Sadly, he was right. His machines managed to pick up some “suspicious” looking nodules in my lungs. “They might just be inflammation” he reassured me. “We will need to wait for about eight weeks to see if they grow” he reassured me. Oh good. I’ll just hang around while cancer grows in my lungs, in my pelvis, and everywhere else in my body!

Trust me. Don’t get cancer. It’s not just the disease, everything in your life changes. Everything.

So, I wait, I get scanned, its cancer in the lungs.

Metastases.

Quite a hard word to say. Quite a hard pill to swallow. Metastases is not good in the world of cancer. It means it’s spread, it means it’s advanced, it means very many bad things.

I try to keep going. But how do you get up every day knowing you have advanced bowel cancer. The uncertainty of my future is palpable. It’s so bad, so painful.

Now what? Now we go back to an oncologist. There is no way they’re going to remove my entire pelvic region when it’s spread. What’s the point? It’s framed in terms of making sure I have some quality of life, making sure my body isn’t weakened so much through surgery that the cancer explodes, making sure what life I have left isn’t spent pissing and shitting in bags. Which I get, as hard as is it is to comprehend.