For anyone reading this who hasn't lived cancer, you might think we don't sound bothered, scared, maybe we come across as flippent. Once you have lived cancer, your perspective changes. It's hard to explain.
So, as you've gathered, little C is back. I'm going to write the story of out last week or so, mostly because it's a way for me to offload and process, but also, who knows, it might help someone one day.
We had an NED scan in november 2025, exactly 1 year since diagnosis. We thought we'd be okay. We know the prognosis and survival rates for this, and have seen first hand from cancer buddies what happens if this bastard comes back.
Once cancer touches your life every cough, ache, different feeling in your body instantly sets off alarm bells that it's back. It's a natural response, but it's horrid. Each time, it scares you senseless, but you hope it isn't ''it''.
We hoped and were optimisic, and wrong.
Tony's acid reflux reently really started to kick off. We'd been doing well, we paid our Putman's slanted matress forward to a fellow cancer buddy, he'd scaled back and stopped Creon, he didn't need a PPI.
We'd finally started to live our lives normally, a newley married couple, prepping for their honeymoon, starting a new chapter.
Tony started with a hoarse voice, waking up in the night with reflux, feeling off, overly tired. We agreed to give it a few days. We'd start back on the PPIs, add pillows at night and self manage. If it got worse, we'd reach out for help.
We spoke to his specialist nurse who suspected Silent Reflux, she swiftly changed his PPIs, advised on sleeping elevated and asked that if things get worse we should reach out. The rate of this cancer coming back is so high they take it quite seriously.
That was Friday,
The weekend was spent watching my husband sleep, feel unwell, over tired, miserable.
On monday we headed to work as normal and within half an hour he came into my office and said he felt he needed to go to the ED. He's an ex firefighter, if he feels it's that urgent, I don't argue. I drove him to the ED and we booked in. I'd virtually carried him from the car and was holding him up as we booked in. He slept on my shoulder while we waited to be seen. Bloods were taken and a saline drip administered while we waited. After a few hours we were called in to see the triage nurse. I'm not being rude when i say this, but doctors lack empathy. They obviously care about people, but i think they become immune to people feelings. The ER doctor looked Tony in the eye and said hat based on his symptoms, he thinks it's back, but he'd need scans so we were to go home and wait for appointments. ''Come back if your symptoms get worse, book in, we'll see you straight away.''
WTF.
No tissues, no gentle. Just a smack in the face with the Cancer shovel.
We chose not to tell family, we wanted to have facts before we spoke to people, We went home and carried on as normal. After the day that we had endured, when the alarm went off on tuesday we ignored it. I muttered to Tony that i needed some more time before i faced the world, and he felt the same.
He woke me up around 10. '' Jo, I'm going to take my PPIs and lets get some more rest''. I thought that sounded perfect, but when he tried to take them he chocked and they wouldn't go down. ''We need to go back to the hospital''
Like a flash I was out of bed, 2 go bags were already packed (Army brat brain) and we went back to the ED. After 6 hours of faffing about we were on a ward. Xray, CT and Endoscopy had been ordered, but to have those we'd have to be an inpatient. So all we could do was wait. I refuse to leave him when it's medical, so we hunkered down.
The consultant came to see us on day 3, he told us the xray showed signs of infection, but bloods were clear.
Day 4, CT scan.
Day 5. The Dr came onto Tony's booth and told us that is wasn't good news. He said ''The cancer is back with a vengeance'' we were advised Oncology would be in touch, and that was that. Tony's first question straight after the dr broke the news was '' how much time do i have? Do i need to put things in place for my wife?''
We were left crying behind a curtain. curled up together on a hospital bed.
I can't explain how you deal with that. All i could think was that no matter how scared i was, i had to look after him. Flashes went through my head about how unfair this is, will he die, am i going to be alone, We're Tony & Jo, not just Jo. It's horrific. It's Scary. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy.
I had to break away as my sister in law called, and having missed the call, took it as a sign that was my next move. I took a moment, held Tony, explained where i was going and that i'd be back soon. I told my sister in law all i had to pass on and we cried like 2 women who were scared. My next call was my dad because to be honest, i couldn't breathe and i needed someone calm. My next call was Tony's brother. I then text the family and friends who needed to know, because i couldn't make all of those call and keep saying ''the cancer is back''.
It wasn't until we spoke to his specialist that afternoon that we calmed down. She was calm, reassuring, spoke to us about treatment plans. She was like a hug in verbal form. Tony has a bio marked which means immunotherapy is available to him, which is fantastic! The wonders of science eh!
We spent 7 days in hospital. The tests show that the original cancer site is clear. The throat issues we presented with were not related to cancer, BUT if not for those, we'd never have known... Lucky.
We're back home, waiting to see Oncology, hopefully starting Immunotherapy soon.
We've been lucky. We've been blessed. If not for the reflux, this would have been missed.
Tony is exhausted, life is up in the air. We don't know what's next. All we do know is thank goodness they found it, thank goodness there are treatments.
The last few days have involved a lot of reading, researching and trying to understand what more we can do. Cancer has a horrible way of making you feel powerless, so exploring food and nutrition has given us something positive to focus on. We’ve been learning about things like broccoli, broccoli sprouts and sulforaphane, alongside colourful fruit and vegetables, protein, healthy fats and other foods that might help support Tony’s body while it’s going through all of this. At the same time, we’ve been digging deeper into the treatment side, learning about immunotherapy, targeted treatments and the other options that could potentially be available further down the road. We know there isn’t a magic food, supplement or secret cure hiding somewhere, and none of this replaces the treatment his oncology team recommends. But if there are small things we can do every day to nourish his body, keep his strength up and give him the best possible foundations for treatment, then they feel worth doing. Perhaps more importantly, it gives us something to do. Instead of simply waiting for the next appointment, scan or treatment, we can put our energy into looking after him, one meal and one day at a time.
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