Pete

Many reading this will be familiar with the emotional and physical challenge of lymphoma.

I was diagnosed with Hodgkin lymphoma in 2009 and quickly realised that to become better I had no option but to set myself on the tramlines laid out for me – the tests, the treatment, the consequences of the medicine, the joys of remission and the very surprising emptiness that followed. Perhaps, as a result of these feelings, last January I set myself a challenge of my own choice.

I quickly realised that to become better I had no option but to set myself on the tramlines laid out for me – the tests, the treatment, the consequences of the medicine, the joys of remission and the very surprising emptiness that followed.

I had really appreciated the support of Lymphoma Action, the ease at which they answered the phone, the kind and considered voices I spoke to and of course my invaluable ‘buddy’. Here was an organisation that has a humanity, just like the very best of the nurses I met in hospital; the ones who took time to hold my hand.

During the eight years of my association with the charity, I was drawn to their fundraising events, and particularly ‘the ‘Arctic Challenge’. Each year the idea of this became more compelling. Following a work night out, I sat and read the invite in the magazine for the umpteenth time. It was 2.30am and armed with an iPad and a glass of Jack Daniels, I pressed the ‘submit’ button. I was on the way.

The first thing to think about was the fundraising, and by setting an ambitious target my activities had a focus. With help and ideas from family and friends, we held lots of activities and events that year: a summer Band ‘n’ Barbeque at my college, the sale of some paintings I had managed to finish, a matched donation from a bank, a ‘just giving’ page and a Christmas raffle.

A much more strenuous activity was the training. I had received a rather heavy training schedule from the organisers, which I took seriously. I joined a fitness group, which I enjoyed each week. I also joined a gym, which I did not enjoy. I stuck with the schedule, disturbed only by the occasional virus. Like most people in remission, viruses are a real nuisance and mine usually take 4-5 weeks to get rid of!

The third and final aspect of preparation was the kit list – it was huge and initially seemed almost unachievable. At least that year family and friends were able to find an easy solution to Christmas, father’s day and birthday gifts. I had a steady stream of waterproofs, jackets, gloves, head torches, thermals, balaclavas and hats. I was ready!

I was about to start the Arctic Challenge – 200 kilometres of dog sledding in five days, through the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I was so far out of my comfort zone that I could barely function.

After a tearful goodbye to my lovely wife, I arrived at Heathrow and met 11 other ‘Arctically Challenged’ strangers, all of whom had their own stories. The flight to Stockholm took just two hours, followed by a transfer to Kiruna in the north of Sweden, inside the Arctic Circle.

In hospital, especially at the worst times, I had suffered the visit of an unwelcome visitor. I called him my ‘alien’ and he made many night-time visits during the early days of diagnosis and treatment. He never had anything positive to say and kept jibing and pestering me. After my last treatment I thought I would never hear from him again. But as the plane descended and the views of frozen mountains, roads, lakes and forests appeared, he came back! This evil stowaway was in my rucksack saying: ‘What have you done? You have no idea what you have let yourself in for!’

He was right! Through all the preparation I have never thought about being in the Arctic. The clue was in the title, but somehow I had managed to avoid addressing the obvious.

I woke to bright whiteness and trees bending under the sheer weight of the fresh snow. I also woke to the sound of 70 noisy and excited Huskies. I was about to start the Arctic Challenge – 200 kilometres of dog sledding in five days, through the most beautiful place I had ever seen. I was so far out of my comfort zone that I could barely function. On the pretence of needing a different sized hat, I met one of the leaders and explained how I felt. She was really kind and arranged for me to be in her team. Just like the nurse in hospital, her kind words and support essentially served to hold my hand.

The days that followed were unforgettable. Learning to drive the Huskies took far more skill than I would have imagined, but we all learned quickly. Following the leader, we set off at some speed, such that it was difficult to cling on. At our first turn, there was a ditch and a downhill slope. Surprisingly, I stayed upright and mobile, but behind me carnage ensued. The next sledder had fallen, creating havoc behind her as her Huskies had sped away. Within the first hour, there were several such incidents and we still had 199 kilometres to go! The concentration needed was intense and any lapse was sure to leave you upside down and stuck in a snowdrift. Slowly the accidents became less frequent and the group began to appreciate the joy of this challenge and the magical scenery we were surrounded by. I was beginning to think my ‘alien’ had been wrong.

Just like my experience of lymphoma, the Arctic Challenge left vivid images, memories, new relationships and a feeling of achievement being involved in something that was far removed from anything I may have chosen to do.

After sledding down hills, struggling to help the dogs up hills, over frozen lakes and through white frosted forests, we reached a wilderness camp as twilight was falling at 4pm. We were exhausted. We now realised what the training was really for, because for the next five hours we had to house the dogs, chop wood, prepare dog food, feed 70 hungry Huskies, fetch and boil water and prepare a meal that we finally managed to sit down to at 9pm.

Over those five days friendships were made, talents and stories shared and the relationship between rider and dog team evolved. On the fifth day as we finished the challenge we celebrated with our first shower in five days and a meal with wine cooked by others. It was minus 40 that night and just as we were about to settle for the night, the Northern Lights provided us with an amazing display of green and yellow. We were spellbound for nearly two hours.

Just like my experience of lymphoma, the Arctic Challenge left vivid images, memories, new relationships and a feeling of achievement being involved in something that was far removed from anything I may have chosen to do. But most of all, both challenges left me feeling fully aware of how great it feels to be alive.

October 2017