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INFO ZONE
Now that there is no longer any way to treat my cancer, I've been reflecting on what I want others to know about life and death. Given the pandemic, I thought I wouldn't be able to live out my last few months in the way I'd imagined. It seemed I would be stuck alone, with no light at the end of the tunnel, without the comfort of friends or family. Five months on, I'm still here, but much has changed.
First, the importance of gratitude. During my worst moments the shock of cancer diagnosis, the mental loads and debilitating symptoms of chemotherapy, it was difficult to picture any future moments of joy, closeness or love. Even so, at those times I found comfort in remembering what I have: an amazing family, the friends I've made and times I've shared with them, the privilege of life I've had.
Second, a life, if lived well, is long enough. This can mean different things to different people. I can confirm that the world is a wonderful place full of moments of awe and amazement, soak up as much as you can. Look after your body because it's only one you have, and its bloody brilliant. Knowing that my life was going to be cut short has changed my perspective on ageing. Most people assume they will live to old age. I have come to see growing old is a privilege. Don't lament about getting one year older, another grey hair or a wrinkle. Instead, be pleased that you've made it. If you feel like you haven't made the most of your last year, try to use your next one better.
Third, it's important to let yourself be vulnerable and connect to others. We live in a society that prizes capability and independence, two things that cancer slowly strips away from you. This was naturally a very difficult pill to swallow for a healthy, able late twenty something male, but having to allow myself to be vulnerable and accept help has given me the best two years of my life, which was pretty inconceivable at the time of diagnosis. Vulnerability has shown me what phenomenal people my sister and parents are; words can't do justice to how much they have done for me. The same applies to my friends, what better way is there to spend two years than being surrounded regularly and closely by these people?
Fourth, do something for others. Against the backdrop of COVID-19, black lives matter and the desperate attempts of migrants to cross the channel, my thoughts really turned to those who have not had my privilege whether that's by virtue of socioeconomics, ethnicity or the country I was born in. I always try to remind myself of this.
Fifth, protect the planet I can't leave this off because it's so important. I'll be gone soon, but humanity will still be faced with a huge challenge of reducing carbon emissions and saving habitats from destruction. In my time here, I've been lucky enough to see some natural wonders and understand how precious they are. Hopefully future generations will be able to say the same.
If you ask me what I want to leave behind, it would be a new awareness of these things among my friends and anyone who will listen. After the gut punch of cancer diagnosis, I really struggle to define a purpose for my own life. I found in time this came naturally.
I hope this will be a lesson to all, life is for enjoyment. Make of it what you can.
The last words of a dying man. Elliot Dallen was diagnosed with andrenocortical carcinoma in 2018, aged 29. He died on the night of Monday, 7th of September the day this article was published.
Source: The Guardian
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