already and it’s led me to follow my heart. So thanks Cam, giving right to the very end.

You are one of the special ones Cam, don’t ever forget that.

Go quietly and gently my brother. Be in peace knowing that you have a world of love for you here and you have lived a life rich in love, meaning and laughs.

See you on the other side my friend.

Love for always,


Wednesday, 27 January 2016

Guest Post: Nik Devidas & Stephen Roux - Cam’s Food Odyssey - 2016

Cam’s Food Odyssey - 2016

To carry on the theme of Cam’s blog, we’re sticking with tennis and sport in general.
Momentum in the physical world is pretty well understood. p=mv to be precise. (Cam is super smart and will appreciate that.. We had to look it up). Momentum in sport, however, is largely an enigma (known as Psychological Momentum: PM).

You’ve heard it before: “in the zone”, “on a roll” and from one of Cam’s favourite 90’s video games: “he’s on fire!”. And then the opposite, negative PM: “he’s looking flat out there”, “can’t seem to get going” or again NBA Jam: “can’t buy a bucket”.

In sport, psychological momentum has been defined as ‘a bi-directional concept, affecting either the probability of winning or the probability of losing as a function of the outcome of the preceding event’. Psychological momentum has also been defined in relation to perceptions of moving towards a goal.

If you could bottle positive PM, you would... and you’d take it every day.

Upon hearing the news of Cam first feeling the effects of the tumour in October 2014 (which he mentioned exactly as “Well I’ve had an eventful weekend!”) Team Brown was born and we’ve been trying to keep positive PM going for Cam.

Team Brown’s primary mission is to distract. Not in a nuisance kind of way, but to distract both Cam and Nikki from their day-to-day grind of doctors, appointments, medicines and the anxiety that comes from dealing with a terminal illness.

Whilst Team Brown has arranged many outings and experiences, he has been bombarded with his great love: food. Food was never going to fix his cancer, but it does have a powerful psychological impact on one’s sense of self.

Since Cam’s diagnosis, we’ve all marvelled at his approach and dedication to try anything that might enhance his quality of life. Since knowing Cam we’ve also marvelled at his eating capacity, which is breathtaking to say the least.

Cam has been a vegetarian for as long as we’ve known him and he even had a few stints as a vegan, so it was with a great sense of amusement that he announced that he was going to follow the ketogenic diet (which is mainly proteins and fats). Ketogenic diets reduce seizure activity in epileptic patients and it’s believed it can slow tumour growth - the diet did have a positive impact on the former.

So whilst Cam’s Food Odyssey did actually start quite soon after diagnosis, this article will cover off some of the more memorable moments for Cam since he arrived back in Australia on 14 October, 2015…

“Stuff this Ketogenic diet, bring me a vanilla slice!”
A few days after they landed we arrived at Nikki’s parent’s house to the sight of an incredibly shiny Cam Brown. He’d been off the ketogenic diet for only a few hours and had managed to stuff his face full of as much chocolate as he could find - but what he really wanted was vanilla slice!

5 vanilla slices were presented (and 2 slices of hedgehog) and he downed 3 vanilla slices, 2 hedgehogs all topped with ice-cream. His shiny complexion became more of a sticky feature on his skin and he called an end to the night early as he drifted off to sleep.

The next morning Nikki requested that we don’t bring any more sugary goodness because the sugar farts even kept the dog up all night… plus he experienced an almighty seizure that night as well.

It didn’t take long before chocolate started creeping into his diet. Nikki was trying to get a balance between keeping Cam happy and keeping sugar farts to a low…

Coffee loading

Once Cam was admitted to palliative care in November there was a moment of peace for Nikki’s nostrils where Cam followed the ketogenic diet and occasionally indulged on some 98% cocao chocolate.

Coffee was the most requested item and you would be given some evil looks if you didn’t arrive with at least one double-shot flat white. Nikki had to get in early on her coffee otherwise it would be snapped up by Cam quite quickly.
Coffee down Brunswick St.
Espresso martini! Moments after this picture was taken a Fitzroy "druggie" tried to steal Cam. One thousand Thank You's to the good Samaritan who stepped in and stopped them!

