Benjamin Evans - Author

Seven crazy months have passed and the chemo journey is almost at an end. One thousand doses of poisonous drugs done, only a few more to go, and by the end of the week I’ll be ready to get back into the world. Life will be different, but hopefully will be even more awesome than before. In this final blog, I’d like to try and pass on some of the lessons I’ve learned along the journey. I wouldn’t wish cancer or chemotherapy on anyone, but the reality is that a good percentage of us will have to deal with it at some point in our lives, so its worth getting a little lowdown. Here then, in the spirit of Baz Lurrhman’s Sunscreen Song , is my chemo graduation speech, (ideally accompanied by this backing track). I hope you find it useful. Everybody’s Free (to use Wet Wipes) If I could offer you only one tip for chemotherapy, Wet wipes would be it. The practical benefits of wet wipes have been proven by any

Hello from my sofa at home! We’ve reached the end of treatment number seven and I now have a week off to recover. Usually I spend my first no-chemo day by re-introducing another poisonous drug to my system (i.e. alcohol), but this weekend I’ve decided to stay clean. My housemate/borderline alcoholic, is running a half-marathon for charity and out of solidarity I am staying alcohol free. Don’t open the wine, Sophie! This week’s blog is about charity. The British public are a very charitable sort , and cancer charities receive the most donations out of all of them. I’m sure you’ve all given money at some point, even if it just to get rid of an annoying chugger on the high street, so as someone who’s on the other end, I’d like to give you an honest appraisal of where this donation goes. Cancer Research UK What their pitch? ‘At Cancer Research UK we pioneer research to bring forward the day when all cancers are cured. With no government funding, our progress depends on your d

Hello from Chemo Ward B. Its been almost six months since the first hit of chemo and I’m still here, waiting for another hit of hard drugs. There’s still another two sessions to go, but somehow it seems like the finish is in now in sight. Just another five weeks. As we approach the end of the treatment, I feel now is a good time for some reflection. Six months is a long time, and I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for the help of some very special. So, without further ado, I’d like to announce the winners of the annual awards for Totally Unbelievable Magnanimous Occurrences (or TUMORS for short). Training session of the year: Bill Wild , for his legendary hill session in the Chantries woods. In the words of my cancer nurse, ‘that run might have saved your life.’ Best diet advice Angela Bates, my specialist cancer nurse. ‘For the next two weeks, no green vegetables, no wholemeal food. Focus on quick energy – ice cream and cake.’ Best hospital visitor Laura Sands .

I used to have a great memory. When I was about twelve years I could name pretty much an any capital city in the world. Cameroon? Yaounde. Ecuador? Quito. Mongolia? Ulaanbaatar. Now, many years of beer consumption, staring at computer screens and sifting through Facebook updates later, I struggle to even remember my own name. How old are you Mr Evans? Ummm….39? 38? Where did I leave my keys? What year is it again? In many ways this is a good thing. As an optimistic person I tend to only remember the positives in life, no matter if they’re true or not: I had such a great time at university! (skint, hungover, melodramatic); Cycling through Sudan was such an amazing experience! (hot, sick and mostly miserable) I love running marathons! (three hours of unrelenting torture) Isn’t life great! (a meaningless trudge through random events and constant disappointment); I feel good this morning! (oh, but now I have to take chemo drugs). This hasn’t generally been a problem – I