Today, will you help to buy a new chemotherapy chair so more patients living with cancer have the chance to ring the bell?

Hi, I’m Jon. I’m 53. Last year, as I got ready to celebrate Christmas with my wife Louise, our two amazing boys and a one-year old Sprocker Spaniel called Luna, I got the worst Christmas present ever. I was diagnosed with stage 3 lung cancer and have been receiving treatment at the Leicester Royal Infirmary ever since.

Today, I’d like to share my story and ask you to give a helping hand to make the Chemotherapy Suite even better.

Everything changed when I developed a cough that did not go away. Like many of you, I worried that signs of a cough and cold meant that I had Covid-19. Eventually I went to my GP for advice. At my appointment, I sensed something was wrong because the GP referred me for an urgent scan after listening to my chest.

The phone call I feared most Following my scan, the phone rang at quarter to eight in the morning. Nobody calls you that early in the morning so I knew the call would bring bad news. It was the doctor on the phone.

“There’s no easy way to tell you this, but you have lung cancer,” were the words that followed. I nearly collapsed.

Nothing could have prepared me for that call. Lou was taking Luna for a walk so I suffered the initial blow alone. I panicked – what would I tell people? I also felt fear.

On Christmas Eve, Lou and I met with my Oncology Consultant. I felt powerless. My life was in their hands.

A Christmas surrounded by loved ones We decided not to tell the boys about my diagnosis at Christmas. However, despite my best efforts to hide my pain, they could sense something was wrong.

Lockdown restrictions eased for Christmas Day – when I needed my family more than ever. There were thirteen of us crammed around the table eating Christmas dinner with all the trimmings.

I tried to stay positive but I feared the worst – how many Christmases would I have left?

My first visit to the Chemotherapy Suite

Despite my diagnosis in December, treatment didn’t start until February. As I approached the doors to the Chemotherapy Suite I felt my stomach churn with nerves. On entering, I saw a long row of chemotherapy chairs. Seeing how many patients were sat in those chairs, and how many more were outside in the waiting room, frightened me to my very core. There didn’t seem enough chairs for everybody.

You and I know the statistics that one in two of us will get cancer at some point in our lives. To me, it was always something seen on TV, but at that moment, in that room, it was me. My cancer is aggressive. I endured four rounds of chemotherapy over a period of twelve weeks. A session of chemotherapy varies from patient to patient. I spent at least eight hours sat in a chair having my treatment each time. As you’d imagine, sitting for so long can get uncomfortable but thankfully I was able to sit on one of the 18 specialist chairs they have available. I could relax in the chair and put my feet up whilst I underwent the treatment but sadly, there are not enough of them for everybody.

Please, if you can, make a gift to help buy a new chair. They make all the difference for patients like me.

The Chemotherapy Suite became a pillar of support Chemotherapy is tough. After treatment I couldn’t get out of bed. There are also other unpleasant side effects, but nothing prepared me for losing my hair. When I lost my hair, we conducted a ceremony in our family home where my eldest son had the honour of shaving my head. We were both in tears and afterwards when I looked in the mirror, for the first time I saw a cancer patient staring right back at me.

Seeing my reflection had a deep psychological effect on me. It made it real. I looked ill, like someone with cancer. I felt even worse.

The Chemotherapy Suite became a pillar of support for me. I liked sitting behind reception in a place called The Square. There, the chairs face each other making it easier for you to bond. Over time, I got to know the staff and other patients better. We shared our experiences, fears and questions with each other and this boosted morale.

Opposite The Square is the bell which everyone hopes to ring one day. The bell ringing signifies that a patient’s treatment has come to an end and has worked. I have seen a few patients have that opportunity this year. In that moment, when the bell rings, there is so much joy. Everyone claps and cheers. When a patient rings that bell, it is a win for all of us.

Sadly, I will never ring that bell, but I want to help others You see, on Christmas Eve before I started my treatment, I discovered that my cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. When I first heard this, I thought an operation would cure me. Devastatingly, my cancer had spread too close to my major organs and I heard the words from my Consultant that nobody wants to hear. “Other than prolong your life, there is nothing more that we can do.” After Christmas, I had the heartbreak of telling my sons that in my early 50s I have terminal cancer. I told them that the doctors will try to keep me alive for as long as possible. It was the hardest moment of my life and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I had to admit to my boys that I would not live to see them grow up and reach important milestones. This crushed me.

I answered their questions. I told them that the strangest part was that, in a way, I felt lucky. Not because I am dying, but that by catching my aggressive cancer when I did, I could receive the best treatment to have extra time with my precious family.

Would you consider a gift of £50 to help cancer patients like me? Every three weeks I have treatment at the Chemotherapy Suite to boost my immune system. Professor Ahmed takes care of me now. I still use one of those chairs but there are not enough of them for everyone. The Suite is so stretched that the waiting area is hectic. Waiting times are long and, as you know, Covid is only making this worse. Due to the pandemic, many have put off going to the doctor or delayed getting treatment.

With your support, Leicester Hospitals Charity will fix this. The Chemotherapy Suite is getting an extension over an unused balcony. This will allow an extra six patients to receive treatment at any one time.

It may not sound a lot, but it will mean that more patients like me will have a chance to live longer, or unlike me, have a chance to ring that bell. Living with cancer is a rollercoaster. I take every day as it comes. Some days are tougher than others and the pandemic has prevented me from taking my wife back to Thailand where we had our honeymoon. That said, I’ve learned to find the joy in the small things – seeing my boys come home from school or taking the dog for a walk at lunchtime. We even had a lovely family holiday to Norfolk this summer.

I’m grateful for all the care that I have received and want to do something to give back to Professor Ahmed and her team. This is where I need you to help me.

Please consider making a gift to Leicester Hospitals Charity to help buy a chair for the Chemotherapy Suite. Each chair costs £5,000 and will support thousands of local people living with cancer. That’s a lot of money, but if 75% of people reading this letter give £50, then we’d have enough for six chairs! Wouldn’t that be wonderful?

More than anything, I would love to experience another Christmas. Please make a gift. You will give families like mine the chance to spend next Christmas together.

I know that the pandemic has affected us all in different ways, and times may be uncertain for some of you. If this arrives at a time of worry, then please feel free to say “no” – I hope things improve for you soon.

If you are in a position to make a charitable gift, then please give what you can afford to help Leicester’s NHS Hospitals be there for people like me.

Please give me the chance to live for next Christmas

Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart and I wish you all the best,

JON.

P.S: You can help people like me live longer with cancer. Please give £50, or whatever you can afford, by clicking the button below: