Johnny Ruffo: ‘Nearly dying puts things in perspective’

X-factor star Johnny Ruffo shares the first extract of his upcoming memoir where he details his years-long battle with brain cancer.

In many ways, Johnny Ruffo was on top of the world. The Australian singer – who rose to fame as a contestant on The X Factor in 2011 before landing an acting role on Home And Away – was in love and pursuing his dreams. Now, in an exclusive extract from his upcoming memoir No Finish Line, the 34-year-old reveals how constant headaches led to the harrowing moment he was diagnosed with a brain tumour – and how his life changed forever. This is Ruffo’s story, in his own words

Aside from some pretty excruciating headaches that I’d been getting every now and then, life in 2017 was honestly the best.

I was 29, madly in love, working on shows and music that I was proud of, and still finding time to party with friends. What more could a guy who was about to close out his 20s want?

One morning, I woke up with yet another headache, which was bad enough that I only made it from my bed to the lounge.

Wondering if my migraines were from being perpetually run-down from both my professional and social life, I asked [my girlfriend] Tahnee for some Panadol and the TV remote.

I’d been to the doctor a few times about my headaches, but every time, I was only able to leave with either advice to take Panadol or a prescription for the strong painkiller Endone; and the diagnosis of either a migraine or symptoms of depression.

Even though I’d struggled with my mental health at certain points in the past, I felt like I was in a good state emotionally. The headaches and fatigue were pretty much the only things I could find to complain about.

Once nestled on the lounge, I flicked on American Pickers and hoped the Panadol would start working soon.

Just about the time Mike and Robbie had found another rusted Coke fridge to shine up for a hopeful collector in Nebraska, I started experiencing a burning pain that can only be described as like someone holding a blowtorch to my head.

Tahnee was just steps away in the kitchen making eggs and had asked: “How long do I need to leave the eggs for?”

As an expert egg boiler who can always achieve the perfect runny yolk consistency, I went to ask if she’d already added the oil, but it came out, “Have you already put the boil in the oiling water?”

I must have also been wincing in pain because Tahnee asked me if I was OK. All I could say was a string of nonsensical words: water, sugar, salt, head, hurts.

My head was on fire and the pressure made me think someone must have placed a vice around my skull to hold it still for the invisible blowtorch.

Johnny Ruffo had a brain tumour the size of a tennis ball removed from his brain. Picture: Daniel Nadel for Stellar.

Tahnee turned off the stove and said I needed to go to the hospital. I remember saying I was fine and didn’t want to go, but evidently she won, because I was shuffling into the emergency department just 15 minutes later.

While Tahnee checked me in – because I couldn’t form words – I stumbled blindly into the bathroom and vomited into the nearest bin.

Almost immediately, two hospital staff members got me into a wheelchair and pushed me into a dark room because they were under the impression I had a severe migraine.

Over the next 10 hours, I slipped in and out of consciousness. Doctors, baffled by my condition, kept me on a saline drip to keep me hydrated, while also performing a series of tests to rule out things like meningitis or some other sinister bacterial infection.

As day turned to night, my tests were coming back clear, but my pain and nausea were worsening. This was surprising to pretty much everyone, since not only was I on the strongest pain medications they could offer, I was also being dosed with the big guns for anti-nausea.

With little more they could do, we just had to wait and see if I would improve with time.

In and out of my fog, I could tell that nurses were checking in on me and quizzing me to gauge my level of cognition.

I could hear Tahnee trying to explain that migraine or not, I wouldn’t know who the premier was.

Just as I tried to answer yet another brain teaser, my body involuntarily went from lying down to sitting straight up.

Next, in a scene that would have no doubt been cut from The Exorcist for being too gory, my mouth opened and I proceeded to projectile vomit a very putrid and very brown substance that I’m sure haunts all present parties to this day.

Tahnee tells me that once the nurses were able to recover from the trauma they’d just endured, they opted to get me yet another drip of fluids and my pain/anti-nausea cocktail.

Fully expecting that I would have to be feeling better after that power spew, Tahnee went home to get me new clothes so that I wouldn’t have to leave the hospital with my backside exposed to the elements.

By 11pm, I must have been able to rest and hold my fluids down because Tahnee was advised to go home to get some good sleep and that she could come back and get me in the morning.

At 7.30am, Tahnee woke up and checked her phone. Nothing – no missed calls. A bit baffled, she rang to ask how I was doing.

The nurse on the other end of the line was extremely flustered and grateful that she’d called. Evidently, the hospital had had two digits swapped in Tahnee’s number, hence the failed contact.

“We’ve been trying to call you for hours,” the nurse said. “Johnny’s state deteriorated overnight.

“At 3am, we rushed him for a CT scan and found a large tumour mass on his brain. This explains the huge amount of pressure he’s feeling, the headaches and vomiting.

“After we did an MRI, he started to slip into a coma and we desperately need you to come and sign paperwork so we can perform surgery.”

Johnny Ruffo’s girlfriend Tahnee had to give consent for surgeons to operate on Ruffo’s brain. Picture: Daniel Nadel for Stellar.

Obviously, I don’t remember a whole lot of the details surrounding this part, but Tahnee tells me that after she rushed to the hospital in an Uber, doctors told her there was a 20 per cent chance I wouldn’t survive surgery, but a 100 per cent chance I wouldn’t survive the day if they didn’t try to remove the tumour and relieve the pressure on my brain to prevent an aneurysm.

With her consent, I was wheeled into the operating room, where a team of surgeons and nurses spent nearly 10 hours cutting a tumour the size of a tennis ball out of my head.

While I was blissfully unaware, thanks to the magic of anesthesia, my family and friends were all hopping on planes and in cars to get to me.

There’s something about nearly dying that puts things in perspective for you.

Over the next few weeks, my head started to heal and the doctors tapered my painkillers.

Up until that point, the only real things that had mattered in my life, in no particular order, were performing, recording music, acting, Tahnee, family and partying with friends.

But suddenly I was having to have conversations about chemotherapy, radiation, and whether it was necessary to freeze my sperm just in case I became infertile.

One of the saddest things about cancer is that even though it can feel like an isolating experience and that you’re the only victim, you quickly learn that it’s actually quite a large club that nobody asked to be part of.

Every day, I’ve found that identifying just one thing worth fighting for can give me the strength needed to pull my chin up and attack the day.

By revisiting past wins, losses, and moments with particular people in my life, I realised that before cancer, I had already been on quite the journey.

Johnny Ruffo features in this Sunday’s Stellar. Picture: Damian Bennett for Stellar.

My battle with cancer is a story worth telling, but so is my life before.

If the one thing cancer allows me to do is make someone else find their fight, well, that’s good enough for me.

This is an edited extract from No Finish Line (Echo Publishing, $32.99), out on Tuesday.

Originally published as Johnny Ruffo: ‘Nearly dying puts things in perspective’