It’s been a little while since I’ve posted on my blog and so, I just wanted to say a huge thank you to you, the hundreds of visitors who are still reading my posts even though there hasn’t been anything new. There hasn’t been any promotion and yet, people all around the world continue to read what I write. That’s amazing. You’re amazing!

Of course, I haven’t been inactive during this time. For those of you who have been following me on Facebook, you’ll have read what a difficult time it has been for me these past few months. Since my last blog post, my cancer has spread again. This time to my abdominal wall peritoneum (the parietal layer of the peritoneum, a serous membrane lining the inside of the abdominal wall).

It’s serious. I mean, it’s always been serious, but this is a difficult place to treat with systemic chemotherapy and survival rates are typically poor, The drugs, aggressive as they are, can struggle to get to where they’re needed. I’m not eligible for Cytoreductive Surgery (CRS) with combined Hyperthermic Intraperitoneal Chemotherapy (HIPEC) since my cancer is already in the advanced stages. Personally, I think that’s wrong. It can significantly extend survival for eligible patients, sometimes by years. 

The other big problem is that the peritoneum has a rich and extensive blood supply, which allows cancer cells to grow quickly and facilitates both the spread of primary cancers and the development of new blood vessels to support tumor growth.

I have, however, managed to convince my oncology team to keep me on immunotherapy for the time being. This combination is going to give me a better chance of fighting the spread. Plus, it just makes sense to me because my primary cancer hasn’t shown any progression so I see no need to stop it. Thankfully, they agreed.

That’s the other good news. This is an isolated spread. It happens. Cancer cells can brake away from the primary site, travel through the bloodstream or lymphatic system, and start growing in another part of the body.

I’ve always responded well to treatment in the past though and I’m hopeful that I can again. If the treatment doesn’t work, and statistically, that is the much more likely outcome, I will be sent on a clinical trial for a more targeted approach such as mentioned above so all is not lost. I see that as a good alternative.

I’m much more than a statistic though. I think there is a real need now to treat the patient as much as the disease. I am not a frail old man with complicated health problems. That means we can take more risks. They gave me maybe 3 months and I’m coming up on three years. Don’t believe everything you read. A lot of the survival statistics are outdated now. Bet on yourself.

Before I get into the real heart of this post, for anyone not already following me on Facebook, you can do so here:

https://www.facebook.com/share/1KApAh5t2j/

I love the interation I get on social media, even if I see a lot wrong with social media too. When I started doing this, it felt like a selfless act; something to do for others. The truth is though that I get just as much back. It’s been a real boost for me. I’ve also been writing a book, which is very exciting news I’m pleased to share. I’ve written nearly 60,000 words so far and so I feel like I can confidently say that it will be a book. Hopefully, I can publish it somehow when i’s done. Hopefully I live long enough. I think I will.

Everybody needs someone

That’s the thing isn’t it. There’s a side to cancer, especially terminal cancer, that no one wants to talk about. That is, of course, how a person is going to cope when someone dies of cancer. 

Before you read this Writing about death and dying can be quite upsetting and I also know that for some of you reading this, you might not want to focus on these things right now. That’s okay. Just read another post or come back when you’re ready.

The truth is, I wouldn’t swap places with my wife. I have come to terms with the fact that I am going to die. In part, I was able to do that because I know that when it does happen, my pain and suffering will end. Everyone else’s will just begin. It makes me feel selfish. 

No one can tell you when it’s going to happen. Or how. Hopefully it happens very quickly, for everyone concerned. You might think that you have time to process it while the person is still alive, but there’s a saying that goes… all deaths are sudden. When it happens. Even if the person had been getting worse over a long period of time. I don’t know how my wife deals with the emotion; the anxiety that must exist for her, as it does for me. 

I find the idea of leaving my daughter… there isn’t a big enough word, but I’ll use overwhelming. My wife might feel the same about the idea of living without me. We don’t often talk about it. Not because we’re pretending it isn’t happening, but because we’re not there yet. No one is telling me I’m dying. Not today. Her role has changed too. She’s been my carer for the past two and a half years. That changes the relationship, for the better in our case, but I know it can be exhausting. Physically and mentally. 

It’s can also be common to feel grief before the person dies. This is known as anticipated grief. If this is you, you’re not alone. You may even feel isolated. I like to think that we have a really good support network around us. Friends and family are invaluable, but so are charities and support groups so lean into these when you can. When you need them. No one should have to do this alone. 