During this time Cam and Nikki were able to enjoy some home cooked meals from family and friends, a highlight coming when Carly and Ange had the ingenious idea to bring in a Thermomix so that Cam could cook a meal for himself.

The inbuilt, computerised recipe book and touchscreen wizardry meant that Cam could do the cooking by pressing a button. That night he was able to treat his friends to a marvellous ketogenic dinner of beef stronganoff, cauliflower rice and a mixed berry smoothie.

Chocolate loading

The “occasional” indulgence of chocolate turned into a competition with himself, and wow could he put chocolate away. Ange prepared a keto chocolate tart that lasted less than an hour in the room, which then led to the next loading phase.

Pick a block; any block
Is there something in my teeth?
Now THAT'S a tart! Ange Guest's famous keto tart

Cake loading

Whilst this phase obviously climaxed in the now famous 1kg cake eating contest, this phase saw Cam taste and trial all number of cakes and pastries.

Portugese tarts were a favourite, donuts (both supermarket and hipster style), more vanilla slices, baklava, custard tarts, pancakes… you name it - anything that had sugar and butter was now firmly on the menu and being devoured with intent.

Gloves off

As Cam’s ability to speak gradually declined, his appetite seemed to rise to a ferocity only seen by Japanese hotdog eating champions. Old favourites were ordered in plentiful amounts, such as fish & chips, ethiopian and afghani - mixed with plenty of home cooked meals.

Previously untouched fast food was now on the menu:
  • McDonald’s
  • KFC & Korean fried chicken
  • Dim sims
  • Dodgy chinese
  • Pulled Pork Po Boy
  • “Beef Debris” Po Boy

Beef Debris
Finger lick'n gooooood

All firsts for Cam and eaten with glee… and on almost every occasion washed down with some ice-cream.

An old favourite game we used to play was to have a selection of ice-cream’s available at a dinner party, then play a game of Paper Scissors Rock (PSR) to determine which ice-cream you could select. Summer and Ange had such a PSR competition with Cam, who not only won with his left-field strategy of going paper every time - but then demanded to eat all of the ice-creams anyway. His house; his rules.

The highlight
Without a doubt, the highlight of Cam's Food Odyssey was a dinner arranged by Cam himself - a private dinner for Nikki to say thank you. You can read more about it here.
All dressed up for the big night

Chatting to Chef Simon Wonge

The Odyssey’s conclusion

As our dear mate enters his last moments with us we’re happy to have provided him with some moments of joy in an otherwise desperate situation. We’ve done our best to keep some positive PM going - even if it’s Nikki reminding him that a friend is bringing a vanilla slice later that day: it has all helped.

They say that food is the way to a man’s heart, and we feel privileged to have been able to have brought some joy to his last few months. So many friends have contributed to Cam’s Food Odyssey (far more than can be captured in this one post) and Cam & Nikki have absolutely cherished the time with everyone.

On behalf of Cam and Nikki: Thank you :)

Thursday, 7 January 2016

Guest post: Vince Anderson

It would be of deep regret for me to not make a contribution to Browny and the Brain, a diary of Cameron’s which we have all read with a variety of emotions during the course of his illness over the past 18 months.  In honour of his current condition, I hope to kick-off his blog for 2016, though I don’t profess to approximate Cam’s wit and intrinsic ability to self-depricate, nor his delicate and unique ability to generate tennis puns…
I have known Cam since 1992, through high school, Melbourne University and beyond.  It is a friendship truly valued, as Cam – as you all know – is a person of the highest calibre.  Growing up effortlessly cool, flamboyant and talented in Bendigo in the 1990’s (who wasn’t?), Cam Brown was that slightly annoying person who was that bit better at everything than you were.  A representative visit to the Victorian table tennis championships (where we were both out of our depth) became bittersweet after Cam was selected as number one seed for our school, me number two.  Cam is the student, who in completing year twelve, got that tertiary entrance rank “a little bit more 99…” than mine was, despite more giggling and more truancy than one would expect of someone so damn smart.  He even holds the hot-lap record time for Luigi Raceway 1 in our after-school Super Mario Kart league of 1994.  Our friendship has evolved as it has been maintained, and I’ve had the privilege of travelling with Cam, including a month with him in Japan.  There we ate the most bizarre morsels together, slept on the floor together, bathed nude together – you know, all the usual stuff.  Bromance truly is a beautiful thing. 

