I have incurable cancer – there’s 1 surreal appointment I’ll never forget | UK | News

Hardly a day goes by when I don’t think about the guy who walks into a “production room” and walks out again 45 seconds later. This wasn’t just any old production room, and it certainly wasn’t where filmmakers met to discuss whether they wanted to include Dwayne Johnson in their movie. This was an NHS production room where men (in local newspaper parlance) performed sex acts on themselves and emerged a short time later clutching a pot in a clear plastic bag. I say “soon” but 45 seconds is too short.

Forty-five seconds is more than double the time Team So Solid gave themselves at 21 seconds, but they weren’t doing what that man did in the NHS hospital. Those 45 seconds involved the man entering the room, wiping down the surfaces, getting comfortable (which is difficult when you can hear the sounds of Loose Women from the waiting room), and then finishing the job and wiping everything down again.

Rest assured, when I was assigned the hospital’s first production room after he left, I spent well over 45 seconds wiping everything down first.

I thought about that man when I was in the Tate Britain art gallery this week. Not because any of the artwork is NHS related, but while I was there I received an email about a 2023 appointment.

Even though I wondered about the man in front of me for 45 seconds, this is not an experience I will never forget.

I did this before I started treatment for incurable bowel cancer because one of the delightful side effects of chemotherapy was that it had made me infertile.

The NHS paid for my samples to be stored in a large freezer for two years and now I have been asked to attend a “fertility surveillance visit” (NHS stands for fertility testing). Apparently, these things happen two, four and five years after freezing, then funds for storage run out and my samples are thrown away.

In the summer of 2023, I was worried about the future and didn’t know how long I would live, but I still held out hope that I would meet the love of my life while looking for reduced chances at the Co-op.

That’s why I froze my sperm in case I ever had a chance to have children in the future. But now that my body is devastated from chemo, I’m wondering if it’s worth continuing to keep them in the freezer.

With a face and body like mine, I’m not very attractive, so I’ve gotten used to the fact that I’ll die alone.

So is it really worth spending NHS money? What if I met someone stocking up on Christmas biscuits in the Co-op’s seasonal aisle? Then I might need sperm to make lots of little Fisks in three years.

One thing’s for sure: I’ve already spent a lot of NHS money as I’m currently on my 50th cycle of chemotherapy.

The NHS is still spending money on me because I’m fighting as hard as I can to survive.

Part of the fight is the mental health battle and that’s why I’m leading the Daily Express’ Cancer Care campaign. The government and NHS need to ensure that all cancer patients have access to mental health support during and after treatment.