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- Herausgeber: Tracey McDonald Publishers
- Kategorie: Sachliteratur, Reportagen, Biografien
- Sprache: Englisch
'The only thing in life that you have 100 per cent control over are the thoughts in your head. When your thoughts are centred around the very essence of your purpose, and the meaning of your life, you unleash immeasurable power.' In 2016 Richard Wright was confronted with a diagnosis of rare pituitary cancer – a disease about which little is known, other than that it is almost invariably terminal. In attempting to deal with this bleak knowledge Richard defined what mattered most in his life, his true purpose, which was ensuring that his two young daughters would not have to grow up without their dad. Understanding his life purpose, he focused on overcoming the seemingly insurmountable challenges and obstacles that faced him, using the sheer power of his mind. Ongoing research into what the human mind is capable of, and sheer grit and determination, enabled him to complete four full Ironman races while undergoing harsh cancer treatment, with his daughters cheering him on. It wasn't easy and he had to dig deep to overcome setbacks and disappointments, but he never gave up. Instead, he found the strength, and the freedom, to speak his truth and to become the most authentic version of himself possible. Richard's story, told with raw honesty, humility and humour, provides proof that discomfort sparks outrageous achievement, especially when linked to our sense of purpose. It is a profound story of passion and endurance but, above all, it is a story that will resonate deeply for every one of us, whatever our life circumstances, revealing learnings that challenge us to think differently about our purpose in life. The Power of Purpose is an unforgettable account of one man's indomitable will to overcome crippling adversity. Its power will remain with you long after you have turned the last page. What Richard has done with The Power of Purpose is nothing short of a gift. A modern-day Man's Search for Meaning. – BRONWYN WILLIAMS, Futurist, Trend Analyst, Economist Utterly remarkable. Richard has a way of illuminating the darkness beyond possibility like nobody I've ever met. – MIKE STOPFORTH, Director of Beyond Binary, Entrepreneur, Speaker
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THE POWER OF PURPOSE
How to Obliterate Obstacles and Triumph Over Impossible Adversity
Richard Wright
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Why you should read The Power of Purpose …
‘Richard is a compelling speaker and writer. His story is one of remarkable fortitude and achievement, bringing his hugely personal journey to life with humour and rare honesty. The Power of Purpose is an enthralling read, giving us insights into the human side of Purpose. Richard is able to bring Purpose to life and rehumanise it in everyday context for everyone.’
– JONATHAN BESSER,
Managing Director, Duke Corporate Education Europe
‘What Richard has done with The Power of Purpose is nothing short of a gift. By generously sharing his story – and revealing both his strength and his vulnerability in the process – Richard challenges us, his readers, to face head-on the often devastating random challenges fate places in front of us, while still taking responsibility for our own past and future actions. A modern-day Man’s Search for Meaning.’
– BRONWYN WILLIAMS, Futurist, Trend Analyst, Economist
‘When you first meet Richard, you have no idea of his back story; you just see a great guy with incredible positive energy, humility and intelligence shining through those bright eyes. I met Rich when announcing at Ironman events in which he competed successfully. And then I heard about the cancer which made his achievements even more incredible. Not only did he crush his races, but he beat cancer. More than once. I asked myself, how is this possible? Well, reading his book it is clear. One needs to know one’s purpose. The “why” behind who we are and who we want to be. The “how” to be the best version of ourselves every day. In his book, Richard is honest, brave and quite bold. He shares some incredible inspiration to help you do the same. I know the power of purpose, because I see it at every finish line, with every finisher. It can make the seemingly impossible, possible. I thoroughly enjoyed every page and highly recommend that you add The Power of Purpose to your list of must-reads.’
– PAUL KAYE, Worldwide Ironman Announcer
‘It’s been an honour for me to be a small part of Richard’s extraordinary life journey. It has been a profound privilege to witness first-hand the courage, determination, despair, hope and ultimately sense of purpose you will discover for yourself in this book.’
– DR ANDREW GOLDING, CEO, Pam Golding Properties
‘Richard Wright epitomises the spirit of an enduring fighter. His never-say-die attitude inspires us all to be better, and to overcome seemingly impossible odds. The power of his mind is proof that, no matter the obstacle, with the right attitude and application we can overcome and live our best lives. A book and a life worth studying and celebrating.’
– DANNY K, Musician, Entrepreneur, Professional Speaker
‘From the first day I met Richard, his choice of words proved to me he is a man who understands the importance of his thoughts. Our thoughts become our words, our words become our actions, our actions become our habits, our habits become our character and our character becomes our destiny. We are the sum total of our thoughts and Richard is well on his way to mastering and winning the battle in the space between his ears. This is a step by step book to help us wage war and win in the battlefield of the mind.’