Cam, Chris Heywood, and me in Year 12

I have had many people commend me for the mercy dash to the UK eight weeks ago, though praise is something I would happily do without if it meant Cam had his health.  Besides, last year I asked Cam to visit the cultural backwater of Perth to perform a reading at my wedding, so I guess I owed him a favour.  So with eight hours notice, my bag was packed, work was on hold, and I was up, up and away.
They say that a crisis is something that gets in the way when life is being lived, and Cam and Nikki were both certainly living life to the fullest in London.  As is the usual Cam style, he’d continued his record of overachievement in the early part of 2014, graduating as one of the top of his class in a London Business School MBA!  LBS is not the Frankston Institute of TAFE – the school draws the most impressive students from all over the world.  While in London, I met several of his MBA friends who described with reverence the same Cam we all do – one of great kindness, humour and humility – and bloody smart.
For me, a thirteen-year journey from medical school to the end of specialist training has taught me a lot.  Among them is that the opponent in Cam’s case - glioblastoma - is a shit disease.  Glioblastoma with epidermal growth-factor receptor amplification, an unfortunately even more horrific sub-type, and the most highly malignant, most recalcitrant variant of all brain cancers.  In my work, I’ve witnessed a number of patients grapple with the shock of a poor prognosis.  But hope enables endurance, and a tolerance for hardship ignites courage.  As a human being it’s tough to be invested during bleak times, but as a doctor I also try to maintain a firm grip on reality.  Most tough is when that now impending reality, and all that that entails, involves your best friend.
It may be something of a cancer cliché, but Cam has confronted all recent hurdles with supreme commitment.  However, I’m sure Cam and Nikki would agree that October 2015 was a challenging time with a fairly rapid decline.  Just prior to my arrival, Cam was living in their flat in London, and walking with assistance.  Subsequently, in the days before we left for Australia, he was hospital-confined, hemiplegic, and had exhausted the limitations of all available treatments.  I watched on with an enormous frog in my throat as I saw an overtly frustrated Cam try to raise his right arm to his face – the same arm which was once a weapon on the tennis court, and the source of his famous - and fierce - kick serve.  I met Cam’s consultant oncologist at University College London Hospital for handover.  Like Ange Guest in her thoughtful visit before me, I went over the brain MRI and the chest CT scan.  Tumour recurrence at both neurosurgical sites, causing raised intracranial pressure.  Shit.  Recent massive pulmonary emboli (clots in the lung), causing potentially sudden death. Shit.
Nik and Steve, who worked miracles in arranging the logistics of an antipodean journey for someone so critically ill, deserve the highest acclamation for their benevolent efforts.  Their ability to overcome substantive obstacles made me realise there is an army of people who love Cam and Nikki just as much as I do.  I’m told that there were other airlines which refused to fly Cam to Melbourne on the basis of his illness.  Happily, Qantas came to our aid, though their written instructions to me were just as confronting as those from the team at UCL:  “Dear Doctor… aircraft not to be diverted under any circumstances, including relating to onboard medical emergency or death of the passenger”.  I’ve done medical escort flights before, though this legal caveat would not normally apply.  Armed with enough intravenous midazolam to deeply sedate all 480 passengers on the airbus A380, I took-off from Heathrow with a little trepidation about exactly what that oncologist was anticipating in-flight, but quietly confident the job would get done.  We would get our man home.

