Society tends to view cancer like winning the lottery; we hear about it all the time, but we never think it’ll happen to us.
I was no exception. But, then, it did happen.
Aged 18, I was diagnosed with cancer. In this biological lottery called life, I’d won the top prize without even buying a ticket – which, being Scottish, gave me conflicting feelings, because I generally find anything free a source of great excitement. (To be honest, I think I’d rather have just paid the £1.50 for my ticket and won a fiver for getting two numbers.)
To make the deal even more surprising, my diagnosis was incredibly rare – less than one in a million. Lucky me! If there is some kind of higher power dictating the course of the universe, remind me to buy them a card and a box of Quality Street to say thank you.
Receiving a cancer diagnosis at any age is life-shattering, but at 18 years old – more than anything – it’s a massive inconvenience.
Turning 18 is seen as the point at which you’re given the keys to your life. All bets are off. The world is your oyster. Go and enjoy yourself, make bad decisions and forge your own path, safe in the knowledge that, although they’re no longer contractually obliged, your parents will still do your laundry when you visit every Wednesday night for Mum’s homemade lasagne.
Sadly, my cancer diagnosis was the equivalent of one of Aberdeen’s Jurassic-sized seagulls plucking the keys to my life from my hands and tossing them into the North Sea… only for them to be replaced with the keys to a hospital ward.
The worst part? The hospital kitchen doesn’t even make lasagne. Saying that, based on the food I did get as an in-patient, that’s maybe not a bad thing. I think I experienced enough trauma without having my enjoyment of lasagne destroyed.
Chemo versus cocktails
There’s never an ideal time to develop any kind of health condition. While I realise that, being 25, my life experiences are still relatively narrow, it felt like getting cancer came at the worst possible time for me.
Don’t get me wrong: getting cancer wasn’t on my to-do list. But it certainly could have happened at a less crucial stage in my life, in terms of personal development.
Even now, I feel like I missed out on a huge amount of the “traditional” elements those late teenage years normally hold, like going on nights out and meeting new people. I had no option but to sit and watch my friends live the lives we had all planned together. It basically felt like I’d been left behind.
That said, if you’re as socially-averse as I am, having cancer is an unbeatable excuse for avoiding any kind of gathering. An extreme measure, I’ll admit, but 100% effective.
I’ve never once experienced a “big night” or woken with a hangover, and I don’t view that as a bad thing. If anything, I’m glad. Although, it sounds like there’s more similarity between a night out and going through chemotherapy than you might think.
You fill your body with all sorts of concoctions only the barman (or nurse) can pronounce, you’re sick a few times during the night, and you wake up the following morning holding your head and thinking: “Never again.” And chemotherapy is much cheaper than going to a cocktail bar: another perk. (I know, spot the Aberdonian.)
Stop worrying about the things that don’t matter
But, as horrible as my diagnosis was, I’m glad I went through it. My perspective on life has completely changed. I had it described to me recently as “post-traumatic growth”, and I think that sums it up perfectly.
Facing the fact that you might die at 18 years old is terrifying, but it also shows you what’s important. As a result, my tolerance for “trivial” things is almost non-existent. I’ve got no inclination to keep up to date with the latest TikTok trends, and I have no compulsion to watch a single episode of Love Island. It’s not important!
So, here’s my “life hack” – stop worrying about the things that don’t matter. You’ve got to work at the weekend? So what? You’ve lost three followers on Instagram? Who cares?
Hug your family. Phone that friend you haven’t spoken to in months. Do something that makes you happy, even if others feel differently.
Look at me: I’m now almost six years cancer-free, my family and friends always come first, I went back to university and completed my master’s degree, and now I’m pursuing my passion for stand-up comedy. Life is starting to look good again.
My review of cancer? Zero stars; would not recommend… (But it’s not all bad.)
Aiden Cowie is a stand-up comedian from Aberdeen
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