Part 5 – The Chemo Chronicles: HPV Lessons & The “C” Word

💉 First Round at the Chemo Chair

So here we are. Monday morning, 9:30 am sharp, parked in the chemo chair for my first proper session. They say it lasts six hours, but what they don’t tell you is it feels like an endurance event crossed with a really slow pub crawl — only instead of pints you get drip bags with names like Cisplatin Vintage 2025.

The nurses are incredible. They glide about like seasoned baristas, swapping lines, checking drips, and making sure you don’t run dry. I half expected one to ask, “Would you like one sugar or two with that?” Honestly, the only thing missing is a loyalty scheme — “Six infusions and your seventh tea is free.”

Here’s the routine: First, you watch a video on the process, and then you settle in, the cannula goes in (another tick on my Canula Bingo card), the drip of fluids gets hooked up, and then you… wait. And wait. And wait some more.

Luckily, I was well supplied. Sandwiches, cups of tea on tap, and even the chance to get up for a wander now and then meant it wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d built it up to be. Chemo days are long, but manageable if you’ve got snacks, an iPad, a bit of patience, and a sense of humour.

By the end of the six hours, though, it hits you. Not in the chair, but afterwards — an hour later, when I was bolted down for radiotherapy. Going from chemo straight into the mask is like being asked to run a 10k right after finishing a marathon. Quick in the room, yes, but physically and mentally, I was drained. By the time I got home, I was running on fumes.

So that’s 1 of 6 chemo done, and 3 of 30 radiotherapy sessions ticked off. Early days, but the scoreboard’s moving.

This Year's Summer Special

🦠 HPV Awareness (The Vaccine That Could’ve Changed My Story)

Now, I want to touch on something important: Human papillomavirus (HPV). It’s an awkward topic because I know not everyone shares the same view on vaccines, especially after COVID. But here’s my reality — I never knew I had this virus at all, it just sat in my body for years doing nothing, no symptoms, nothing. But if the HPV vaccine had been around when I was younger, I probably wouldn’t be sat here typing this with a chemo line in my arm. That’s not speculation; that’s fact.

Medicine moves on quickly

The HPV vaccine isn’t just for boys — it’s for boys and girls. In girls, it’s hugely important because it helps protect against cervical cancer. In boys, it prevents cancers like the one I’ve got. Either way, it’s a shield the next generation can have that I never did.

I’m not preaching or trying to tell anyone what to do. I’m just using myself as an example. This cancer came knocking on my door thanks to HPV, and I’d give anything for the chance to have dodged it. The vaccine offers kids today that chance. If my story helps even one parent think twice about it, then maybe some good comes from this mess.

😶 The Reactions to Cancer

Something I’ve learned quickly is how people respond when you tell them you have cancer. The word alone seems to hang in the air, heavy and awkward.

Some people quietly step back, almost as if it’s contagious.

Others go silent, unsure what to say, or avoid the subject altogether.

We are all different and its ok.

And then there are the few who carry on as normal, maybe with a joke or a smile, and that helps more than they realise.

Now, let me be clear — I don’t blame anyone for these reactions. They’re totally understandable. Cancer is a scary word, and if you’ve ever watched a loved one or a friend go through it, those memories stick hard. Sometimes people keep their distance not because they don’t care, but because they care too much and don’t want to get it wrong.

For me, humour is how I cope. Maybe it’s a hangover from my Army and railway days, where you either laughed through stress or went under with it. I need to talk about it, joke about it, and take away some of the fear. But I also get that for others, even saying the word feels too heavy.

🙌 A Word for Those Just Starting Out

If you’re reading this at the beginning of your own head & neck cancer journey, here’s what I’d say: trust the system and the medical staff looking after you. I’ve already been through two big surgeries, endless scans and tests, and now I’m in the thick of chemo and radiotherapy.

And you know what? I’m fine. I really am. It’s not easy, but you will be, too. The teams know what they’re doing, and they want nothing more than to get you through this. Lean on them, ask questions, and take the advice.

Every Path is different

It feels like a mountain now, but step by step, you’ll get across it. Some days will feel like you’re sprinting uphill, and others like you’re crawling on your hands and knees. Both are normal. Both still count as progress.

Take the small wins wherever you can. A decent night’s sleep. A meal you actually enjoy. A day when the painkillers do their job properly. Even a nurse managing to get the cannula in first time — that’s worth celebrating.

Don’t be afraid to lean on the people around you, either. Family, friends, fellow patients — you’ll be surprised who steps up and how much lighter the load feels when you’re not carrying it all on your own.

And lastly, don’t lose your humour. You don’t have to be cracking jokes every five minutes, but being able to laugh — at yourself, at the situation, even at the absurdity of it all — takes the edge off. I’ve found that humour doesn’t just help me, it helps everyone around me too. So find your coping mechanism, be it like mine to laugh at it or take up knitting, to immerse yourself in books or TV shows, it's what works for you. So yes, it’s hard. Yes, it will knock you about. But it’s also survivable. One foot in front of the other, and you will get there.

3 Survival Tips for Starting Out Chemo:

• 🍫 Bring supplies you like — snacks, juice, iPads, Kindle or even jigsaws. You’ll thank yourself later.

• 😂 Keep your humour — it lightens the mood for you and everyone around you.

• ❓ Ask questions — the staff have seen it all before, and nothing you ask is silly.

⚔️ The Bottom Line

Rockets "Fire"

This isn’t a battle I asked for, but it’s one I’ve got to fight. The only alternative isn’t worth thinking about. So I’ll keep turning up, bag after bag, zap after zap. I’ll keep talking about HPV, even if it makes some people uncomfortable. I’ll keep making jokes, even if they’re dark. And I’ll keep writing these blogs — partly to help me cope, to keep my family and friends in the loop, and maybe, just maybe, to help someone else get checked, get vaccinated, or feel a little less alone.

Because at the end of the day, the cancer doesn’t get the last word. And here’s the thing — fighting cancer isn’t just about what happens in the hospital. It’s about showing up every single day, even when you don’t feel like it. It’s about dragging yourself out of bed when your body says no, because deep down you know that every treatment, every scan, every uncomfortable moment is pushing you one step further away from the disease and closer to the life you want back.

It’s about refusing to let the fear win. It’s about letting the laughter in, even when the situation is grim. It’s about choosing to see yourself not as a victim, but as someone who has a job to do — a hard, painful, exhausting job, yes, but one that’s worth every ounce of effort.

I’ll keep telling my story because silence doesn’t help anyone. If sharing my ups and downs makes just one person think, “I should get checked,” or one parent decide, “My kid’s having that vaccine,” then that’s worth every word. Cancer might take a lot from me, but it won’t take my voice.

Because when all’s said and done, cancer doesn’t get the final say. I do. And my word is this: I’m still here, still fighting, and still laughing — and that’s something the disease will never take away.

Take Care

Ash

For us oldies, as my son didn't know Mad Magazine lol