I have known Nikki since 1999, and she is a truly amazing woman.  I remember fondly Cam and Nikki’s wedding in 2011, where Nikki’s parents regaled me with stories as to why Cam was the loving and worthy husband she deserves.  I have continually admired Nikki’s willpower and optimism, particularly given recent adversity.  We laughed together and we cried together in the days we shared in London.  The flight itself was not without hiccups, but despite understandably enormous fatigue and a flux of emotion, Nikki was unwavering in her efforts to care, which have remained constant throughout.  Transit through the enormous airport in Dubai had some challenges, including some moments where Cam’s right to dignity was perhaps challenged, though he and Nikki handled it all with composure.  En route, a highlight was watching Cam tuck into Neil Perry’s business class menu with the appetite of ten men, gourmet coffee in hand.
Medicine has taught me how I can keep a patient alive through a ten-hour liver transplant and I deal with unconscious/seizing/not breathing patients every day, but what my training had not taught me is how to contain my emotions upon entering that arrival hall at Melbourne Airport.  Ultimately, the reunion with family and close friends is what Cam’s journey home was all about.  That journey - just like our 23-year friendship preceding it - is something I will never forget.
I love you mate.

Sunday, 6 September 2015

Guest post: Barry Anderson

While I'm holed up in hospital I'll take this opportunity to publish another post from a guest contributor. 

Still recovering in hospital after almost three weeks
Vince Anderson and I have been friends since we were pimply 13-year olds in Bendigo. The following piece is from Vince's father Barry. I always knew Barry as a cricket-mad lovable larrikin and the man who mistook me for a girl when I had let my hair grow a bit too long in the unfortunate "undercut years", but I never suspected a talented and humorous sports journalist lurked just below the surface. Barry's claim of being a technophobe is now seriously in doubt as the Bendigo Advertiser newspaper formatting below is all his work. A big thank you to Barry for the huge effort he has put in to telling the story of Hawl and Chwith.

P.s. Huge congratulations also to Vince for passing the written component of the anaesthesia exam which took over his life for the last 12 months. Good luck for the oral component - I'm sure you will smash it as always!

By Barry Anderson

G'day Cameron.

I have sent this by email via Vince as I don't know how to "Blog" or even what "Blogging" is!

Vince forwarded me your Browny and the Brain, and your courage and sense of humour inspired me to send to you a narrative of my main medical issue over the past three years. I have blatantly copied your tennis analogy and I hope you will find it mildly amusing. Based on my own experiences, I agree with you that Oncologists do not have a great sense of humour. 

I would like to wish you well in your continued match against Glioblastoma and despite losing the first set I hope you win in three. 

All the best for the future,
Barry Anderson

Saturday, 15 August 2015

(Ange) Guest Post

Ange and I have been friends for 16 years. She was the first person to volunteer for my GBM 'research team' and has been an amazing support throughout this whole journey. She took a week away from her study and three jobs to fly to London and spend a week looking after me after I had just received the news of my tumour regrowth and pending surgery. Nikki and I can't find the words to thank her enough for her love and support.

By Ange Guest

Disclaimer – When Cam asked me to write a ‘Guest’ post (pun intended) on his blog, he gave me no parameters or guidelines, just to write whatever I wanted.  Whilst I think Cam has the intellectual and witty aspects down pat, the emotional aspect is more my forte.  So Cam, hopefully you are OK with outsourcing some of your ‘emoting’ to me.    

The days leading up to my departure for the UK involved a flurry of text messages back and forth with Cam.  We covered all the important issues including what would I wear to the BBC Proms concert at Royal Albert Hall given my swollen cankles from the flight, or which of the six Ottolenghi restaurants we were going to dine at, but the last one I received stopped me in my tracks. It reminded me why I was actually going to London and that this was not just any old holiday. Cam had received his scan results early (never a good sign) which indicated his tumour had regrown on the other side of his brain and this was the cause of his recent seizures.

Obligatory selfie with photobombing Pharaoh at the British Museum
My first weekend in London was so exciting, catching up with Cam and Ross, reminiscing about how smart/talented/funny/good looking we were in the late 90s.  We clearly didn’t pace ourselves very well however and on my second day there, Cam treated me to a ‘welcome-to-London’ seizure, which scared the hell out of me. My London induction had thankfully also included a tour of Cam’s medicine cabinet, which contained at least 30-40 types of medications and supplements, and a run through of the Epilepsy management, which ended up coming in very handy.  But in true Cameron Brown style, throughout this whole ordeal, he was totally calm, giving me clear instructions and was even cracking jokes within seconds of the seizure subsiding. Somehow we found ourselves rating our respective performances on how we had managed the first seizure together.  We then did the only sensible thing to help soothe the senses after such a scare…. watched Wayne’s World.  Watching Wayne’s World then became our post-seizure ritual and we both agreed that even after 20 years, that movie has not aged at all and has only become funnier, particular mentions go to the Foxy Lady and Gun Rack scenes.

