Fuck You, Cancer

Today feels like a good day to say: Fuck you, cancer. And, slightly more self-indulgently, fuck my cancer.

Most of you don’t know this (and many who do may be light on details), but I’ve been living with Stage 4 colorectal cancer for several years.

It’s incurable – bar a miracle (and I’m not ruling that out!) – but manageable. I've just started on chemotherapy that I’ll be on indefinitely. Or at least until it stops working, or stops working for me.

I kept it between close family and friends because I didn’t want cancer to define me. And because, honestly, I’m still figuring out what it means to live with an unspoken expiration date.

Recently, I had to re-tell my kids (7 and 9) about my diagnosis — they’d forgotten we told them when they were younger. It was the one thing I’d been dreading more than anything. But once it was done, I had a realisation: I’ve been treating cancer like a secret project, when maybe it should be open-source.

Around the same time, our MD Eileen Boydell asked me what I thought about the Working With Cancer pledge. It was a no-brainer – and nothing new for The PR Network, who’ve supported me brilliantly. But it got me thinking: how many people out there are living with cancer or caring for someone who is — while trying to hold down a job, parent, and just... function?

How often do we get asked “how are you?” and say “OK” just to avoid unpacking the whole shit show again and again?

With the amazing support of my wife Katy Read-Barrow, and close friends and family, I’ve been quietly navigating the chaos: consultations, waiting times, treatments, side effects, parenting, working — all while being a patient. Funnily enough, it’s not all bad!

I think being able to write, vent and laugh about it — openly — would have helped. Not just me, but others facing the same mess.

So here we are. I'm not on Insta or Facebook, so this is the only real platform I’ve got. I'm keen to start talking cancer — and, generally f-ing it. Not with platitudes or miracle cures, but with brutal honesty, real-life practical insights (AI has been a game changer), and ideally whatever inappropriate cancer-related banter you can get away with on LinkedIn.

Over the coming weeks and months, I’ll be sharing more — the good days, the bad days, the weird conversations, and the unexpected clarity that comes with living (and working) under this kind of uncertainty.