When I am old, broken and bent just the willow tree.
Will you hold me just as tight, from morning sun right through the night.
And will you whisper you love me, even when you’re alone and out of sight.
Will your heart beat when our eyes meet. Or your skin tremble when our bodies lock in that passionate entangle. And will your sweet, sweet lips seek out mine when troubled waters flow through our minds. And will you dance with me to our favourite song, way into the dark after the band have all gone.
If you are expecting to read of bawdy antics ala Pseudolus, then please do not read on. There’s nothing bawdy nor really that funny about what has just happened to me whilst turning on my laptop with the intention to draft out an article about the future impact of #chatgpt specifically in relation to the thousands marketing graduates that I have had the pleasure of teaching over the years.
Nor, either, is this a ‘Luddite’s plea to stop the progression of #ai or indeed the bigger threat of #ML.
That genie is well and truly out of the bottle now and no attempt by me or my friends and gurus such as PR Smith Jeff Frick Rob Wilmot Chris Kane Simon Kanani et al will halt it in its tracks even if they wanted to (which I suspect they do not).
No sir, it’s happening whether we like it or not.
So let’s embrace it.
And I’m doing so.
So I sat down to write. My mind buzzing, ready to capture this moment in time such at that first email I ever sent or txt or pager, #powerpoint presentation or even Slack thread I created. I
wanted to write about my first ChatGPT experience.
But I couldn’t. I got ‘writer’s block’. It was weird. It was like sitting at a piano with the lid down. My brain, whirring as it was with ideas, did not transmit to my fingertips.
Why was this? Why could I not actually physically write down what was in my head?
I suspect it is something to do with ‘authenticity’. Or perhaps ‘ownership’. Or more worryingly, ‘value’. It crossed my mind that whatever I was about to author, was valueless. Not because it had been written before (no fool thinks like I do!). It was more to do with the ‘so what’ factor.
Whatever I was about to write, ChatGPT could write it better.
Quicker. More concise. More accurate perhaps?
And so, if that happens to you or anyone else such as the millions of authors, journalists, bloggers and even programmers out there, then how detrimental would that be?
I suspect, however, the reverse might well be the case. Suddenly, we can all write! But just because we can, does it mean we should (note Jeremy Clarkson and others)?
Maybe that’s a question for another time, or another #bot?
#marketing #writer #AgeofHuman
Oh, and if you are wondering what my query was, it was this:
Write a research proposal for the psychology of metabolic disregulation.
Still no longer exists … when time has passed you by. Goodbye time. Leave a little time to cry. Goodbye to time. Twas fun. Goodbye time. Goodbye friend, God they were good times. Time that I wished wouldn’t end. Oh, I miss you, Time, but you weren’t really mine in the end.
A drought, a famine a failure to protect a world we once knew.
When the stars no longer align, our rivers run dry and our oceans are no longer blue. It’s with bitter regret that we pass over to you little Bobby G and say … do the best you can do.
Happy birthday little Angel. Your sunshine eyes light up the world and that is special. You have the power to heal. This is a burden we place on your little shoulders. Please do not run or hide but instead take your gift and do what matters. With love, peace and harmony our world is a better place now that you’re here. Today, forever and a day…
The mechanical sound of life ringing all around. Beeping it’s warnings.
I wrote this exactly 12 months ago from the chemotherapy ward at Charing Cross Hospital. I remember it well as I sat there in the high back chair, in a ward that was more like a waiting room in a train station. Bizarrely, I was full of ‘chemo envy’ as I eyed up my dose of chemo compared to others around me.
The before … and after.
It was the start of a journey which today reaches its 12 month anniversary.
I have catalogued my journey with frequent blogs and the occasional poem. At one point, I declared I would not be writing any more, as I felt then that the cathartic release it brought me would no longer be required. I was cured. Right. So why continue talking about it?
I am still cured. And the emotion with which I write this particular blog in the journey of a cancer sufferer, is very different to that which started the blog. And I’m happy. Very happy,
Today’s walk back down memory lane has reminded me how bloody tough it really was. I say this not as a soft prick looking for sympathy. No thank you. I write it as a realist who has had over 20,000 readers of a blog that comes with some responsibility. If you are reading this as a cancer patient, then I’ll not dress it up.
If you have been treated for cancer and you are reading this as a ‘survivor’, then you’ll know what I mean.
And if you are related to someone who is heading into treatment, or, sadly not survived, then my heart reaches out to you. Your emotions will no doubt be all over the place.
Anger.
Hope.
Anger.
Love.
Anger.
Why me?
My story has always been accompanied with the tagline that ‘a cancer diagnosis does not have to be a death sentence’.
Treatments are so much more successful these days. And even chemotherapy is not so horrendous as it used to be (well, that’s so they told me).
To those who are going through it, I say this…
Surround yourself with positivity. Positive people. Happy people. People who do what they say.
Turn up the music. Fuck the neighbours. Turn stuff off. Limit your exposure to just the bare essentials. And be kind to yourself. You’re going to need it and nobody, nobody will be walking in your shoes. They can’t.
Only you can deal with this and a positive mental attitude will be worth it’s weight in chemo!
I’m going to end with a beautiful story. It’s totally unrelated to cancer, but to all my ‘Garfunkel’s’ aka Sherpas, that guided me through the darkness (you KNOW who you are … and God bless Mandy, Baggy and Patrick to name just a few), I say thank you.
Life is good. Let’s crack on with it. Nadio x
“Hello darkness, my old friend…” Everybody knows the iconic Paul Simon & Art Garfunkel song, but do you know the amazing story behind the first line of The Sounds of Silence?
It began when Arthur “Art” Garfunkel, a Jewish kid from Queens, enrolled in Columbia University. During freshman orientation, Art met a student from Buffalo named Sandy Greenberg, and they immediately bonded over their shared passion for literature and music. Art and Sandy became roommates and best friends. With the idealism of youth, they promised to be there for each other no matter what.
Soon after starting college, Sandy was struck by tragedy. His vision became blurry and although doctors diagnosed it as temporary conjunctivitis, the problem grew worse. Finally after seeing a specialist, Sandy received the devastating news that severe glaucoma was destroying his optic nerves. The young man with such a bright future would soon be completely blind.
Sandy was devastated and fell into a deep depression. He gave up his dream of becoming a lawyer and moved back to Buffalo, where he worried about being a burden to his financially-struggling family. Consumed with shame and fear, Sandy cut off contact with his old friends, refusing to answer letters or return phone calls.
Then suddenly, to Sandy’s shock, his buddy Art showed up at the front door. He was not going to allow his best friend to give up on life, so he bought a ticket and flew up to Buffalo unannounced. Art convinced Sandy to give college another go, and promised that he would be right by his side to make sure he didn’t fall – literally or figuratively.
Art kept his promise, faithfully escorting Sandy around campus and effectively serving as his eyes. It was important to Art that even though Sandy had been plunged into a world of darkness, he should never feel alone. Art actually started calling himself “Darkness” to demonstrate his empathy with his friend. He’d say things like, “Darkness is going to read to you now.” Art organized his life around helping Sandy.
One day, Art was guiding Sandy through crowded Grand Central Station when he suddenly said he had to go and left his friend alone and petrified. Sandy stumbled, bumped into people, and fell, cutting a gash in his shin. After a couple of hellish hours, Sandy finally got on the right subway train. After exiting the station at 116th street, Sandy bumped into someone who quickly apologized – and Sandy immediately recognized Art’s voice! Turned out his trusty friend had followed him the whole way home, making sure he was safe and giving him the priceless gift of independence. Sandy later said, “That moment was the spark that caused me to live a completely different life, without fear, without doubt. For that I am tremendously grateful to my friend.”
Sandy graduated from Columbia and then earned graduate degrees at Harvard and Oxford. He married his high school sweetheart and became an extremely successful entrepreneur and philanthropist.
While at Oxford, Sandy got a call from Art. This time Art was the one who needed help. He’d formed a folk rock duo with his high school pal Paul Simon, and they desperately needed $400 to record their first album. Sandy and his wife Sue had literally $404 in their bank account, but without hesitation Sandy gave his old friend what he needed.
Art and Paul’s first album was not a success, but one of the songs, The Sounds of Silence, became a #1 hit a year later. The opening line echoed the way Sandy always greeted Art. Simon & Garfunkel went on to become one of the most beloved musical acts in history.
The two Columbia graduates, each of whom has added so much to the world in his own way, are still best friends. Art Garfunkel said that when he became friends with Sandy, “my real life emerged. I became a better guy in my own eyes, and began to see who I was – somebody who gives to a friend.” Sandy describes himself as “the luckiest man in the world.”
Adapted from Sandy Greenberg’s memoir: “Hello Darkness, My Old Friend: How Daring Dreams and Unyielding Friendship Turned One Man’s Blindness into an Extraordinary Vision for Life.”
The morning chorus will sound your way along the path you take today. Your tiny footsteps will appear along the shores of oceans blue far and wide then get washed away by the growing tide.
Your hair will be blown in the winds of scented meadows and you will tumble and roll in the clover, heather and grasses of brilliant yellow.
Your tiny breath will cause clouds of smoke on a frosty morning and you will puff out circles of laughter as you draw your name whilst still yawning.
Your hand will grip tight to those you trust whilst your path leads from day into night, and your palms will tell you what’s wrong and who is right.
Your path will at times be steep and seem too far, your horizons too hazy, beyond your reach just like that star.
And then you’ll find behind the next bend, resolve and purpose, the greatest of your new friends.
To walk your path is the gift of life and each step you take is one more than others were denied. Walk freely but cautiously through a wilderness we once knew and please forgive those, like me, who’s footsteps went before you and spoilt your view.
I am posting this on the anniversary of my first appointment with the GP. On that very frightening day, I was told that the lump in my neck could be serious and I was immediately placed on a ‘fast track’ programme.
It turned out to be correct. The lump was 5cm, cancerous and stage 3. Yikes!
This is my story as recounted to those lovely people at Macmillan Cancer Support. Apparently, we blokes are crap at talking about our health. And if there’s anything I can advise anyone, do not delay when seeking medical advise. It saved my life and it could save yours too. It’s a long read, pour yourself a drink!
Nadio Granata Interview Notes …
Initial Symptoms / Diagnosis
On initial symptoms…
I had a sore throat over the Christmas (2020) period, but as a former lecturer, I was quite used to getting sore throats. This sore throat lingered for a while though. Living on a boat with electricity failing a lot, my power source wasn’t that reliable. I imagine that getting up at 4am in -6 didn’t help.
Writing holiday in Andalusia… fit, healthy and ready for anything. Phew!
By the end of February (2021) I discovered a lump at the side of my neck. It was like an Adam’s apple and wasn’t a boil. I went to my GP, but because I’d moved on to a boat and I’m so lackadaisical with paperwork, the doctor wasn’t going to see me as I was no longer in their patch. I stood my ground and to be fair to them, they did see me.
Early consultations…
The locum there took one look at me and said that they’d get it seen to. I feel it was a stroke of luck because I’ve heard stories where during Covid, you couldn’t get seen. I remember it was one of the first days where they had put all the barriers up and yellow tape everywhere in the doctor’s surgery. It felt like Armageddon.
A funny thing happened when I left the doctor’s. Though I was obviously somewhat shocked and worried, my friend who had accompanied to the doctors also came with me to the local newsagents where I bought a desk diary.
Ironically, the diary was half price. This, according to Otto, was “only fair” as I’d probably only need it for 6 months. I still crease myself up when I think of that moment. I guess you had to be there ha!
And so, within a couple of weeks, I had an ultrasound and I remember she spent as much time on my right-hand side as my left, which had me very worried. The locum rang me up a week later and basically said that whilst they don’t know exactly what it is, ‘we know what it isn’t.’ I would have to go for some biopsies and a camera up the nose. It was around early April (2021) when the whirlwind started.
Family history…
Personally, I’d never been in hospital in my life. My ex-sister in law had MS since she was 21, she died when she was 58/59 and my father in-law had Parkinson’s, so we were actually quite used to visits to hospitals and treatments.
Diagnosis…
An old colleague of mine had throat cancer. So, I’d asked him what he thought to my situation. He pretty much warned me and said it sounds similar. So, by the time I was diagnosed, I was actually very relaxed. I was ready for that (news).
I went along with my now ex-girlfriend for the initial meetings with the surgeon and oncologist. I was with mygirlfriend for three years, she actually left me on the day I was diagnosed. But that was just a coincidence.
It was the surgeon who first told me that they’d found a tumour, it was cancer. I never asked for details, I didn’t want to know size, etc. He was brilliant, extremely caring, considerate, very gentle about it. Apparently, it was a ‘good form of cancer’ to get. Right.
Then when we went in with the oncologist, it was quite a surreal experience. Because we were having a laugh about it. The oncologist even joked that these consultations aren’t normally like this!
One thing that really sticks out, was the receptionist in the ear/nose & throat at Charing Cross Hospital. It was like a train station, with so much going on. We are all wearing masks and I’m hard of hearing, but the guy at reception made me feel like I was in a five-star hotel. That mattered. Still matters, a lot.
That day I must have had 4-5 appointments thrown at me. It’s a whirlwind, but one wrapped in care. Right at the point when you feel like your head is spinning, he (receptionist) literally grabbed hold of my hand and led me around for my bloodtests.
Bloody blood tests!! I had dozens of them.
Preparing family with diagnosis news…
The toughest part was when I got the results back from the (ultrasound). That was the moment when I Zoom-called my children. I’ve always kept them notified and had nothing to hide. My daughter is particularly vigilant and cares that I’m not neglectful. I am a bloke!
Family … matters
So, when I had that phone call back to say that I need to be sent for a biopsy, I got the family together on a call. I get emotional thinking about it.
My daughter was pregnant at the time with my first grandchild. Seeing those faces on the Zoom, I told them what had been said and that they had concerns. At that point, I didn’t know what it was, but I wanted to prepare them and reassure them that it would be treatable. That was one of the toughest moments. Their little faces staring back at me….
High points … they give you so much to look forward to. And much to look back on when you’re feeling down.
Macmillan support…
There was always Macmillan as part of the conversation. If I remember rightly, I think Theresa (Macmillan Nurse) was present on that very first meeting with the oncologist. Macmillan were that trampoline that were always there underneath me.
I always knew Macmillan were there. Macmillan was ever-present. So, without Macmillan, I would be a trapeze artist with no safety net. I can’t even imagine what it would have been like. You just don’t get on the trapeze, do you?!
A particular low point for me was when I had a couple of viruses simultaneously after treatment. I didn’t know it at the time. I was washed out and exhausted and very, very sore.
One of my best friends who had throat cancer, he was due to go back to work but thought he had sciatica. It turned out that it was in fact his cancer that had spread to his spine. My spine had started to hurt, and I couldn’t help thinking I had the same.
So, I was very concerned, but I knew I could email 24/7. I always wrote to both my oncologist and copied in my Macmillan Nurse. There were a couple of times I would also email after-hours to the oncologist and nurse. I would always feel that whatever I was asking, it was useful for them both to know. If I ever had an injury or query, they would respond. Theresa (Macmillan Nurse) would take me to get seen. It’s a big hospital, easy to get lost especially when you are not thinking straight.
Macmillan also put me in touch with masseurs at Charing Cross, but to be honest, by the time I’d made the effort to get there, I was so exhausted. So, a massage at home instead would be brilliant, just to help you relax and sleep, as well as take the pain away.
Treatment & Effects
Treatment…
I had six weeks of radiotherapy, five days a week and two lots of chemotherapy.
You’ve got 3-4 stages. Pre-diagnosis, shitting yourself that there’s something wrong, you’ve got a lump where you shouldn’t have a lump, so you fear the worst. You then receive the diagnosis, where you are then thinking, ‘okay I’ll deal with that.’ Then you have the treatment and post-treatment.
I didn’t feel I wanted to ask too much of the doctors and nurses. They are busy, you can see that. My oncologist is rammed with appointment, after appointment. So, I don’t want to take up their time. I knew my condition wasn’t life threatening.
I didn’t know it was stage three and I didn’t know my survival chances. When I was strong enough in myself to finally ask, I then asked the question. That’s when I found out it was stage three and I had 75% survival chance. My oncologist laughed and said, ‘knowing you, you know that your glass is three quarters full!’ Actually, I thought I was 99% full! So, I was a bit disappointed it was only 75%. It knocked me for six for a while. Would you jump off a cliff if your chances were 75%?
Side effects/lasting effects…
The worst was my neck, it was so blistered and would ooze goo. So much so, on a morning, my face would be stuck to my neck. I had to take some morphine to kill the pain, to then get in the shower and wash it off.
I think I’ve listed about 32 different side effects in total. I think today, I can still count around 12. I include in that, anxiety, such as financial anxiety, my career. For instance, after our chat, I have a full day with a client for a workshop and will my voice survive the day? I often wonder, are they going to keep employing me if I can’t hold a conversation?
My mouth is still dry particularly in the morning, but I now tape my lips together at night, which forces me to breathe through my nose, which is apparently better for you anyway.
Blisters, loss of weight and other (32) injuries keep you busy having to constantly treat them
I also lost three stone in weight in three months. To be fair, I did need to lose a fair bit of weight. I was badly overweight. I actually chose not to over-eat, which affected my energy levels to a certain extent. It meant that I lost weight and I feel better for it.
I’m fairly active and I was always active throughout, apart from those days when I just couldn’t. I remember one day I couldn’t make it to the end of my pontoon, I just didn’t have the energy. That was scary.
I can play tennis and play as well as I’ve ever played, but the next day I’m not myself and it can wash me out for the next 24 hours. I played six sets of tennis the other day. Tennis has been a huge salvation for me. The people I play with, matches I’ve played and lost, but fuck it, I still played them. Then there are matches I’ve won!
The mask fears…
Pre-treatment, my friend started telling me about what I could expect. He told me about the mask. I suffer from mild claustrophobia, so it already had me fearing the mask more than most.
That’s me in there … listening to the Beatles and thinking daft thoughts!
The mask was something I feared most. When I went to have the mask fitted, whilst it was nice to have the care and attention on me, I got myself into the zone, but then the confinement arrives. That starts to come as a wave and when that starts, I had to find a way to stop it.
As you then get underway with treatment, the mask really is scary. The first time I had it fitted, they had to remove it early, I just wasn’t ready. Then I just had to put up with it, although that next time I was really scared.
I was going in five days a week. I got through it though and just had to have a stern word with myself. ‘This mask is saving my life and this is my friend.’ So, when they started putting the mask over my face, I would push my big roman nose in to it and meet it, both physically and psychologically, half way.
They would always put on some music, so I could listen to something to a certain extent. The music was good, as I liked the Beatles. Tracks like ‘Hey Jude’ go on forever and it’s good because it was one of the last ones (before end of treatment), so I always associated the song with that.
Coping mechanisms…
I would walk to Charing Cross hospital along the river, one of the most beautiful walks to a hospital you can have. I’d be pretty tired when I got there, flake out on to the bed and they would put my Beatles soundtrack on. It was the only routine I’ve had in my entire life, but that routine gave me a purpose.
A couple of tricks I developed. Do not count down to zero. I learnt the hard way to count up instead of down, because when you reach zero and you don’t hear the footsteps for them coming to undo the bolts on your mask, you begin to panic. Also only count when you’re fed-up with it. If you start too soon, you’ll be counting for too long.
I would also often think over business ideas and how to solve problems. I would find that easier to think about than happiness. So, when people say to me, ‘put yourself on a beach.’ I had cancer and feel shit, so I’m not going to picture myself on a beach!
Moving forward / Life Post-Cancer
Coming out the other end…
I believe I haven’t got cancer anymore. I’m on three monthly check-ups. (Cancer) It’s given me purpose. It’s been a massive boost, but, I wouldn’t recommend anyone gets it. Of course I wouldn’t but it’s not the end of my world.
I started my treatment in June (2021) and went through my treatment as a machine. My only concern was to just get through it. That’s all I needed to do and it’s what I did. By the time I came out of the other end, psychologically that was tough. I was looking around thinking, ‘okay I’ve recovered from the treatment, now what? What’s next? However, I don’t sit in sadness, what else can you do?
I’m beginning to enjoy the boat again now. I started decorating it and making it my own, doing the stuff I would have done a year ago. It (the boat) had been a hospital ward for me!
Cost of living/financial impact of cancer…
I knew there was financial support available. I probably needed the financial support and should have applied for it, but I’m rubbish at filling out forms.
I would say to anyone dealing with cancer, or anyone who can support people living with cancer, you need that financial support.
It is expensive, dealing with cancer. I became self-employed two weeks too late to be furloughed, so missed out on that. I did manage to get Universal Credit and managed to pick up some consultancy work with clients.
Just last week, my electricity bill has just come in and it’s doubled what it was. It’s money I have to find. I don’t mind admitting that I’m not a wealthy person. I should be at my age. I’m a wealthy person in spirit and lots of other things, other than what’s in the bank.
I feel the cold twice as much as I used to, so my heating’s on 24/7 and I definitely feel the cold a lot more (since diagnosis). Although my treatment was during the hottest days of summer in 2021.
There’s insurance too. I went on holiday recently and didn’t even insure myself. I started filling out the form online and it got so complicated, I thought, ‘I’m only going for three days!’
I’ve lost my sense of taste, which in my case has resulted to trying to source something I like. Your fulfilment isn’t quite the same, so you do end up wasting food, but still have to eat. So, there are those hidden costs too.
The Podcast / Relationships with friends…
People promised to come and see me and never did. If I want to see you, I’ll ask you to come.
I’ve upset people, some my nearest and dearest, so I’ve lost a bit of friendship as well as family, because they were least able to deal with it to a certain extent.
Anyone who knows someone with cancer, please don’t waste your breathe and waste their time on platitudes and bullshit stuff, because we have far more important things to deal with. It’s called tough love.
In general, writing the blog has been a brilliant cathartic thing for me to write, but it’s also been a wonderful thing for me to experience, particularly when I return to Huddersfield. People stop me in the street having read my blog or mention that they’ve passed it on to someone. That’s a wonderful feeling.
“So. What does a Sherpa look like?” I couldn’t have managed without them. They made me feel lucky.
I never wrote the blog in an organised way. It was middle of night, 3am, I’d woken up and want to get it out of my head.
Nick, my youngest. A brilliant Sherpa and a beautiful human being
The toughest blog I wrote was about the Sherpa idea, which came from my good friend Mandy, who sadly died. When my girlfriend left me, I remember saying to Mandy, ‘I’ve got a mountain to climb and I’ll climb it on my own. I’m okay with the idea of that.’ When I climb that mountain, I don’t have to leave foot-holes for anyone. If it crumbles after I’ve climbed it, I’m not bothered by it. But Mandy said, ‘we are all your Sherpas.’ I thought Wow! She was special.
Male Audience…
I’ve had a lot of men come forward and say, ‘good on you, well done for saying that.’ I think it’s enabled conversations with men that wouldn’t necessarily have had those conversation before.
I also had one lady come forward and say that she hadn’t any idea what her husband was going through until she read my blog. That was special. He’s died.
Sharing experiences…
When you have cancer, you are in the club, people talk more about it to you. Like when you buy a car and then you keep seeing the same car on the road afterwards.
I know my friend who is going through oesophagus cancer, he’s having a tough time and going through hell. I can’t help but feel conscious that his journey is very different to mine.
His treatment, at a hospital which I won’t name, has been very different to mine. They are under-staffed, with a stretched workforce and his treatment has not been joyous in any way, shape, or form. Mine, was very good in comparison.
My friend diagnosed with cancer of the oesophagus is my tennis doubles partner and was diagnosed the same week I was. He rang me up after I left hospital having had my biopsy, with something to tell me. He said, ‘I have the same you!’ I said, ‘what, a bad forehand?!’ He then told me about his cancer. We laughed and he said he couldn’t think of a better person to go through it with!
People said to me, ‘if anyone’s going to get cancer, it’s you Nadio. You are the best person I know to get cancer.’ It’s weird.
COVID-RELATED
Dealing with the pandemic…
Whilst wearing a mask with throat cancer isn’t ideal, my experience (during this Covid period) was a relatively good experience. Apart from my initial check-up, more often than not, the hospital wasn’t that busy.
It’s been a hell of a journey…
I’m used to living with Covid. Living on a boat, I was used to locking myself away and communicating with people online. I’m busy and entertained and don’t feel lonely in anyway. But, I’ve since found that people weren’t visiting doctors and you were lucky to get in when you did.
I had lots of notifications that I was severely at risk, so I probably didn’t get the visitors that I might have got and didn’t go to places I might have visited.
I did actually get Covid myself until recently. I went to Spain for a few days and managed to get Covid. This was before Christmas, post treatment. I was laid low for two weeks, and just had little energy. But I wouldn’t close down a nation for it, or put people out of work for it, destroy the economy on what I had, so let’s crack on.
Please support. You never know when you will need them.
Nadio Granata's Personal Blog 