– KABELO MABALANE, Pastor, Author, Musician, Professional Speaker
‘Richard is a rare human. A gifted athlete, speaker, parent and friend. Over the years I’ve witnessed this positive, live wire connecting and resonating with people of all ages and levels of sport, business and life. We can all relate to his rich experience and grounded advice. His dealing with a rare disease only adds to his ability to spread the secret sauce we can all use not just to survive, but to thrive.’
– PAUL INGPEN, Editor-in-Chief of Mountain Bike, Triathlon SBR and Road Bike magazines
‘An expert by default at overcoming incomprehensible obstacles, devouring fear and spitting out its damage, Richard’s story is the epitome of true grit. Just as Richard challenges himself, his story will challenge you. This is not just a life story, it’s a living, breathing and enlightening guide, challenging our thoughts to embrace the immense power of our own purpose and, ultimately, achieve success. Scattered with humorous authenticity, Richard writes as he speaks – a revolutionary wordsmith who magnetically engages you with his gift. From beautiful and insightful tales of fatherhood with his beloved girls, to his relentless fight against a ravaging brain cancer, there are few boundaries. His ability to push his mind and body to astonishing human extremes in the darkest depths of adversity gives us an engaging read which will leave you with a bright, fresh and revived way of thinking. His is a story that deserves to be told and, once read, like the man himself, is impossible to forget.’
– ANNA GIBBONS-HICK, Head of Digital Marketing, Valkyrie Support Services Ltd, UK
First published by Tracey McDonald Publishers, 2020
Suite No. 53, Private Bag X903, Bryanston, South Africa, 2021
www.traceymcdonaldpublishers.com
Copyright © Richard Wright, 2020
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission from the publisher.
ISBN 978-1-990931-59-8
e-ISBN 978-1-990931-60-4
Text design and typesetting by Patricia Crain, Empressa
Cover design by Anna Gibbons-Hick
Digital conversion by Wouter Reinders
Whilst this book is dedicated to Mackinnon and Bailey, it would be remiss of me not to recognise three very important people. To my parents Allan and Meryl: thank you for 49 years of love, lessons, support, and for picking up the pieces more times than you or I will care to remember. I love you, and I am sorry for the wrinkles and grey hair. I owe who I am today, and all that I have accomplished, to you both.
Deborah, for loving me in actions beyond anything I have ever known, for tolerating my crappiness through cancer and treatments, and for being my greatest supporter, my confidante, my best friend and soul mate, thank you. Life is infinitely better with you, and you make me strive to become the very best version of myself. I adore you and feel deeply happy every moment I am with you. Thank you for prodding me throughout the writing process, and for asking me to read each chapter to you as I finished it. For your thoughts, guidance and opinions, I am grateful.
FOREWORD
There’s that wonderful, often cited moment in Jurassic Park (Spielberg’s 1993 one – the only one worth acknowledging), when Dr Ian Malcolm, played by the inimitable Jeff Goldblum, challenges the scientists in charge of the fantastical theme park about their level of certainty that nothing can or will go wrong:
‘If there is one thing the history of evolution has taught us it’s that life will not be contained. Life breaks free, it expands to new territories and crashes through barriers, painfully, maybe even dangerously, but, uh ... well, there it is. I’m simply saying that life, uh ... finds a way.’
That is the human story. It’s one of chaos and conflict, and extraordinary triumph, and pain, and relentless progress. Maybe we don’t get one without the other. Maybe if it was easy, nothing remarkable would happen. Those really are the only appropriate words to describe the very personal, very honest journey Richard has shared on these pages: utterly remarkable. He is the embodiment of the idea of life finding a way, against the very worst odds imaginable.
Richard’s story reminds us that even the most powerful humans on the planet can be weak, and even the weakest can be powerful. It reminds us that everybody is going through something, and that kindness should be our default strategy in every chance encounter.
I have the distinct pleasure of having known Richard for the more recent part of the story you’re about to discover. I leave every coffee, every WhatsApp chat (one of Richard’s underrated superpowers is the WhatsApp voice note) and, of course, every bicycle ride, inspired and challenged to find the borders of my own mental and physical ability and then smash those borders to pieces. Richard has a way of illuminating the darkness beyond possibility like nobody I’ve ever met, and maybe because he has had to do so – over and over again – to LIVE.
Like me, there is a version of you that can think better, love harder, run faster, cycle further, and achieve more than you ever imagined. Like me, unlocking that version means acknowledging that we are very mortal, that time is a precious gift, and getting off the couch (yes – that couch) is the first step. This book may just be the key to unlocking that new mindset.
