“DON’T GO ADOPTING ANY KIDS OR GETTING A LARGE MORTGAGE. You’ve got years, not decades”. It’s funny how sometimes a phrase or a sentence can really bore into you and never leave you throughout your life and I’m pretty sure I’m not going to forget the words you just read, because that was what my oncologist said to me on Thursday 2^nd July 2020.

Now, this is not my first brush with cancer, and I have to admit, the first time I was told I had the Big C was by phone on 4^th March 2018. I remember a mixture of crying my heart out, sobbing that I didn’t want to die – all the usual cliché things you’d imagine, interjected with periods of disbelief. The one thing I surprisingly didn’t do, was run through a list of things I wanted to do before I die – you see, I’ve been blessed with the opportunity to travel, do fun things, climb shit, skydive, sail an ocean – pretty standard stuff. Anyhow, once I’d had all the tests and knew what I was dealing with, there was never ever doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t beat it, and when I went into remission, I was told that the chances of recurrence was in the 5% range – but then that’s the bastard of statistics, they aren’t necessarily YOUR numbers.

And so here I am, being told its back, and despite the fact its confined to my stomach area, and isn’t in my lungs or other organs (these are all big ticks) – I’m being told that the outcome is a pretty shitty one, which I struggle to understand! I feel fine – okay – slight lie, I had back and stomach ache for the past three weeks, which I felt sure in my mind meant the cancer was back – weird how you can have a sixth sense with these things, but to all intents purposes, I’m feeling pretty well.

And, so I guess, that’s one of the bloody awful things about this disease – sure, it can be linked to certain things – you may have a gene that means you could be more likely to get breast cancer, or smoking and drinking may increase your probability of getting throat cancer, but the fact is – in many cases it just doesn’t matter. There is no rhyme or reason as to why you may or may not get struck by the disease – and one in two of us will in our lifetime – am hoping that as I’ve got it a second time, I’ve spared someone a go!

So, what does one do, when you’ve heard this news. Well, unsurprisingly, I pretty much cried my heart out, as did my mum. My oncologist had told me that there were two options open to me: 1) Chemotherapy and radiation or 2) Trials. The trials seemed quite vague, and would take six weeks before I would find out whether I would even be suitable, so I left the appointment in a bit of a quandary as to what to do.

The next few days were a bit of a blur, sobbing, walking around in a fog, more crying. I also googled a ton of stuff, probably hoping that somewhere I would read that statistically there were better odds (I didn’t!). I email my oncologist to ask what was behind his loaded comments, I mean we hadn’t even talk staging of cancer. Apparently, recurrent cancer isn’t staged, but if I had seen him as a first time patient, he would have staged it as Stage 4 which is not considered curable. Queue more sobbing, some questionable ‘why me’s?’ and all round feeling sorry for myself.

In order to get some perspective from someone I know very well and trust, I spoke to my Consultant and Surgeon whose care I have been under and continue to be under throughout all this, and he spoke some very wise words. First of all, he said that no one knows when they are going to die, and that as he’s always maintained, statistics are only useful for assessing treatment options and not for the individual, and the goal  is, as ever to get in remission – for however long that may be. He did also say, that if the chemo doesn’t work, then we are in big trouble.

So, long story short, I decided to go down the chemotherapy route. I will be having six rounds of chemotherapy (10 hours each time), three weeks apart (as the bone marrow needs to recuperate), followed by radiotherapy – but I don’t know what the latter will look like as it depends on how we get on with the chemo. I’ll be assessed after a few chemotherapy sessions to see whether its working, and I will continue to be assessed throughout treatment to see what side-effects I’m experiencing.

As I started going to various tests and appointments at the start of this, I asked lots of questions, I was asked lots of questions, and I tried to limit my googling in order to not go down any awful rabbit holes where 5 hours later, you’re convinced, you’ll get every side effect known to man, and my word, I know how that googling goes out – I have some friends (you know who you are) who have managed to find out how many brothers or sisters a boy has, where he drinks, where he went to university – BEFORE they have gone on a date – I mean, truthfully, it’s a skill! Anyways, I digress. I started this blog as an interesting means of noting, chronicling and expressing my journey through cancer treatment for the second time, whilst at the same time preparing to undertake the Talisker Atlantic Row – attempting to row the Atlantic as part of team ExtraOARdinary in 2021.

It’s an attempt to talk about some of the stuff that impacts you when going through cancer – even the awkward stuff people don’t want to talk about. It’s not about putting my life on show, but it also stops me from having to repeat myself as rightly so, people are inquisitive as to what is going on and I get a bit bored talking about it all the time  It’s also not going to be all doom and gloom but it’s as honest and uncensored as it comes and hopefully with some bants and chuckles thrown in!

Suffice to say, I’m by no means a doctor (although I’d like to think I’m akin to Dougie Howser MD), so whilst I write about the treatments I’m receiving as accurately as possible, they may not be entirely free from error and should be not considered as any form of medical opinion.

And so, I’ll end this blog on a thought that struck me the other day. We grow up thinking we’re guaranteed 85 years of life and the ability to do what we want. I read somewhere that a cancer diagnosis helps you understand life is a gift and not a guarantee, and this then creates opportunities to live like you’ve never lived before. This resonated with me immensely. Even after my first diagnosis, I found I stopped stressing over a lot of things, I gained perspective on what was important in my life, and I’m determined to make the utmost out of however much time I have, and not dwell on the what I don’t have. I set myself the challenge to row the Atlantic, in aid of three epic charities; Cancer Research UK, Macmillan and the Royal Marsden, and I’ll be damned if cancer gets in the way of me doing it. So, this is my no holds barred first blog of many to charter my path through cancer diagnosis, treatment and whatever the future holds.

Buckle up peeps, I’m not sure it’s going to be smooth sailing!