Fast forward the best part of a month from the last post, and my biopsy had been fully analysed and my diagnosis confirmed: Ewing Sarcoma. Things happened in such a blur that I forget what exactly happened, but the impending chemotherapy prompted an emergency haircut, and I was rushed to Southampton General, for the first time feeling genuinely ill as a direct result of the cancer.

Me on arrival at SGH. Possibly at Clic Sargent. Feeling like absolute shit.

Here I was either recovering from the surgery or awaiting the surgery that would put the central line in, which was the tube that served as a direct line into my chest, through which they could deliver chemo and other stuff.

One of the machines that would become the bane of my life.

Hair hadn’t fallen out yet, but pretty sure I was having my first chemo session at this point.