Mike Stopforth
PROLOGUE
‘The moment that you feel that, just possibly, you’re walking down the street naked, exposing too much of your heart and your mind and what exists on the inside, showing too much of yourself. That’s the moment you might be starting to get it all right.’
– Neil Gaiman, University of the Arts commencement speech
This book is an account of my fight against brain cancer, but more importantly, it is as vulnerable an account as I can write of the struggle within my head to overcome the cancer. I have shared my journey in a way that leaves me feeling naked and exposed, but strangely empowered. It is in the most honest moments when we are the most authentic version of ourselves, that we can share with one another in a way that provides a reference point for the listeners to our stories.
Your story isn’t the same as mine, nor is mine yours. But we share many similarities in how we think, how we overcome, how we fall victim to life and how we get up again. We all have dozens of pain points in our lives; how we recover and grow from them is all that counts.
Over the past four years I have researched, read and studied about the brain, about attitude, about overcoming insurmountable odds and change. I have studied happiness and achievement. I have learned volumes about being a victim and being a survivor, about grit and tenacity.
But, above all, I have thrown myself into understanding how to assist others to uncover their own sense of purpose, how to achieve that which they believe is out of their grasp, how to harness the power of their thoughts and the power of the brain to become the very best version of themselves … without having to go through the journey I have.
My sincere hope is that my story will resonate with you on some level in a way that will add value to your own journey of triumph and assist you in obliterating the odds that you face. That is precisely why I have shared my nakedness.
I hope that I have got it right.
Thank you for sharing my journey by reading this book.
Richard
DISCOVERING PURPOSE
My sense of purpose and my burning goal – almost an obsession linked to my feeling of self-worth – was to win my age group again at Ironman South Africa 2010 and rain wasn’t going to deter me. An Ironman consists of a 3.8 kilometre swim, followed by a 180 kilometre cycle and then a full marathon – a 42.2 kilometre run. Athletes have 17 hours in which to complete the demanding ultra-endurance event and are not permitted outside assistance during the race.
I was living in Port Elizabeth and was determined to finish a training block of five consecutive days of 100 kilometres per day on the bike. It rained on and off the entire time, and each day I got soaked.
The first couple of days were fine, but the fourth and fifth were decidedly grim. My good quality cycling kit was all wet, and I had resorted to less-than-optimal kit for what remained of the cycling block. Wet loose lycra and the friction from the cycling movement caused a blister on Li’l Rich. (Note: I first wrote ‘Big Rich’ but decided that modesty should prevail.)
The blister wouldn’t go away, so I did what we all do when we have ailments needing a cure: we consult Dr Google.
I Googled ‘blister on penis’. Google’s algorithms are designed to reward content that gets the highest click rate, and it was easy to see why the resulting images ranked high. Morbid fascination for the spectacularly disgusting rates high on the internet it would seem, and the images I saw that day will scar me for life. I was pretty sure that I was going to lose Li’l Rich to the blister, and he was going to drop off.
An embarrassing visit to my GP and all was right with my world and my penis. ‘Just use Bactroban ointment and the blister will soon be gone,’ he said with a smile.
Now, six years later, it was clear that Bactroban wasn’t the cure for my ailment.
I found scant information on Google and resorted to medical search engines. What I read in every instance terrified me. Pituitary cancer is so rare that it doesn’t even get graded like most other cancers; there is no research available, no known cure, no specific treatment or chemotherapy drugs. The mortality rate told me that I wouldn’t have cancer; rather, I would have a death sentence.
I was convinced that it couldn’t be possible. Not me. I had completed Ironman South Africa 2016 five days before.
On the morning of 15 April 2016, I had taken an Uber to my neurosurgeon for a lumbar puncture to find out if the tumour on my pituitary gland was cancerous. Blood tests for brain cancers are ruled out because of the blood brain barrier. I’d been told not to eat or drink anything after ten the night before and to bring with me a bag with overnight things, as he had arranged with the lab to get the results back within a couple of hours, and had cleared space in his operating schedule.
‘If there is any sign of cancer, I am taking it out.’
His experience with pituitary cancer was limited, as was that of most neurosurgeons, but he knew how aggressive it was. The procedure to remove pituitary non-cancerous tumours is relatively common, and one that he had performed many times.
The pain and discomfort from the lumbar puncture faded in significance when only three hours later the results were communicated.
‘We are going into theatre,’ he said.
Disbelief. Shock. Horror. Looking back now, it was such a gift that it all happened so quickly. No anxious wait. No going back home with cancer in my head. No sitting helplessly with nothing to do but stress.
It was instant. All the cases I had read about, the reports I had seen, the studying I had done on the internet. Suddenly that person … was me. No words can describe that feeling of dread and fear. Fuck!