I’m not the best person to talk about the feelings you might have after someone dies of cancer. I’ve known people die of cancer since my diagnosis, people I cared deeply for, and every death affected me in different ways. They weren’t my loved ones though. Sadly, the same can’t be said of my good friend Ian Marsden, whose wife Wendy died after her own cancer battle in January 2025. 

In fact, it was him that inspired me to write this new post after he sent me the following text about his own experience of living, coping, and not coping with cancer. For no other reason other than he thought people should read it. So, I’ll hand you over to Ian for now. An incredibly brave man I love very much.

“I thought 2024 was hard. And it was. But 2025 has been a whole new level of hard. It has been, without doubt, the hardest, worst, most upsetting year of my, and the kids, lives.

We knew it was coming. Those who visited, or called in to see her, they saw the deteriation… but, they also saw the stubborn moo within fighting, and fighting, which she did to her last breath.

Saturday 11th January 2025 was the day her pain ceased and she was at peace. This being Wendy of course, she went dramatically and quickly. The trauma of which is still very much in the minds of her gran, Paige and me. We watched it happen in front of our eyes, and we all looked on helplessly.. That trauma is bigger than any of us have ever gone through. We watched the same person die but, gran lost her last remaining child. Paige lost her mum; her best friend. And me. I lost my wife; my soul mate. 

Since then, its all been a blur. The funeral. The scattering of the ashes. So many firsts. Going back to work, which is a whole other story. This year has been a punch to the tummy, a kick in the nether regions, that feeling when you trap your finger… all multiplied, and still nowhere near the pain we are in. 

To those of you who don’t know how we are feeling, then I’m thankful that you don’t. But to those of you who do, this feeling, this pain, it never goes away. You just somehow try to learn to live with it. But, its hard. Truly. So hard. I won’t ever hear her. See her. Talk to her. Hug her… kiss her, ever again. Everytime I think of her, in a good way; a happy memory. It turns quickly to that pain. 

The consensus among those who have lost is that the 2nd year is a lot harder than the first..All the firsts have been done. Everybody else has moved on. You’re expected to have moved on too. There seems to be a general populus of those who havent gone through this who just assume, after all the firsts have gone, that you must be over it. That all can return back to normal… but from what I’ve learnt, by those going through the same, nothing could be further from the truth.

I’ve lost a fair few friends over the past two years. It’s been very telling who as well. BUT, ive gained a new philosophy; a new outlook. I watched my wife die. I’ve now seen, and gone through, the worst thing that i could possibly imagine. So, what’s the worst that could happen. If people can’t accept me at my worst, then they don’t deserve me at my best, and I want to thank those who have stuck by me throughout; those who have stuck by the kids, and gran. We have realised who would, and did, and will do anything for us. Just be there for us. You can’t ever know how much it has meant to us.

This has truly been the worst year of my life, of all our lives. We have a plan for 2026 though, that’s hopefully going to give us some closure; a fresh start. It’s time to begin a new life..A life without ever forgetting about the most wonderful beautiful human I ever met. As my BFF put it, she was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Coping with grief

Wow. Ian has described the trauma he and his family have experienced. He talks honestly about the relief, and also his loss of role. I’m not sure what I can add to it to be honest. I was fortunate enough to volunteer for Cruse Berravement Care for a few years, an absolute privilege in my life, and I suppose one of the things I did was to help people to find ways to remember the person. 

In the same way that I’ve chose to acknowledge my situation, it can help to keep them a part of your life. I’ve created a memory box. There are photos everywhere, and we make time as a family for each other and friends. These things can be important after I’m gone too. 

One other thing that Ian talks about is firsts. Birthdays, anniversaries and special days are often painful reminders of the person who died, and it can be helpful to plan these in advance. What I would say is that it doesn’t matter how you choose to spend these days. What matters most is that what you do is right for you. Other people might not be able to understand which may make it difficult to explain, but remember, grief is unique to you. Everyone experiences the same death differently.

However you’re feeling there is support out there while you’re grieving. I understand that it can feel daunting for some, but it can be one of the most painful and traumatic experiences in life. I had some amazingly positive sessions with clients at Cruse and I’m so grateful that they let me into their private worlds at such a personal and vulnerable time. 

Some find it difficult to connect to people who aren’t going through the same thing. Especially as Ian pointed to, when others have moved on and you might be expected to do the same. Everyone grieves in their own way and, importantly, at their own pace. Remember that. Try not to feel guilty too. Your feelings likely come from a place of care so, while common, don’t let this be something that gets in the way of that care for them.

I hope this was helpful in some way. If you have anything you want to add or you want to share your own experience this is a safe place to do so. I love you all.

Jim