Part 4 The Radiotherapy Chronicles:

I’m writing this not for sympathy but for awareness. A few months ago, I felt perfectly fit and healthy. Now, I’ve got scars, a diary full of hospital appointments, and a date with chemo and radiotherapy starting 4th September.

If you take nothing else from this: don’t Google your symptoms. Please don’t sit on them. Go and see a doctor. I went from “absolutely fine” to “surprise, you’ve got surgery and six weeks of radiation” in record

time. If even one person checks themselves because of this, it’ll have been worth it.

The 4th is with me

🥽 The Mask Fitting – Call Me Lord Vader

Ah, yes, the mask fitting.

Picture me lying flat, a warm plastic mesh draped over my face, moulded so tight I could barely blink. Once hardened, it bolts to the treatment table to stop me moving. The end result? Somewhere between:

"I ate his liver with some fava beans and a nice Chianti,"

• Darth Vader’s Pound land cousin and a snow trooper from Hoth

• A clingfilm-wrapped ham joint

• Or Hannibal Lecter’s understudy and a failed Blue Peter craft project.

It’s surreal, suffocating, and oddly claustrophobic. At one point, I half expected the nurse to crank up “Staying Alive” on a Bluetooth speaker to test my sense of humour. The whole thing felt less like medicine and more like a new round of I'm a Celebrity — only the prize was keeping my head still while being slowly shrink-wrapped.

Comfort rating? If a pillow is a cloud, then this was a concrete paving slab borrowed from the hospital car park.

🎲 Canular Bingo – May The Veins Be With You

While the mask is scary, the needles are relentless. I’m now running a personal side hustle called Canular Bingo.

Eyes down for a full house

• Left arm? ✅

• Right arm? ✅

• Hand? ✅

• Elbow crease? ✅

• Bonus square: Missed vein – try again!

Honestly, if veins gave out Nectar points, I’d be on a free holiday by now. As it stands, I’m just a human pincushion who’s started keeping score.

Some days it feels like I should walk into hospital with my arms held out like a dartboard and let them pick a spot. Other days, it’s the same vein again until it gives up like an overused Wi-Fi connection. The bruises are starting to look like modern art — I’m thinking of selling tickets.

But here’s the serious side: every canula isn’t just a jab, it’s a gateway for chemo, fluids, and meds that I’ll need throughout treatment. When your veins get tired (and mine already are), it makes everything harder, slower, and more painful. So while I laugh about it, the truth is, the veins matter. Without them, the chemo doesn’t get in and the fight stalls.

So yes, Canular Bingo keeps me amused, but it’s also a reminder of how much work the NHS teams put in to keep the show on the road.

💙 The NHS – Better Than Any Rebel Alliance

Let’s talk about the real heroes: the NHS.

Surgeons, nurses, radiographers, admin staff — every single person has been incredible. They’ve patched

me up, scanned me, and got me ready for what’s next, all with humour, patience, and compassion.

And then there’s the price tag. If this were the US, I’d already be hawking kidneys on Facebook Marketplace. Instead, thanks to the NHS, my bill so far looks like this:

• Neck surgery & lymph node dissection: £30,000

• Tonsillectomy & laser surgery: £12,000

• Scans galore: £5,000+

• 30 radiotherapy sessions + 6 rounds of chemo: £50,000+

Total: £100,000+My invoice: PAID IN FULL.

Honestly, if the NHS were a Formula 1 sponsor, I’d be going around with “NHS – Since 1948” plastered across that team's cap.

🍞 Carbs & Doctor’s Orders

Here’s a first: I’ve actually been told by a doctor to put weight on. That’s right — instead of “watch what you eat,” it’s “pile it on, lad.”

For once, Carbs and sweets aren’t guilty pleasures — they’re practically medication. I’ve never felt so smug polishing off a pudding dessert.

But there’s a reason. With neck cancer, once radiotherapy begins, eating and swallowing will become painful and complex very quickly. The cruel irony is that while I’ve been told to gain weight now, I’ll end up losing it just as fast once treatment kicks in.

And this isn’t just about looking a bit slimmer — rapid weight loss during treatment can be dangerous. It affects your strength, your ability to heal, and how well your body copes with the chemo and radiotherapy. Keeping calories in when every mouthful feels like chewing barbed wire is one of the biggest battles ahead.

So for now, I’m stockpiling calories like a squirrel before winter — because I know I’ll need every ounce in the weeks to come.

🦸 Lou – My Unsung Hero

Now for the part most people don’t see.

Everyone looks at me — the patient with the mask and the scars. But behind me, carrying just as much of this load, is my wife, Lou.

She’s:

• Holding down a full-time job

• Attending every single appointment with me

• Caring for me after ops — cooking, cleaning, laundry, wound care, medicine, the works

• Picking me up mentally as well as physically (sometimes literally when I couldn’t move)

• Making sure the rest of the family is ok

  
  

When I was bed-bound, Lou did everything: from cleaning me to making sure I had what I needed, while still keeping the house running. She’s my unsung hero. People see “me with cancer” — they don’t always see the one who carries me through it.

Lou deserves a medal, a holiday, and probably her own Marvel origin story at this point.

⏳ Next Up – September Showdown

So here’s where we are: mask fitted, Canular Bingo card filling fast, and the main event starting on 4th September—six weeks of daily radiation plus weekly chemo.

It’s going to be hard, no doubt. But with the NHS as my pit crew, Lou as my rock, and the dark side of humour keeping me sane, I’m ready to face it.

👊 Final Thought

Please: As I said at the beginning, check yourself. Don’t ignore the lump, bump, or that nagging feeling. Don’t Google it. Go and see a doctor.

Because if I can find myself strapped down in a clingfilm helmet at the NHS, anyone can. And if sharing this to your social media helps even one person get checked, then telling you about all the needles, masks, scars, and custard will have been worth it.

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