The sun was up before me on Friday morning It was 9 am and I had awoken to a blue sky.

I am used to waking at 6 am but the last few weeks have left me for physically and emotionally exhausted.

As the tumour slowly grows, it presses on my spinal cord.

This results in more weakness and discomfort throughout my body which has a knock on effect to my body.

I guess in many ways that explains the fatigue I have so I have to be compassionate with myself if I am now waking up at 9 am rather than six.

As I make my morning coffee I try to be fully present in the moment.

This is my moment of calm before my day becomes potentially quite stressful.

The start of the week was an incredible buzz when I found myself back in Amsterdam visiting Nike HQ to sit on a panel that was to discuss Nike disability network.

An extremely humbling experience listening to those who have invisible disabilities - all the way through to people like me where it is more visible.

Things like this give me purpose.

It’s a reason to get up in the morning to keep fighting for life in the hope that my fight helps someone else.

If there is meaning in the suffering it is sometimes easier to endure that suffering knowing that it has a greater purpose.

Even although my visit to hospital this week wasn’t going to cause any physical pain there was the question of how much it would hurt emotionally and mentally.

After all I hadn’t sat in the basement of University College Hospital since 2019 when I went through six weeks of radiotherapy.

As I arrived at the hospital doors ot brought back lots of memories.

As approached a lift to take me to the basement I paused as this was the last place I saw my pal Stony.

For those who’ve been following my column Stony will be a familiar name.

He was a friend I met on my first day of radiotherapy in 2019.

On the last day after we both went through six weeks of radiation we met at the doors of this lift we hugged and shared a tear of joy a tear that represented life.

Unfortunately Stony passed away as a result of his brain tumour so as I stood at the lift door remembering that moment when we hugged and the energy he gave me on that day I feel incredibly blessed to still be here.

As the lift doors open, I pause - this is not my floor.

I look at the sign, read the word ‘mortuary’ and I almost fell over. God I hope that’s not a sign.

I sprinted faster than Usain Bolt to get back in the lift and as the doors open for a second time I see the familiar corridor with the Radiotherapy room door at the end.

Walking into this room you get bombarded with emotions.

On this occasion it was just me and my partner along with the receptionist but as he sat down on the seat I felt all the rush of emotions and memories flooding back.

Before long we were joined with an elderly couple who sat directly opposite us.

It turned out they’d been on a coach trip to Aviemore so we found common ground.

It was their first time in the Radiotherapy room , I could see the nerves and as we chatted all about their coach trip I could see it was bringing happy memories to each them.

I used to enjoy these short conversations in 2019 just to add some form of normality as we are sat in the basement.

It’s not long till I hear my name getting called, and my Radiotherapy journey is about to begin.

The first stop this journey is into the mall room.

There’s been quite a few updates since 2019 with one of them being a huge 50 inch television on the roof with calming music.

Today choice program with animated fish swimming around.

As I laid onto the mould couch I shared my diving experiences in Jamaica with the staff, however it wasn’t long until both my eyes and mouth were closed.

The mask had been heated in what looked like an oven and then gently placed on my face and for the next 10 minutes as it cools down the shell takes shape.

This was a much more pleasant experience than in 2019 where I felt like I was being suffocated.

As I lay there I was on the verge of sleeping I felt very relaxed and just focused on my breathing and to not move anything for the 10 minutes. After the mask had taken shape it was a short walk to get a CT scan with the mask to make sure that it was correctly fitted and that it would hold me in place for when I receive my Radiotherapy.

This is a super important process as the margins for error are almost zero when you’re receiving radiotherapy to your cervical spinal cord.

I wasn’t in the CT scan long and to be honest the whole process went extremely quickly.

Before I knew it I was sat speaking to the radiologist about my first session which will take place on the 12th of June at 4 pm.

My first thought was that I have two weeks to do as much of the things that I love.

That’s before I have to spend every day for 3 1/2 weeks travelling back and forward to the basement UCLH for my daily dose of radiotherapy in the hope to not just save my life but to not cause any more neurological damage so that I can enjoy the level of sport but I am currently participating in.

As I was leaving the CT room I was about to pass through reception and as the doors opened I was reminded of how many people are facing cancer compared to when I had arrived where it was only me every seat in the waiting room was now occupied.

Cancer does not discriminate.

There were multiple nationalities, ages, both males and females all sitting in the waiting room.

I looked around the room where these people sat, either about to start the Radiotherapy journey or as I heard one lady saying that was my last session.

As for me, I know it won’t be long till I am back here everyday.