The receptionist helped me fill out all the forms and she phoned through for consent from my medical aid, applying at the same time for the oncology benefit. She took matters into her own hands, recognising that I was nowhere. My writing was mostly illegible, and I couldn’t focus on anything. The questions I had to answer for the endoscopic transsphenoidal surgery (non-invasive surgery through the nose to drill through into the brain) were chilling. Question after question about the risks of the operation; eyesight, bleeding, meningitis, cerebral fluid leak, pituitary damage, even death. My mind was racing.
It’s what we do. We play scenarios forward and imagine what is going to happen, how we are going to feel. I remember thinking about my funeral. Wondering who would be there. A sudden sadness and regret that I hadn’t impacted enough people positively, I hadn’t left enough of a mark.
I suddenly thought of my two little girls, tears streaming as they grieved. And everything changed.
Immediate purpose and my reason to survive.
At that moment I realised that I didn’t fear dying, I didn’t think about what comes next. If anything, I realised that my biggest fear in life was leaving my two little girls without a dad, and that there was no greater or more empowering reason to focus all my energy and resolve into doing everything within my power to survive.
That is the very definition of purpose; to physically, mentally, emotionally and spiritually focus on one thing so that everything else fades into a distant background. A sense of determination and tenacity so great that it becomes the centre of all mental activity and physical action. It is perhaps the greatest power we possess as humans and the essence of meaning.
‘Let’s get this done. I want this thing out of my head,’ I said to the doctor as the anaesthetist pushed her needle into the drip already attached to my hand.
Six hours later I lay on my bed in the High Care Ward feeling groggy and sore, my tongue was swollen and the inside of my upper lip where it had been cut was stinging. I couldn’t feel my nose. I remember panicking because my vision felt impaired, until I realised that my face and nose were swollen, and my nose was bandaged which meant that my line of sight was compromised. I had made it out the other end and now the only question on my mind was whether the cancer was gone, and whether the operation had been a success.
After what felt like an interminable wait, the surgeon came to see me. He went on about how intricate the operation was, how much the tumour had grown since the MRI four weeks earlier, and how he had had to remove it in tiny little pieces from the inside out. He told me that he had scraped the surface of the pituitary to make sure that all the cancer cells were removed, and that he was delighted to have saved my pituitary.
‘Just tell me that it is all gone!’ I wanted to shout.
‘I am very confident that I was able to remove it all,’ he said.
So why did he still look so serious, I wondered. What was the problem? Doesn’t he know how to smile?
‘Once the wounds have healed, the bone has grown back, and the swelling has reduced you are going to have to go for radiation therapy,’ he said. ‘We cannot take any chances, and we need to make sure that all the cancer cells are gone; the risk of regrowth is high.’
He spoke about me not being out of the woods yet. He knew very little about the cancer and he wasn’t convinced that it was the primary site, which meant that I needed a PET CT scan, and a couple of other tests to rule out that possibility.
His gravest concern was the documented survival rate amongst patients with any kind of pituitary cancer.
‘The long-term outlook doesn’t look good,’ was all he was willing to say.
He mentioned the oncology centre and the oncologist who would treat me. A report along with the scan results would be sent through. We would need to wait for the biopsy results from the lab. I would need to see his preferred endocrinologist to ascertain the damage to the pituitary function and figure out how much hormone replacement therapy I would need.
But despite his concerns, all I heard was, Cancer 0 – 1 Richard.
I then pointed to the large plaster I had discovered on my stomach. ‘What is that from?’ I asked. ‘It’s a very long way from my brain!’
‘Ah,’ said the surgeon. ‘I should have mentioned before we operated that we have to seal the opening where we drilled through the bone into your brain, so that you don’t leak cerebral fluid. We take a small piece of fat from your stomach to seal it and fill the gap left from the tumour. It’s called a fat graft, and we use biologic glue to seal over the fat.’
‘Same question as before,’ I said to the doctor. ‘Did you get it all ... the fat?’
I thought I had just cracked the best joke, but he didn’t even smile. I am still convinced that every time I gain weight it isn’t new fat; it’s just the old fat draining down from my brain.
Later that night fluid started running out of my left nostril. I alerted the nurses as I had been instructed to do and was immediately rushed through to the ICU. Fears were that the opening wasn’t sealed and that I was leaking brain fluid.
‘Will that make me more stupid?’ I asked, but they pretended not to hear me.
Clearly medical staff aren’t selected for their sense of humour.
No leak detected, just snot. Huge relief.
The only thing I cared about was how quickly I could persuade the medical team to release me from the hospital. At that point I had access to my two girls only every second weekend, and this was my weekend. I didn’t want to lose a moment, and I really didn’t want them to be worried about me. I knew that just the look of me would be devastating enough.
