Very Important Cancer Conversations

It began with a fall in 2017, no pain, just a sudden collapse. Weeks of worsening pain and repeated GP visits led nowhere until one doctor finally listened. A blood test revealed Multiple Myeloma, an incurable bone cancer. The diagnosis was a shock, not just to me but to my wife, who became my carer.

Treatment included chemotherapy, immune boosters, bone-strengthening drugs. I noticed I wasn’t as tall as I used to be, and my mobility worsened, but the medical team were brilliant, helping me recover enough to attend my son’s wedding abroad.

There were setbacks: infections, hospital stays … but I refused to give up. I found strength in peer support, joining meetings, starting a coffee group, and becoming someone others could talk to. One friend said I helped him through a dark phase and that meant a lot.

My family never let me feel alone. They’ve pushed my wheelchair, lifted my spirits, and kept me included. I’ve learned how important it is for newly diagnosed patients to talk to someone who’s been there, someone who can say, “It’s hard, but you’re not alone.”

I still go fishing, plan holidays, and enjoy life and I am no longer needle-phobic!

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They say lightning never strikes twice. But I’ve lived through two life-changing diagnoses, Cystic Fibrosis in my thirties and Free Light Chain Myeloma, a rare and incurable blood cancer, in my early forties. So yeah, I’m living proof that sometimes it does.

When Myeloma hit, it had already done serious damage, fracturing my spine and overwhelming my kidneys. Treatment was intense: chemotherapy, a stem cell transplant, biopsies, and more. But the hardest part wasn’t the physical toll, it was the emotional weight of knowing the cancer will always come back.

That’s where Ending Life’s Taboo came in. They offered me rapid-access counselling, something I didn’t even know I needed. Those sessions helped me process the fear, grief, and uncertainty, and gave my family and me the space to focus on living, not just surviving.

When treatment shifted to maintenance, I thought life would go back to normal. It didn’t. I had to find a new normal, one shaped by fatigue, slower days, and a different kind of clarity. Cancer doesn’t just leave your body; it lingers in your mind, your relationships, your sense of self.

Still, I’m here. I’m parenting, laughing, and walking the dog. I’m straddling the “kingdom of the sick” and the “kingdom of the well,” and learning to live in both. Some days are hard. Some days are beautiful. But every day, I’m still writing my story, one slow, simple, messy, hopeful day at a time.

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A terminal diagnosis doesn’t just affect the body, it deeply impacts the heart and mind.

Getting emotional support early can transform the experience of young adults living with life-limiting illness.

Life after cancer treatment is often forgotten, yet it brings its own emotional journey that deserves attention.

Even when a cure isn’t possible, moments of joy, connection, and hope, still shine through.

Hello all, I was at my local surgery for a ‘Wellman’ check, or MOT as I call it. The nurse did all the usual checks, and as an afterthought, decided to do a PSA test (I hadn’t asked for one), it came back as 4.55, and marked ‘no further action’, as it was within the ‘normal’ range.

The following day, I got a call at 09:00 from my GP, which is highly unusual. He explained that he had been double checking results and found that my previous PSA was less than half of the current score and therefore of concern, so he referred me to the cancer pathway at my local hospital, and I was sent straight for a biopsy.

This came back as this came back as a moderately aggressive locally advanced prostate cancer. I couldn’t have it removed, owing to other health conditions, so I was offered Radiotherapy and Hormone Therapy.

The cancer had broken through the capsule but had not spread at that time. The consultant said, had my GP not been so diligent in double checking results, it would have very likely been too late.

Treatment reduced my PSA to 0.03, but it has risen on every test since, and is currently 1.14. I have side effects from the treatment, and the consultant believes the cancer has returned, so the journey continues.

It has been impressed upon me, that the PSA alone, is not the whole picture, the rate of rise is also highly relevant. In my case, the PSA is relatively low, but the rate of rise is quite high.

I wish all men who are members of this club that no one wants to be in, all the very best on their journeys, and to all men reading this that have not yet been tested, to please GET IT DONE! Early detection may save your life.

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Breast Cancer – My Story

It started with a lump my husband noticed in 2016. Initially diagnosed as a benign cyst, it was a year later that a cautious radiographer spotted something concerning. A biopsy confirmed breast cancer, deep, hidden, and undetectable by touch. The diagnosis was shocking, but I was determined. I’d seen others go through it and knew the process.

Treatment was swift: a lumpectomy, no chemotherapy, and a fortunate prognosis. But being treated at the hospital where I worked blurred the lines between professional and patient. Support groups felt alienating, people knew me for my role and not as a patient. I didn’t return to the local group and isolation took a toll. A year later, when I received the “No Evidence of Disease” note, the emotional weight hit me. I broke down, feeling totally overwhelmed.

Eventually, I was referred to an incredible counsellor and a support group where I could truly connect. It helped me but returning to work was too hard. I left fundraising, only to return later - this time for a mental health charity, because I now understand how vital it is to be heard and supported.

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I noticed blood in my stool but, like many men, I delayed acting on it. It wasn’t until a routine health enquiry flagged that I was due for a colonoscopy and laryngeal endoscopy that I finally followed up. These procedures were carried out together, and while the initial results were reassuring, further investigation was recommended to ensure a complete picture.

Waiting for follow-up tests brought moments of anxiety, but I was fortunate to receive timely care. An MRI was arranged to check the full bowel area. The process was thorough, and I’m grateful for the attention to detail. My results came back clear, but had they not, the early investigations would have allowed for prompt treatment.

I’m sharing this to encourage middle-aged men—especially those from African, Caribbean, and other minority ethnic communities—to take their health seriously. Don’t wait. Today’s medical tools allow us to detect illness early, and the NHS provides excellent, culturally competent care. Use it. Trust it. Take care of yourself.

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