Andrew Hallam

November 16th, 2009 wasn’t such a good day for me.

I started it off reading a few pages of Andre Agassi’s autobiography, Open. The guy was whining about hating tennis—complaining that he had always hated tennis. “What a waste,” I thought. Forget about the tennis player for a moment and think about the man, spending many years of his life doing something he supposedly hated.

Throwing the book onto the hospital bed that I’d spent the previous night on, I thought about how great I felt, physically. But I also knew that later that day I was going to be sliced and pried open so a surgeon could take a rotating saw to my ribs and spine.

Two week’s previous, I was diagnosed with bone cancer. I wasn’t very happy about that.

The surgery went well, and I had three ribs removed (accurately, 8cm pieces of 3 ribs) They also cut as closely as they dared to my spine, and after the surgery they said, “We did what we had to.” That was reassuring.

Progress towards my first few post surgery steps came a couple of weeks later.

Then I put myself on an exercise program to regain mobility. Wearing a spinal support vest for the first six weeks, I tolerated the frustration and discomfort, thanks to support from my parents (who flew to Singapore to help me) and of course, my wife was amazing.

Emotional roller coasters followed. I had a routine MRI scan done two months later, and my surgeon said that I had a larger tumour in a similar spot, and that surgery would likely cause neurological damage. Lovely. After another scan, he suggested that he might be wrong—that it might just be post-operative scar tissue. So—I went for a second opinion (after hugging the guy) and the oncologist I saw couldn’t confirm that it wasn’t cancer. Bummer.

But then I had another scan, 6 weeks later, and this crazy phantom tumour was still the same size, indicating that if it was an aggressive bugger, it decided to take a tea break. My surgeon saw this as a sign that it was scar tissue. Sweet.

Back to a third opinion….an American oncologist in Singapore wasn’t so sure. I saw him about two months ago, and next week, he’s arranging another MRI so he can see if it has grown in the past two months.

Why don’t they just do a biopsy? They’ve suggested that it’s invasive (given the location) and that biopsies can spread cancers such as this one. Every doctor has agreed with that. Shitty.

So I wait for another week—and have another scan. If it hasn’t grown, my odds are better. It might not be cancer.

What’s this all about, and how does it relate to Andre Agassi?

Well….I’m not the athlete that Agassi is. But I’ve enjoyed being physically active my whole life. Last year (although there are many runners my age faster than me) I won the JP Morgan Corporate Challenge, beating some decent runners who were nearly half my age.

This year, I entered the race again, but this time I wasn’t first, I was forty third. And that felt better than winning it did last year.

At this point, I haven’t been given a clear bill of health. But I’d like to win that race again next year. And I’d like to make far more important plans with my wife beyond that.

I can think about my ordeal two different ways:

1. Some people don’t like to make ambitious plans when they risk falling flat on their face. So they don’t make them.

2. Other people ask, “What the hell? Why not make ambitious plans?”

If it’s true that Andre Agassi spent the majority of his life doing something he hates, that’s a sad waste. Life is short—live it well and enjoy it.

The only thing I don’t like about sharing this story is when people say how sorry they are. Forget, “Sorry”

I prefer people to say, “Yeah! Kick ass—and kick it as hard as you can!”

We’re all terminal. We all have to kick ass. So don’t get wrapped up doing something you hate—or wrapped up fearing something that you might not be able to accomplish. You, me…everyone.

We’re terminal. So live life dancing, kicking, laughing, sharing and kicking.

Don’t forget the kicking!

Two months ago I had surgery for bone cancer, where 8 cm pieces of three ribs were removed, as well as a piece of my spine.  Here’s a post-surgery update.

First of all, a big thank you to everyone for your superb support, generosity, well-wishes and great humour.  It has helped me a lot over the past two months.

Yep.  Today is two months to the day that I went under the knife.

People have asked me if I see the world in a different light after getting cancer.  The answer to that is, “yes” and “no”

I’d like to say that I’ve been flooded with profound visions of wisdom, but I’m still no smarter than I was before.  Maybe I’m just more aware of the source of my inadequacies and idiosyncracies.  During a cancer CT scan, I was recently shown that I have a harmless hole in my brain—left, front temporal lobe.  That explains a few things, don’t you think?

Anyway, what are the profound thoughts of a guy dealing with torso swelling, missing ribs, cancer fears and an abridged spine?  Here’s one:

I went to a place, here in Singapore, looking for organic spinach and ludicrously expensive organic blueberries.  Passing “John’s Bar” I saw a group of guys that I couldn’t help but stare at.  They were expatriate guys smoking, drinking Guinness, and eating greasy fish and chips. 