I managed to convince the medical team to release me a day earlier than most after that procedure. I’m an endurance athlete, after all, and I was determined to get home to my girls.
My life changed immeasurably that weekend. I discovered many things about myself. I was suddenly able to give crystal clear expression to subconscious feelings that had lingered on the fringe of my conscious thought.
You can never be the same person after an experience like that.
‘No man can cross the same river twice, for it’s not the same river and he is not the same man.’
– Heraclitus
What stood head and shoulders above everything else was that I realised that there is power behind purpose, and that a big chunk of my purpose had been revealed. That’s not to say that I didn’t know purpose as a father before; that’s innate, it’s in our DNA. But it had certainly never been that strong nor that clear before.
Mackinnon and Bailey
‘Let’s make babies together (or at least try very, very hard).’
Like most young couples who decide that the time has come to have a baby, we were no different in believing that it was as simple as my ex stopping the contraceptive. Thereafter we would enter an intensive phase of rigorous baby-making, and – boom – we would be pregnant.
We found out the hard way that our perception was very wrong. Most research calculates that one in eight couples struggle with infertility, and that the stats are increasing yearly.
We became a statistic.
We both went for meticulous testing. I would never have imagined that the scenes I had seen so often in the movies would be my life. ‘Take this little cup, and go into that room over there, you will find a number of videos and a stack of magazines to help you …’
Fortunately, none of my swimmers were spastic and they were plentiful, but we had other challenges.
We found out that my prolactin levels were alarmingly high, higher than that of a lactating woman. Prolactin has very little function in a man, but when a woman is breastfeeding the pituitary gland secretes prolactin which causes her to lactate.
The result was frightening (although not the reason we were struggling to fall pregnant), so off I went to see a neurosurgeon who promptly sent me for an MRI, the results of which showed a tiny tumour on the pituitary called a microadenoma. They are relatively common, and apart from the hormone issues cause severe headaches and can cause sight impairment because the optic nerves run past the pituitary gland. However, it is extremely rare that a pituitary tumour is cancerous and mine wasn’t.
Fortunately, my prolactinoma (prolactin-secreting microadenoma) was responsive to medication and that was the start of a twelve-year journey with that little tumour. It would flare up, I’d go for tests, get on to a drug called Dostinex (Cabergoline), and usually six to eight months later would be able to stop the drug as the tumour had shrunk.
An extremely stressful and expensive year of clinical process and dashed hopes followed.
On New Year’s Eve in 2004 whilst on holiday in Langebaan, Mackinnon Amy Wright was conceived.
Childhood traumas, inadequacies and an inferiority complex had positioned me to accept a best friend I loved – but who I wasn’t in love with and didn’t adore – to be my wife. Something that only became evident after many years of retrospection. We had been happy at times, and we’d had a lot of fun sharing life together.
Sadly, though, we were a mismatch. The job I had at the time (as an estate agent and sales partner to an extremely demanding boss), the stress of building a home, and trying to fall pregnant showed every single crack and every difference in our personalities. The pregnancy was a tough time in our marriage, and one I found extremely difficult to navigate.
I was invested in the pregnancy one hundred per cent. I bought books, researched, and read up as much as I could. I found it isolating to be on the outside. I was a part of this process, but yet I wasn’t. What an extraordinary gift to grow a little human in your tummy! I was at every single scan and appointment, at antenatal classes, and as involved as I could be. One of our biggest differences was that I’m optimistic to the point of being stupid, and I struggle with negativity.
The birth was supposed to be a natural water birth, but 23 hours later, and after numerous attempts, Mackinnon was removed with forceps. The clinic allowed me to sleep in the room with Mac and her mom. Parenting had begun.
I took two weeks’ paternity leave and threw myself into being a father. I handled every bath time (I bathed with Mac on my lap in the bath), every nappy change, and the swaddling and putting her to sleep. Going back to work was awful because I felt so detached.
We were told not to go back on to a contraceptive, but just to let things happen in the hope that we might not need further treatment to fall pregnant again.
The weaknesses in our troubled marriage were exposed, resulting in a frequent emotional quagmire of destructive conflict.
I asked my ex to go to marriage counselling with me and after six appointments she decided that we were fine.
We weren’t.
Nobody ever wakes up one morning and says, ‘Today feels like a good day to have an affair.’ That isn’t how it happens. But there it was. For the first time in years I felt wanted, needed, acknowledged and respected. Those are powerful feelings. I didn’t fall in love with her. I fell in love with the feeling of being wanted.
My ex found out.
Pre-cancer, that remains one of the worst days of my life.
We tried hard to smooth things over, but the damage was done.
I had become the person I had always despised in others. I had many reasons but no excuses.
I was determined to fix our broken marriage, and to make significant changes. I resigned from all functions within the company and reverted to being an estate agent again. We went back to therapy.
I picked up triathlon again, something I loved and had been good at before I had started my real estate career. I felt that I had lost Richard and that was an important step to finding myself again.
I entered my first Ironman on a whim, under pressure from friends who I was coaching for the event. On my first attempt in 2007, through all the emotional turmoil and only three months of solid training, a touch-and-go start in the morning due to a two-week flu bug, I finished Ironman South Africa in 55th place overall, and realised I had found a big chunk of the Richard I had lost. I felt good about myself for the first time in a long time.
For the next two years we kept trying as a couple. We moved to Port Elizabeth to give the family a chance, and because we had both loved it there when we visited earlier in the year for the Ironman.
I entered Ironman South Africa again the following year and had my best ever result. A 16th place overall in a time of 09:17. I was the first amateur athlete across the line. Ironman became my escape, I trained to get out of the house and to push myself so hard physically that I was tired and could sleep. I used the time to think too, spending hours and hours alone on the road.
We lost two pregnancies after Mac was born. The first at eleven weeks into the pregnancy, before we left Johannesburg. The next baby we lost in Port Elizabeth at seven weeks.
Bailey Cameron Wright was conceived in December 2007, and after the first anxious trimester we breathed again.
It was an even more challenging pregnancy than the first. As parents we were worlds apart, and constantly at each other’s throats. I was the only one working, and finances became severely compromised.
From the moment Mackinnon and Bailey were born I have done everything possible to be as involved in both their lives in every way that I can and to be the best dad possible. My girls remain the greatest gifts life has blessed me with; I am immensely proud to be their dad.
My ex’s book would be different, were she to write one, and I respect that. I have left out many details as they do not belong here. I was once told that there are three sides to any story: his, hers, and the truth.
What is the truth for any of us other than our truth?That’s an important part of this book. Because our thoughts determine our perceptions (or our truth), our perception determines our reality, and our reality determines our actions.Therefore, for our actions to change our thoughts need to change first. Ultimately, challenging your truth is a critical part of the change we all desire.
I was bewildered by my actions. I had always scorned infidelity of any sort. I had spent my whole life trying to be ‘the good boy’. I was a pillar of the community, hugely respected and liked.
In Port Elizabeth, things reached the point where the emotional and mental damage left me hollowed out, sad and desperate. I couldn’t leave because of guilt; I didn’t know how to carry on. Life was awful and I felt trapped.
I stopped short of having another affair.
We had been seeing a therapist for a while and eventually she told us there was no point in seeing us together any more.
I made the painful decision to do the inevitable. I spent more than a year in therapy in 2009/2010 throughout the divorce trying to fathom whether I was indeed the bad person I saw in myself.
My therapist said something profound, and true. She said that every relationship ends with a third party. That third party might be a hobby, work, sport, substance abuse, money, kids, or it might be another person. Those aren’t the reasons the relationship failed; the relationship had already failed. No healthy relationship finds itself victim to a third party, which is purely a symptom and ultimately the third party becomes the catalyst for the demise of the relationship. That doesn’t excuse my behaviour nor my choices. That’s something I had to work at over time. The pain of self-forgiveness.
I would go to the therapist week after week in tears, begging her to tell me if in her opinion as an expert I was a bad person. She refused to answer, saying that I had to figure that out for myself. Eventually she said just this, ‘Richard, if you really were a bad person you wouldn’t be struggling with this; the question we really need to be dealing with is why do good people do bad things? How can you and your ex ensure that in the life stories of Mackinnon and Bailey divorce needs only to be a chapter, and not the whole book? That’s up to you as parents.’
My thinking needed a radical facelift. I had allowed myself to be shaped by events: my marriage, the job I had had in Joburg and the people I had surrounded myself with.
My ex planned to move back to Johannesburg and asked to take the girls back with her. I signed the paperwork to agree. Divorce brings out the absolute worst in people. You end up wondering what your default behaviour is. Could this be who we really were?
Most likely, if you have lived your truth, you will be a villain in someone else’s story. That’s life.
I fought hard for access to my girls. I had moved out when Bailey was just six months old when I could no longer tolerate the damage we were doing to each other. I had the girls every second weekend, when she allowed it. I lived in a bachelor pad above a garage on a beautiful golf estate owned by a friend. It was a respite. The three of us had such fun there. Bailey in a camp cot, nappies, bottle feeds, and family baths. Mac slept in my bed with me. The girls thrived in a happier environment.
