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I used to feel bulletproof. Rather embarrassingly, when people asked about my health, I always replied “I’m an Ox, mate. I just keep going.”
But now, I can barely move some days. If it’s not arthritis in my knee, then it’s other stiff joints, pins and needles and the like. The difference between 40 and 50 is massive. Actually, even the difference between being 48 and 50 is significant.
Suddenly I’m feeling older and thoughts of mortality, not a word I have associated myself with, has started to pop into my head.
I’m not dying - I’m too busy living - but too many people I know are or have died, and it’s shaken me.
A good mate is battling cancer. He’s 52 and the diagnosis is not great. Another of my close mates, also 52, had a heart attack three weeks ago while driving home from the golf course. The ambulance got to him within minutes of his mother’s call and he firmly believes their prompt response saved his life.
Standing in Auckland Hospital’s emergency department and hearing the doctor say to my mate, “Well, you’ve had a heart attack,” genuinely shocked me. I froze on the spot; he looked at me and I looked at him and we said nothing. We didn’t have to.
At that moment, I suddenly had it confirmed. I could drop dead any day, and I was with a mate who almost did just that. It brought back memories from earlier this year, when an old schoolmate who ended up playing rugby in France then settled there, lost his wife. She died of pancreatic cancer aged just 40.
Genetics matter for stuff like this. My maternal grandfather had his first heart attack at 42 and his last aged 52, when it took his life. My dad died aged 62 of cancer; my nana aged 72, again from cancer.
My mother having a massive stroke in her early 50s and beating breast cancer haven’t exactly settled my nerves, though she’s chugging on at 77. My paternal grandfather is the family’s great hope. He died aged 87, after doing nothing for his final 20 years.
But there is far too much cancer and heart disease in my family and I’m a prime candidate, right? And it’s suddenly in my face after my mate just used one of his miracle cards. He says as he lay there thinking he was dying, he reached for his phone, not to ring 111, but to hear his son’s voice one last time.
It’s been a tough few weeks for him. Every time we start talking about it again, we shut it down because neither of us wants to contemplate death. I look at my friends, peers and people I’ve worked alongside and far too many have died, are battling a terminal diagnosis or have had a near miss.
Hearing the doctor say to my mate, “Well, you’ve had a heart attack,” genuinely shocked me. I froze on the spot.
This week, we’ve had a very public reminder of the fact that far too many die far too young. Former National MP Nikki Kaye died, aged 44. She’d been diagnosed with breast cancer in her mid-thirties.
Earlier this year, Green MP Efeso Collins died suddenly. Collins and Kaye were two of Parliament’s kindest, most thoughtful and likable MPs. I had interviewed both before their premature deaths. Collins gave no sign health was an issue; Kaye told me her health was “not perfect”.
Collins’ death shocked us and Kaye’s took us by surprise as many had no idea she had gone downhill so fast. I guess saying her health was “not perfect” was her way of telling us to read between the lines.
It reminds us we are mere mortals – and mortality is a fact of daily life. Sixteen people will die today from heart disease, and 16 tomorrow and 16 the next day and so it goes on.
About 28,000 new cancer cases are diagnosed in New Zealand each year (a rate of 341 per 100,000) and the Cancer Society says the annual number of diagnoses will roughly double by 2040.
Time magazine earlier this year published a piece of work detailing how medical professionals were looking into the growing number of people under 50 with cancer around the world. People in the prime of their lives are increasingly being diagnosed with serious cancers, including colorectal, breast, prostate, uterine, stomach (gastric) and pancreatic. Time noted one forecast predicting cancer in the under 50s will increase by 30% globally from 2019 to 2030.
Two of the reasons we may be seeing this rise among the relatively young are growing obesity rates and increasingly sedentary lifestyles driven by computers and devices. Add in processed foods, the rise of fast food and diabetes driven by sugar-heavy diets, it’s little wonder cancer is striking earlier. We don’t move enough; we eat poorly.
There is far too much cancer and heart disease in my family and I’m a prime candidate, right?
So, death crosses my mind more often than it ever has. What have I achieved? What am I leaving my kids? Who will have their backs? I can’t bear thinking about it; I’ve got FOMO already.
I want to grow old, to see my kids grow and tussle with all that life throws at them. I want to be helpful, useful and relevant to them. So, I rarely drink, don’t smoke and largely I mock vaping. I’ve joined a gym. I want to lose weight and strengthen my muscles.
Participating in Celebrity Treasure Island taught me I don’t need much to stay alive. But I wonder what impact drinking heavily for 25 years will have on me now. Back then, it seemed no big deal, until one of our mates drowned after a night of drinking. I got concussed a few times, but it was brushed under the carpet.
Fat was deemed bad, not sugar. I made my own home brew aged 16, when the drinking age was 20. We pinched mum’s car and went on boys’ weekends and drank at every opportunity. We had four to a keg on one occasion put on by one of the fathers, and our parents taught us drinking games.
As I say, I rarely drink these days. I go fishing, lift weights and play table tennis. I want to be here for as long as possible. I’ve organised a party for my 100th and can’t let all my mates down. They’ll still be here, right? They’ll be coming, won’t they?
Duncan Garner is an award-winning journalist and broadcaster who now hosts the Editor in Chief live podcast.