 And the bastards were old.  I’ve never wanted to smoke, drink Guinness, and eat greasy crap before, but I wanted to join those guys.  I wanted to be one of them.  “You lucky sons of bitches,” was all I was thinking.  You’re old.  You look like crap.  You’re not dead.  And you don’t care what kind of garbage you put in your bodies.  And it made me laugh.  Loudly. 

 And they looked at me.  One scrawny Keith Richards wannabe  gave me the “You want a piece of me?” look.  Damn, that bugger was still defiantly snarly enough to visually threaten an ectomorphic  “cancer survivor” in a spinal support vest.  That kind of guy doesn’t give a crap about anything, and for a few minutes I wanted to be that guy.

Is that profound or totally wacked?  It must be the hole in the brain. 

Anyway, I am feeling much better.  Today I had an x-ray and the fluid in my lungs has finally dissipated.  My scar is long, but it’s very clean.  A lot of flesh in my back was slightly re-located, but I have a great range of motion and under the circumstances, decent strength.

 I go to a physiotherapist regularly, and I’ve been diligent about doing the exercises at home as well, with an emphasis on strengthening my core muscles and some specific structurally important muscles in my back.

I found that I can walk on a treadmill on a high incline, so I’ve been doing that four times a week—and I’ve been pushing myself.  I think the uphill “marching” really helped to clear my stubborn lungs of the fluids that were threatening to infect them.  My lungs were supposed to have cleared after a handful of post-surgery days, but 4 weeks later, there was still pooled fluid in them, and if things weren’t clear on today’s x-ray, they were going to put a catheter in me. 

On a few social occasions, when I don’t want the not-so-subtle Asian community staring at me and asking questions, I venture outside without the spinal brace on.  I’ve been asked, “Why you wear that?” more times than I can count.  And I’ve started to lie–mostly about a car accident I was never in, and one time, I convinced a local guy that I got attacked by a shark.

I’ve found that when I tell the truth about cancer surgery,  most people’s expressions tell me that they’re talking to a dead man.  It’s a strange feeling.  And I think beyond myself when this happens.  I think of all the other people who have or have had cancer, and the hope and encouragement that I’m sure they’d much rather see in the eyes of other people.

The fact that I can venture out without a spinal brace is encouraging on so many levels, of course.  It means I’m getting better.   Yesterday, with the spinal brace on, I jogged 200 meters, and it didn’t hurt.

As for the cancer—it isn’t coming back. 

 I’ve also made an ambitious goal to enter the JP Morgan Corporate Challenge at the end of April, and finish in the top 20.  You can blame the delusion (if you think it is one) on the hole in my brain.

Even if I do crack the top 20, I’ll be the slowest defending champion in the history of the Singapore event.  But, no matter how I’m placed, I’ll probably be crying as I run the final kilometre.  Just thinking about it makes me misty-eyed.

Here is the article I wrote about the 2009 Singapore JP Morgan

 I love applying one of Shakepeare’s quote whenever it suits me:

“Nothing is either good nor bad, but thinking makes it so”

And I think everything is great.

Thank you,

Andrew

Two years ago I took a routine cardiopulmonary stress test.  I was 37.  And I “failed” it. 

Hooked up to electrodes I jogged on a treadmill.  And the rhythm of my heart alerted the specialist to a slight, possible abnormality.

The next day, I lay on a table like a pregnant woman, undergoing an examination similar to an ultrasound.  A day later, my heart set off an alarm during a CT scan when my resting rate dropped to 36 beats per minute.

But what do you think these tests revealed?  Nothing.  They couldn’t find anything wrong with my heart.  I was perfectly normal.  But the specialist, who coupled as a pharmacist, prescribed Lipitor to eradicate any soft plaque that I may have had.

Lipitor is Pfizer’s biggest selling drug.  Pfizer—the world’s largest pharmaceutical company– had sales exceeding $45 billion last year,  (Pfizer -Valueline  – report requires a pdf reader)  with Lipitor leading the way.  It’s supposed to reduce a patient’s cholesterol levels—of which mine were in a healthy, normal range.

I sat down on the chair in the specialist’s waiting room and leaned back on a pillow labeled “Pfizer”. 

When the paperwork was ready, I accepted the drugs, and signed a form with a pen labeled “Pfizer”. 

After I promised to keep exercising I left.  But I didn’t want to take Lipitor.  As far as anyone could tell my heart was perfectly fine.  So I didn’t take it. And I get a decent amount of exercise.

As an owner of Pfizer shares, I was somewhat embarrassed to think of the marketing “bribery” that I suspected went far beyond pens and pillows.  Why would a specialist prescribe drugs to a healthy guy?

I’ll never know for sure, but pillows, pens, and this article definitely have me thinking.

Read the Article: Pfizer to Pay Record Penalty