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Cancer and other C words: Part 2 – Choice

Introduction

 

A faded, yellow post-it note, marked with his distinctive scrawl, is stuck to a page in one of Cameron’s diaries. First, a prompt, and then a note, below it. 

“Wattle tree 

– Smell of childhood”

 

“I call it living

– Enjoying each moment

– Finding the fun, joy + wonder.”

 

You can almost see him, walking from karate to the train station after the longest of work days, suddenly arrested by the scent of a bushy, red wattle. He would have stopped, closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and waited for the onslaught of emotions that olfactory memories bring. He would have been instantly transported back to his childhood, days outside adventuring in the nearby forest that was his backyard, hiding out in his bush cubby on the vacant block across the road, climbing trees, exploring… breathing in the pure, unadulterated joy of being a child.

 

When the moment had passed, he would have scribbled the prompt on the post-it notes that he kept handy so he wouldn’t lose thoughts, and would have continued on his way. Once he had settled into his seat on the train, while it was still fresh in his mind, he would have added the second part of the note, and then stuck it in his diary when he got home. This is the entirety of the entry, dated 16 April 2015. It didn’t need a detailed extrapolation – the few lines were enough to lock in what he wanted to write more about. Finding joy. Living each moment. Choosing – in simple, every day moments –  to set aside the fears, the challenges, and the impending loss of control, and to find the joy. 

 

Looking at his messages and journal entries from that time, he was struggling a lot with fatigue. He was having difficulty getting restful sleep. He was frustrated by not finding a solution to his fatigue, and was calculating what each activity would cost him in energy. He wanted to use his time well, and was trying to find a balance that allowed him to be the most productive and impactful, while not running out of energy to have fun and adventures! He was actively practicing self care routines, and checking in with us when he’d “busted sleep” to keep him accountable to his goals to manage his sleep debt. 

 

Around this time, there was a definite sense of urgency and a feeling of running out of time, and he was spending a lot of time training, developing and nurturing his Paragon team to continue the work he had started. He knew the time would come when he would not be around to manage every aspect of his school, its standards, its teachers, its future. His notes also contained an ever growing to do list, including things he wanted to work on with his team. “15 April 2015: Goals etc. Plan it , Share it, Smash it.” He was learning to delegate. He was accepting (and working on embracing) the fact that many things he had held tightly to were actually out of his control. He was reading Viktor Frankl and finding different perspectives that made him more comfortable with the loss of control. 

 

Today, on what would have been Cameron’s 47th Birthday, we would like to share another of Cameron’s writings about reframing his cancer experience, and creating something meaningful and impactful from it. Written in the same week as the post-it note entry, four years before his passing, this was the second in a series he called “Cancer and other C words”. Entitled “Choice”, it explains the way he reframed his diagnosis and prognosis, focusing not on the things he couldn’t change, but on making the most of the things he could. Of course he had expressed this sentiment many times before. Aspiring to it was one thing; living it amongst pain and fatigue was another. 

 

The experience of the scent of the wattle tree transporting him back to childhood came just at the right time for him, and allowed him to reconcile the divergence between his desire to make the most of every moment, while struggling with losing control, autonomy and time. The connection between these opposing forces was CHOICE, and that is what he wrote about. 

 

His message is clear: He had no choice, but to “live the hell out of every moment.”

 

We hope you enjoy the second part of this previously unpublished series.

Cancer and other C words: Part 2 - Choice

It’s been over three years since being diagnosed with cancer.  So many people are completely surprised by the fact I have cancer, so I frequently have to explain my situation. I often feel like I am in a “cancer-holics anonymous” meeting…

 

It’s a darkened hall with a bunch of hollowed out faces sitting in a circle on old, ripped, uncomfortable chairs. As I slowly stand I say, “Hi, my name’s Cameron, and I have cancer.  It’s been two and a half years since my last round of chemotherapy.” The circle of imaginary people quietly clap my achievement.

 

As soon as people hear the C bomb they tend to go into a state of shock. This is quickly followed with pity. “Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” The sentiment is lovely. People care, and are genuinely shocked and feel for me. The natural progression in everyone’s mind tends to be death. You have terminal cancer; you are going to die.  

 

Well, yes, this may very well be true. But the really shocking thing is that we are all going to die! This may sound bleak and pessimistic, but actually there is a huge opportunity in it. 

 

Being diagnosed with terminal cancer taught me that our lives are lived out via choices. No, we may not have a choice to change our circumstances. I can’t change that I have been diagnosed with terminal cancer just as someone else can’t change the weather. What I can change though, just as you can, is how I deal with the circumstances I am currently facing.  

 

If it’s raining outside, we can choose to stay inside, to get an umbrella, or to jump in the puddles. I prefer to jump in the puddles.  

 

By developing a different sense of control, a control over our choices, we can greatly impact the quality of our lives. Our circumstances do not control our lives. If they did then the last three years of my life would have been horrible. Instead, they have been some of the most joyful of my life. 

 

We can control the choices we make when faced with dark monsters. We can choose to focus on the parts of the experience that bring us the most life. 

 

How do you respond to your circumstances? Do you react and give control of the situation to someone or something else? When someone does something that upsets you, do you allow them to make you angry, or do you choose to be angry? Do you choose to see the opportunity in a negative experience? 

 

Look carefully. Very often there is something huge, something exciting, something worth living for hiding in the darkest of places.

 

I am terminal. But that is totally fine. I’ll just get off and jump on a new train or a different bus and make sure to enjoy the adventure.

 

What life have you been choosing to live, and what life will you choose to live now?  

 

I hope you join me in choosing to live the hell out of each moment.

 

Cameron Gill

17 April 2015

Here Cameron breaks, and starts Part 3, which we will share in a future post. 

As always when reviewing his writing, one of the most important things to us is ensuring we have accurately captured his meaning, when he is not here to clarify what he meant, rather than guessing or extrapolating our own meaning from his words. This is why we review his journals, photos, and our messages from him from the time period of the writing. To be sure we get this right. 

In reviewing this piece, we both felt the need to say something more regarding Cameron’s use of the homonym to “terminal” at the end of the piece. For context and in all kindness, we are both sure that this was a pun about travel and adventure, not a reference to an onward journey to an afterlife. He spent a lot of his adventuring days at transport terminals, junctions, and airports, and whenever a doctor would use the word terminal to describe his prognosis, true to his determination to focus on the positive, he would make this joke about all the possibilities of where he could go from there. He often joked to disrupt the seriousness of the conversation or topic. He would mention changing to a new line, or taking another flight. They would never know how to respond to this. Doctors mostly didn’t know how to take his sense of humour, and it went over many heads. Of course, he made us laugh even when it wasn’t funny. 

Where others may perceive a terminal prognosis as the end, time to stop living and get ready to die, Cameron saw it as time to step on the accelerator and just live the hell out of the rest of his time. As he said often, we will all die – we are ALL terminal. It’s a perfect example of him using that shift in perspective and not focusing on the darkness. He always made that choice, and reminded us that we can too.

And we have to. Every day without him. 

Happy Birthday, Cameron. We love you and miss you. 

Nathan & Teresa

20 January 2025

Want to learn more about Cameron Gill’s journey, his legacy, and his legacy projects? CLICK HERE for Cam’s official Facebook legacy page. We have heaps more of his story to share, so like and follow to stay updated.

Or CLICK HERE for the first piece in this series, Cancer and Other C Words: Part 1- Cameron

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