Meeting with Cam’s surgeon and oncologist was quite a sobering experience as it brought to life what all of this research I had been helping Cam with was actually about.  Seeing the scan results on the screen and seeing that the second tumour was nearly as big as the first one was really confronting and made it so much more real.  George, the lovely surgeon talked about how the tumour was in the Supplementary Motor Area (SMA) which controls the right foot and speech (functions that Cam and I agreed were more integral, rather than supplementary but anyway).  He also explained that one risk of surgery was possible mutism, then paused for breath (which lasted an eternity) and finally added that this would be a temporary side effect and speech would return.  Cam pointed out in his usual deadpan manner that it would have been more helpful to perhaps present these two bits of information in the reverse order.    

Spending 9 days in London just hanging out with Cam was the most incredible experience and was so much more amazing than I had imagined.  It was so nice not to be distracted by the ‘doing’ of being a tourist, as this just allowed us to focus on the ‘being’, just the everyday stuff of hanging out, talking, going to yoga, watching movies and cooking. We shared things with each other that we had never thought to share before, despite being friends for 16 years.   I also found out that Cam has a shoe fetish - were other people aware of this??

Ange, Cam, Nikki and Rafa
Although I only got to spend the last few days with Nikki, I was blown away by her endless strength and compassion. I was in such awe of Nikki and Cam’s resilience as a couple and the constant love, care and consideration they have for one another through such an impossible situation.  Their capacity to find the positive element in a situation is phenomenal and was a very humbling experience (Sorry Cam, I know, too much emoting!!).  Since I have returned to Australia, I feel like I have a whole different perspective on things.  This trip and my time with Cam and Nikki helped me to see what is important (and what is not) and to notice the positives.  Oh and I also feel like a complete person now that I have dined at one of Yotam Ottolenghi’s restaurants!

Our pilgrimage to Ottolenghi (and a rare night off for nurse/chef Ange)
We ordered every dish on the menu and then spent a long time debating our favourites

Thursday, 23 July 2015

Game and first set to glioblastoma

It’s as if the universe has a sense of humour. Or perhaps it is an avid reader of this blog and likes to provide content. I first got a sense of this when I discovered that after 15 years of vegetarianism, the best diet for keeping cancer at bay was basically an all meat and animal fat one. It also struck me as ironic that my first hospitalisation as a fit 34 year old sports lover would be for cancer, a disease that is on the rise because of an increasingly unfit and aging population. 

I shouldn’t have been surprised then that on Friday, when thinking about how much I was looking forward to my first post-treatment MRI scan and drafting the first version of this blog post, I had my first full body seizure. I was looking forward to the scan because I have been so healthy and was hoping for confirmation of this fact in the results. I should have known better. It’s hard to know how long the seizure lasted but it must have been about three minutes. For that whole time, from when I first fell backwards, I was paralysed and it felt like someone was electrocuting me. I never lost consciousness (or wet myself, as I was asked by the docs) and had the sensation of tumbling through the air, expecting to hit my head on the bathroom tiles. It was the most frightening experience of my life, including my diagnosis and finding out about my prognosis.

I assumed the seizure meant that the tumour had returned – it must have diarised the date of my scan and decided to rear its ugly head just in time to rain on my parade. I had my post-treatment scan as planned on Monday, the results of which are now in, and indeed the tumour had lulled me in to a false sense of security - it has regrown on the left hand side of my brain (my first operation was on the right).  

It's not as bad as it first sounds. On the up-side the tumour is right near the surface of my brain so George (my surgeon) could practically scoop the little fracker out with an ice-cream scoop this time. I can also ask the surgeon to preserve more of the ice cream this time around to give me vital genetic information about my tumour that may even lead to the development of a personalised vaccine to use against it. It will be like stealing my opponents little black book that he has kept over the years full of notes on how to beat me. It is also in a relatively safe part of my brain so shouldn’t have any impact on my memory or personality (and no Nik, they haven’t worked out a way of “uploading” a personality while they are messing around in there). Perhaps the best news of all (apart from the chance now to join my scar from ear to ear) is that the original tumour site looks to be completely stable with no signs of regrowth or residual tumour. Finally it means I will be classified as a “recurrent” patient which opens up the door to many more clinical trials. 