I made a big scrapbook of photos, memories and happy moments for the girls to take with them to Joburg, a part of me. Watching them leave was torture, even though I knew they desperately needed their mom to be happy.
Two months later I appeared in court to have the divorce finalised, a day I thought would be a celebration after all I had gone through. I left the court feeling empty.
We had lost our magnificent home in Chelsea – on a smallholding deep in the milkwood forests overlooking the sea – to the bank.
I’d lost interest in working and in trying to save everything because I was the only one who was trying. I was blamed for everything. I regret the hurt, I regret hurting the woman that I loved and with whom I co-created our girls. The woman who shared many special moments with me, many amazing memories. Through all the dysfunctionality and the mess, I wish it had been different. But then where would we be? Two parents fighting incessantly, unhappy, grown apart in an unhealthy marriage? I had hurt for my own reasons throughout our marriage.
The affair came at massive cost to us both, although perhaps the cost was less than it could have been. I know for a fact that I am a far better dad than I could ever have been or would have been had we stayed married. That’s the gift.
As is the gift of evolving. Not all people choose to face their demons. In fact, very few do. It is disgustingly brutal; it takes an inordinate amount of time. Many people will try to keep you in that place because their narrative demands for you to be there. But it’s worth it. It is necessary. It is important. I would not be who I am now had I not had to travel this road. I am not the person I was. I’ve had to take responsibility for myself, I have had to grow up, I have had to watch everything around me crumble. I chose not to rebuild, but instead to build something new.
I flew to Joburg every month for 19 months to spend a long weekend with my girls. Every trip was fraught with conflict. My ex and her new fiancé made things extremely tough.
I was offered a new and extremely exciting job and grabbed it with both hands because it meant that I could follow the girls to Joburg.
I had moved down to Port Elizabeth in 2007 with a wife, a daughter, two horses, a pony, five dogs and a cat. I returned in 2012 with … two goldfish named Sparkles and Sunshine.
That’s a lot of loss.
None of us ever gets married to get divorced. We all desire the white picket fence and happiness. The ‘normal’ family. I took the divorce hard. I’d tried to hold on to the marriage for so long. Take it all, work at it, fix it. The thought of my two girls living apart from me. A broken home. The damage to them. I felt like a failure. I felt guilty.
Then I had a powerful realisation. Despite all evidence to the contrary, our marriage was not a failure; we have two amazing children to show for it. In that moment I realised that the marriage had had purpose. That our two little girls were that purpose.
Both of our girls were born out of intent. A decision. There was a time when we loved each other. We got married for a reason. Two broken people who chose to be together and two absolutely amazing little humans who resulted. I realised that my purpose was to make sure that divorce was only a chapter. To make sure that my sins were not repeated in my girls. That they could learn from my mistakes, and that I gave them the best chance and platform to be better humans than I could ever hope to be.
I had my wedding ring resized to fit the finger furthest from my wedding finger; the pinkie of my right hand. The girls loved that I wore it and I’d tell them often why I did. The ring was a constant reminder to me of my purpose as a dad.
Purpose is very often revealed when we least expect it. It could be discovered slowly, it could be stumbled upon, it could be what results in the crumbling of everything we thought we were destined for. It is unique to you. What is your purpose, and what gives meaning to your life?
Mackinnon and Bailey gave me all the purpose I needed to fight cancer.
IRONMAN 2016: THE TUMOUR WON’T KILL YOU
‘Those who believe they can move mountains, do. Those who believe they can’t, cannot. Belief triggers the power to do.’
– David J Schwartz
In 2015 I found myself back in that place where I felt a little bit lost within myself. I hadn’t competitively raced an Ironman since 2010. I had completed two events with a friend at his pace which, although they were incredible experiences, were not about me pushing myself to my limits.
I felt unfit and out of shape after five years of very little training, focusing instead on work, on being a single parent, and on managing a brutal travel schedule. I had tried to retain some form by running a little whenever I could although it was a real see-saw of nothing for a stretch, and then a patch of something. I hadn’t cycled that year at all and hadn’t swum either.
I wasn’t feeling great. Just flat and tired all the time. I attributed that to the work and the travel schedule. In October 2015, after a long stretch of inactivity, I decided that enough was enough. I knew the power of having a goal, and promptly entered Ironman South Africa 2016. An Ironman race is one of the most expensive single day athletic races in the world; the current entry fee for the 40-plus Ironman races spread across the planet ranges from R6 800 to R11 000, depending on the race. It is a hefty price tag but it ensures that you don’t consider bailing before race day because it is non-refundable and non-transferable.
Much of the price has got to do with two factors. First, the field is normally limited to 2 500 athletes from a safety perspective and due to the non-drafting cycling format (drafting is the act of cycling closely behind another athlete in order to sit in the wind slipstream and work less hard than the athlete in front), and secondly, the fact that the Ironman brand commands massive attraction to the largely midlife crisis and midlife correction markets.
It’s bragging rights for life for those who hover between the sex appeal of youth and the obscurity of middle-aged midriff spread and greying hair. It’s a powerful drawcard.
The bulk of the participants in any of the races fall into the 35 to 55 age group categories.
Starting up again was a real slog. A short run would leave me unable to train again for four to five days. The only time I’d ever experienced anything similar was when I had been diagnosed with hepatitis in 2009.
Cycling, which was normally the easiest of the three disciplines to start again, was anything but easy. I could no longer handle the sun on my skin nor training in heat – conditions I used to revel in. The nutrition I used during training didn’t help at all and I wondered if I had become somehow immune to the products I was using, or maybe they had passed their sell-by date. I checked. They hadn’t.
Losing weight seemed impossible and I was permanently tired and wasn’t sleeping well. I had a non-existent libido and couldn’t remember when last I had really wanted to have sex. At the time I was convinced that I had turned a corner in athletic performance and had already plummeted down the other side of the post-45 decline although it was only four months after my 45th birthday. Wow … that escalated quickly!
I remembered advertisements in my youth for a product designed for those I saw at that time as really old, called Salusa 45 … ‘Formulated for people who believe age is just a number. Salusa 45 will help maintain and restore nutrients you lose as you grow wiser and more grey … blah blah’.
Maybe I was just getting old and this was what 45 felt like. Maybe I needed some Salusa 45. The emotional turmoil (I felt like a basket case most of the time) I had long since attributed to the relationship fiasco I was living through.
In December I contacted my neuro and he sent me for the usual prolactin test. I always delayed going, hoping that somehow things would feel better and that my body would right itself. Also the drug I had to take to shrink the tumour had nasty side effects that made me feel worse than those caused by the tumour.
After the neuro saw the extremely high prolactin level, he prescribed the usual drugs, and we waited for the normal favourable response which was around 60 to 90 days.
I did what I could but I didn’t enjoy any of the training. I looked for all the possible and plausible reasons for this. A holiday in Port Elizabeth over December did little to help. I managed a couple of longer rides and made sure that I left at five in the morning to ensure cooler conditions. I ended up sleeping the whole afternoon every time I rode.
I was absolutely determined that I would still start the race even though I was getting more and more alarmed. I needed it badly. I wanted to feel okay. Racing always made me feel more than okay. It made me feel invincible.
I recognised the severe head pain as one of the symptoms of the prolactinoma.
The pain is stabbing and excruciating but lasts only 60 to 90 seconds. Over the 12 years that I have managed the tumour I have always wondered what I would do if I got one of those pain onslaughts while driving. It would be impossible to drive. In those months, the pain lasted upwards of four to five minutes and once the pain had subsided I felt drained and washed-out.
My peripheral vision became a worry. Far worse than I had experienced in the past. I knew that the tumour had flared up again, that much was patently obvious to me. I was frightened and alarmed by the severity of the symptoms.
By March 2016 I felt no respite and my concern was growing. I made an appointment to see the neuro and he sent me for an MRI. The results revealed a dramatic increase in the size of the prolactinoma. The appointment to chat about the results was the first time my name and cancer were mentioned in the same sentence. He was concerned about the growth as much as he was concerned about the lack of response to the drug. We discussed my age, and my physical condition, my history of sport and the history of cancer in my family.
My dad is a prostate cancer survivor, and the reason I have had prostate tests since I turned 40.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS AND ARE 40 AND OLDER AND HAVEN’T BEEN TESTED THIS YEAR … GET YOURSELF TESTED!
Unless you’re partial to the ‘nut fondling’ test performed by your doctor, you should know that it is a simple blood test these days, thanks to modern medicine.
My dad’s mother didn’t survive breast cancer.
IF YOU ARE READING THIS AND ARE A WOMAN AND HAVEN’T BEEN TESTED THIS YEAR … GET YOURSELF TESTED! MAMMOGRAM AND PAP SMEAR, PLEASE.
However, pituitary cancer has no known cause; it is not hereditary or genetically linked, and I wasn’t close to the prevalent age either. The neuro said that the chances of it being cancerous were infinitesimally small, and most likely the tumour had just grown substantially for some or other reason. What was unusual, though, was for a responsive tumour to become non-responsive.
He wanted to rule out cancer and asked me to book for a lumbar puncture, although he was quite adamant that surgical removal of the tumour was highly unlikely.
I delayed the lumbar puncture until after the Ironman despite the neurosurgeon strongly urging me not to compete.
