Over five years ago, life changed in a way I never expected. It began with what felt like a simple dry, sore throat. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that made me think twice. I went to my doctor, was given antibiotics, and carried on. When they didn’t work, I went back. Stronger antibiotics were given, but they only made things worse. That was when the worry began. I still didn’t think it could be cancer. Not once. But my doctor decided to send me for a biopsy at New Cross Hospital in Wolverhampton. Waiting for the results felt like forever. When the letter came asking me to return, I took my mum with me. That was the day I heard the news no one ever wants to hear. Cancer. I held myself together in front of the consultant, but the moment I got back to the car I broke down. My mum sat with me while I tried to make sense of what I had just been told. Half of what the consultant said went in one ear and out the other. My mind was everywhere. I felt like my life had ended. I started an intense course of radiotherapy and chemotherapy. It was tough, but after the treatment finished, the tests showed it had worked. I was over the moon. I thought I could finally get my life back on track.
One year passed. Then two. Then three. Then four. Then five. All clear.
But then the cancer came back. Fast.
I was told I could not have the same therapy again because of how strong the first course had been. My only option was a laryngectomy. I was terrified. I stalled the decision for as long as I could, hoping the doctors were wrong. Hoping it would just go away. But it was spreading, and I was running out of time. I was sent to Queen Elizabeth Hospital to see if a partial operation was possible. After tests and another biopsy, they told me it wasn’t. I needed the full operation. My mind was on overdrive. I stalled again. And again. Eventually my friends and family talked me around. I went back to New Cross to meet my consultant and go through everything properly. I finally agreed to the surgery. I was in the hospital for a month. It drove me mentally crazy. I just wanted to go home.
When I did get home, my parents and family looked after me. But I had so many dark thoughts. I felt like everything was over. I had always been a hard working man. I left school and worked all my life. I enjoyed working. Losing that part of myself was painful. I felt lost. I felt like I had no purpose. I felt like I was watching life happen around me instead of being part of it. I was told things would get better. I didn’t believe it. I still struggle with coughing blood, mucus, and getting out of breath easily. In my first year and a half of recovery, I saw the mental health team. They helped me through some very difficult moments. There were more down days than up days. Some days I felt strong. Other days I felt like I was drowning in it all. But slowly, things began to look a little better.
Fishing became my escape. Being outdoors, near the water, surrounded by nature helped my mind more than anything. It gave me something to look forward to. Something that still felt like me. I was told to be careful around water, but fishing is something I can still do, and it keeps me going. The quiet, the fresh air, the running rivers, the feeling of being outside instead of stuck inside my own thoughts. Fishing became my therapy.
I struggle with walking and breathing, and I still find it hard when people look at me because of the filters on my neck. I cannot speak because my voice box was removed, and that makes some days really tough. I put on a strong act around people, but deep down it can be hard. I miss working. I miss the routine. I miss the purpose. Friends are at work during the day, so it can get lonely being out fishing on my own. I also lost both my mum and dad during this journey. My mum passed away in 2021 when I was still in my all clear stage. My dad passed away in 2024, one year into my laryngectomy recovery. Losing them both while fighting cancer made everything even harder. There were days when the grief and the recovery felt like too much to carry at once. But I am still here. I am still adapting. I am still finding my way forward. I am still learning how to live again. And Life After Lary has helped me feel less alone. Knowing there are others who understand this journey makes a difference.
“Life After Lary is not just a charity. It is a reminder that even after the hardest chapters, there is still life to live, still strength to find, and still hope to hold on to.”