I’m meeting with my surgeon on Tuesday and am expecting the operation to go ahead on August 5. I’m much calmer this time around because I have been through all of this before. So game and first set to glioblastoma, but I have come out refreshed at the start of the second set and secured an early break - it looks like this one is going the full distance. Final note: never joke with oncologists about the site of your next planned tumour - their sense of humour may not be as dark as yours.

On a brighter (but still tennis themed) note, Nikki and I channelled my 25% British heritage and cheered “our Andy” Murray over the line against the Frenchman Gilles Simon in the Davis Cup quarter-final on Sunday. The bunting was out in force at the historic Queen’s Club to get the Brits in to their first semi-final in 34 years. They now play the Aussies who recovered from a two love deficit against that tennis powerhouse Kazakhstan to progress to their first semi-final since returning from their extended holiday in the wilderness of world team tennis.

Andy in action at The Queen's Club

Cam in action at The Queen's Club

Sunday, 28 June 2015

Give yourself a cancer diagnosis

And I don’t mean by looking up that weird looking mole on WebMD or a fake diagnosis like Melbourne’s Belle Gibson did. 

I’ve finished my seventh and final round of chemotherapy so have been reflecting on the wild ride that me, Nikki, and our families have been on since that wobbly walk home from dinner last October. Of course the diagnosis has changed our lives, and most of it for the worse, but there are definitely some things that I am thankful to the tumour for (I hope he is not reading this - I don’t want him to get a big head).

I know it is clichéd but the diagnosis made me realise and appreciate all of the wonderful things I already had in my life and to worry less about those that were not. At the top of this list is my beautiful wife Nikki, without who the past eight months would have been unbearable. Nikki has been there and borne the brunt of the worst of my treatment – she lost her husband for a while but now he is back. My gift to you is no more cleaning up my chemo vomit (and a trip to Paris this weekend). My diagnosis also brought out the very best in my friends. You are already familiar with the heroics of Nik and Stephen and two weeks ago my MBA mate Julian Delamer generously launched a
fundraising campaign in tandem with his first assault on a marathon. Good luck with the marathon buddy - Nikki and I hope to be cheering you on at the finish line in Berlin.

Julian (second from right), me and classmates at the Forbidden City on our MBA trip to Beijing

I have also found yoga and meditation. One of the practices of yoga is called Sankalpa which means to draw on our deepest intentions, and the qualities of the Divine within, to commit to a course of action above all others. My inspirational teacher Julie (herself a cancer survivor) asks her students to recite their Sankalpa to themselves three times as a part of our practice. My Sankalpa has not changed since week 1: “to grow old with Nikki, live life to the fullest and to die of old age”. In the past few weeks I have become a Battlestar Galactica junkie. While it is a sci-fi show with worse action scenes than a low budget direct-to-TV movie, I enjoy its reflections on what it means to be human. In the immortal words of Commander Adama “Because it's not enough to just live. You have to 
have something to live for.” Adama must have been a yoga devotee long before he got a taste for killing the cylon “toasters” (the baddies).

Finally, my diagnosis has led to me revaluate the career that I was chasing. I started my MBA in 2013 with the intention of moving into private equity / venture capital in the clean technology industry. I have since decided against this option because if I’m being honest with myself I don’t think it would get me out of bed in the morning. I love cleantech startups and working in sustainability but the culture of private equity is not for me. I don’t think I would have been that honest with myself in the absence of a cancer diagnosis. Who knows how long I would have gone down that unhappy path for before I made such a realisation. At the end of the day I want to come home and be proud of the work that I’ve done and to enjoy the company of my peers.

So, tumour: I love you and there are many things I am thankful to you for. But you picked on the wrong guy so can you please "frack off" (for the uninitiated, that was another sad Battlestar Galactica reference - what have I become?) and let me get on with dying of old age.