I do not get to see my friend Tino as often as I would like to. I love my friend dearly but probably, like him, I am burdened by being male, by existing under the illusion that at times the armour we place around us cannot be easily penetrated.

About 26 years ago when we first met, in our many discussions and enjoyable and spirited disagreements we never gave a thought to long life and instead opted for a multiplicity of captivating, enlightening and even dangerous moments. In good spirits we devoured those moments even as we raised our glasses filled with that other earthly, sublime spirit to each other and those sharing with us.

It has been our routine when we get together for Tino and I to head to bars, which I call “two-stoolers” in some of the most dangerous inner-city areas of the Corporate Area. Whenever we are at those places it has always been his habit to greet children passing by. At first I couldn’t understand it, but as we grew closer and the years passed I recognised that he had a special, deep, abiding love for children.

Recently, he sent me the following and suggested that I share it with readers if I felt like doing so. Well, I believe it is worthwhile sharing, not only for the fact that Tino is well known but because some readers who have been afflicted with cancer have continued to ask me questions on his condition and his treatment.

A lonely path by Tino Geddes

“As soon as you have been diagnosed and confirmed as a cancer patient your life changes drastically, and among the first things which impacts you is the fact that your life can never be the same again. How clearly I recall the day I visited the doctor’s office to get the results of my cancer tests, and how surprised I was to see my brother and sister – my closest relatives – in attendance.

“I will never forget the doctor telling me I was lucky because the cancer was detected early. Also clear in my mind is my exchange with the consultant surgeons to whom I was referred telling me that I would have to undergo surgery immediately and that would be followed by chemotherapy. I agreed to the surgery, but not the chemotherapy.

“It was over a year later that I finally did the surgical procedure, without the chemo, and thought that I had somehow managed to beat this unwelcome intruder in my body. When it did come back, I had no surgical option and with chemo the only known possible remedy, I agreed to undergo that treatment.

“When the chemo failed to improve my condition and I suffered adverse effects, I remember the doctors telling me that they could do no more for me; I was on my own with a deadly ailment.

“I felt abandoned until I discovered the properties of Guinea Hen weed (Anamu) and embarked on a relationship with this bush which has kept me in the picture until today. And I had my trusted physician with whom I could speak freely and could receive assurance that he would always be there for me.

“But when my doctor and friend, Reinaldo Pino, told me earlier this year that there was no point in returning to see him unless there was a drastic downturn in my condition, I realised that the sense of abandonment I felt when the other doctors took me off chemo without offering an alternative, was back again. I know beyond doubt that what Dr Pino told me made sense, that is, why do further tests when he and I knew my condition, and knew it would not be changing for the better.

“A miracle again, Dr Pino told me. That is the only way to explain why I am still alive. Living on a miracle, alive because of a miracle, existing years beyond the time I should have gone to rest.

“Today I am still active, still socialising, still travelling abroad when it’s affordable, still leading a life that appears on the surface to be normal. But what about the times when I am alone? When I lie in my bed alone with my thoughts? What do I think about? How do I see myself?

“I try not to think about my condition and instead think of how thankful I am to have survived all that I have been through. I think about the good times I have had, and how good God has been to me. I think about the fact that God must have a reason for keeping me alive long after doctors thought I would be gone.

“I am not a religious person and my prayers are directed at God and God alone. I do not attend church and I accept no one as the go-between for God. Yes, I respect the religious convictions of the majority, but I know that is not for me. My way is to pray to God and experience a sense of reasoning with Him. He has answered my every prayer and He has blessed me with so much. I do not merely believe in Him, I know he is there and obviously He accepts my somewhat unconventional approach.

“It is difficult to live through every day with the certainty that the next one could be your last, and the additional certainty that miracles do not last forever – and my time is certainly shorter than most.

“A lonely existence, yes, but one enriched with varying experiences which give strength and support to me to enable me to encourage others. Just as I respect the religious beliefs of others, I hope they respect my viewpoint.

“I need no sympathy or charity. All I ask for is acceptance and good wishes.”

For those who may wish to “converse” directly with Tino, his e-mail address is: tinogeddes@hotmail.com.

I am still looking forward to seeing my friend Tino and sitting down with him, while sharing a few drinks and racking our brains trying to weave our way through “solving” Jamaica’s problems in our meaningful discussions and light-hearted banter. This life, as we know it, is our only existence. For me, any other existence is built on wishing and hoping, but most likely fuelled by our inability to accept the obvious. We all need to go to make space for the next generation, for the ones we love.

When next we meet we will celebrate life. We will smile, joke, laugh and treasure my friend’s strength in staring down the Great Equaliser. We will cherish another moment, another day.

observermark@gmail.com