Within days of having that first doctor’s appointment, I was sitting in an ultrasound suite. I knew it was serious by the way the technician spoke to me afterwards, “make sure you go to your next appointment.” That’s when I knew there was something.
45 stories for 45 years. Throughout 2026, we’re sharing the stories of our clients, volunteers and staff who make the Wessex Cancer Support community what it is.
Through our community’s lived experience of cancer, we can provide our clients with the tailored support they need.
For this edition, our client Matt, shares their story and experiences.
It started in the bath. A lump. One of those moments where you feel something that shouldn’t be there, and a cold sense of panic settles in your chest.
I didn’t say anything to my wife that night. I went to work the next day, moving through the motions, but the thought of it followed me like a shadow.
At first, I told myself it was nothing, like it was a blockage, a minor infection, perhaps this was just normal for someone approaching middle-age. But that feeling of doubt didn’t go away, deep down I knew it wasn’t just ‘nothing’.
Within days of having that first doctor’s appointment, I was sitting in an ultrasound suite. I knew it was serious by the way the technician spoke to me afterwards, “make sure you go to your next appointment.” That’s when I knew there was something.
After I received the confirmation it was cancer, the plan was surgery, but COVID had other ideas. I was due to have surgery shortly before Christmas, but then I caught the virus myself. While I waited to get over it, I could feel the tumour getting bigger.
It’s strange how the symptoms of early cancer, the exhaustion, the weight loss, the lack of energy, all mimic the symptoms of being a new parent. You just assume the tiredness is part of the job of being a Dad.
Surgery was initially delayed for around 6 weeks whilst the doctors were assessing any potential risks of giving me a general anaesthetic because of having had Covid. In the end, the procedure was fine, in and out of hospital in a day. After that, I went into a state of numb autopilot.
Work-wise I was lucky, my boss told me to take my time, and I was able to work from home during the recovery period. Follow up appointments confirmed that the tumour was cancerous, and that Chemotherapy would follow. Because of the masks and the restrictions, you didn’t see faces. You were just a body in the system, moving through a whirlwind of hospitals and appointments.
Chemotherapy was an emotional rollercoaster. I’d be fine playing with my daughter, and then suddenly, the emotional overload would hit, and I’d have a breakdown and wonder why this is happening to us. My wife had to stay strong, almost shutting off her own emotions just to help us get through the stages.
For my own sanity I lived by a simple principle during this time: I’m shown what I need to be shown, and I do what I’m told to do. I didn’t want to go down a ‘Google rabbit hole’. It wasn’t worth it.
The most profound moments happened in the places I least expected. On my first day of chemo, I sat next to a woman and we spoke about family and our fears. I only met her once, but she grounded me. She made me feel less alone in a time when I felt entirely isolated. Being around people going through the same ordeal as you really does help put things in perspective.
It was then that I realised I needed to open up. You have the treatment and then it’s like, what next? I needed an outlet.
I remember speaking to the consultant at one of my follow ups, around 6 months after Chemotherapy had been completed, and she had recommended Wessex.
I was really starting to struggle mentally, especially when you are out of the cycle of appointments and follow-ups. I remember this one day I had had a day off work and was spending time with my daughter. We were out walking and I had decided to call into the Wessex Cancer Support Centre in Bournemouth. I’m so glad that I did. They welcomed us both.
I found a place of understanding, the people I was talking to just ‘got it’. They knew how I felt, why I was feeling the way I was and were able to direct me to the Wellbeing Co-ordinator where I had a plan tailored to me. Counselling really took the weight off my shoulders and although I’ve never been one for support groups, being able to share with other people and help them, gave me a sense of giving back.
It’s something you don’t realise you need, but when you receive that type of support, it makes all the difference.
There is a common narrative about cancer, the big ‘instagram-esque’ success story.
When you have a young family and your brain is foggy from ‘chemo-brain’ and your body is dealing with permanent side effects like tinnitus, you don’t always have the energy for a grand reinvention.
We need to be kind and more realistic to ourselves. A win doesn’t mean you’ve completed a marathon or changed the world, it could be you’ve been able to walk your daughter to school, you’re spending more time with your family, or you’ve changed your career to something you enjoy. Just because it’s not ‘Instagram worthy’, doesn’t mean it’s not a success story. Working to get back to being you is a huge achievement. It’s the little moments that count the most, we need to redefine the ‘win’.
I thought cancer support was around supporting people still going through treatment, for people who had not been given the all clear – not for people like me, but I now know that is not the case. The support networks are there for everyone, especially men!
This is why I wanted to share my story, to reach out to other men.
We don’t always talk about this stuff, and we certainly don’t always seek out support groups. But whether it’s a high-intensity treatment or just a cup of coffee in a room full of people who get it, having the right support matters.
Although I’m in a better place than I was, I’m still navigating the afterwards and my cognitive abilities aren’t quite where I want them to be, but I know things are moving forward. I’ve started volunteering with children, focusing in areas that really matter to me.
The check-up cycle brings its own kind of anxiety, but I’m learning to celebrate the small things.
I’ve learned to accept this experience as part of my history, not my entire identity.
Everything shifted, and while it was terrifying, it taught me to look after my own world first.
Our community provides a safe, supportive space for people affected by cancer.
Through our emotional and wellbeing services, we provide the support to our communities in Dorset, Hampshire and the Isle of Wight.
We’ve been here for you since 1981.
You can call or email your local cancer support centre today, or drop in to speak to our friendly team.
