6. Christmas and Calm?

Christmas at home felt like a luxury — one I was acutely, almost painfully grateful for. Watching the girls open their presents was easily the highlight; simple pleasures, now carrying a little more weight than they once did.

The girls had also decided that I should be in charge of Christmas lunch this year. Apparently, they were hoping for a little more “flavour” than their usual daily fare. Their words. Entirely theirs.

Unfortunately, I’ve seen some regression in the movement of my mouth, once again making eating more of a challenge. This, according to the physio, is to be expected, but is nonetheless annoying and has resulted in the return to a more liquid diet.

So, while Christmas lunch looked appetising enough and judging by the plates, went down well, I can’t really comment. By the time I’d finished navigating it, it was stone cold. Festive, but tepid.

With my dietary limitations firmly established, Mel has been given free rein with the Magimix. This has resulted in a series of inventive concoctions, apparently produced without recipes and with only the most minimal willingness to taste-test them for herself. Some of them, it has to be said, are better than others.

How Does It Feel?

I’m often asked how my face feels after surgery. The comparison I usually give is that numb, detached sensation you get after a dental injection — when your mouth doesn’t quite feel like it belongs to you.

In my case, this sensation covers the entire left side of my head and doesn’t wear off. Ever.

Perhaps an alternative, more descriptive comparison is to that of the pavement scene in American History X – had the victim have survived!

Back to the Mundane

It’s been oddly comforting to tick off some overdue appointments. After cancelling several haircuts over the past few months, one was very much overdue. Little things, often taken for granted.

The dentist was approached with more apprehension. I’d had two molars removed during surgery, adding further complexity to an already compromised mouth. Despite my best efforts at oral hygiene, I’d noticed some staining and assumed the worst.

Turns out it was just the prolonged use of the prescribed mouthwash. Teeth cleaned, polished, a rogue stitch removed, all without fuss. A relief, in more ways than one.

Being home has also meant getting back to some swim runs. Rewarding, grounding, and undoubtedly good for my mental health.

A Different Kind of Pain

The back pain I’d been dealing with had eased slightly, only to be replaced — or perhaps overshadowed — by an increasingly intense headache which arrived between Christmas and New Year. Different from the pre-surgery headache, and stubbornly unmoved by anything I threw at it.

We had family over on New Year’s Eve, with the kids hosting their now traditional quizzes. Some more diverse than others, but I was pleased to claim victory in at least one.

As the evening went on, the games continued, but the headache intensified. I retreated to a quieter space, managing to see in the New Year before heading straight to bed, hoping sleep might offer some relief.

The next morning, I made it downstairs and seated myself at the breakfast bar, still battling a crushing, all-encompassing headache. I felt clammy, nauseous, and distinctly unwell — and complained to Mel that I didn’t feel well at all.

The next thing I remember is waking up on the floor.

Mel had done her best to break my fall, for which I am extremely grateful. The last thing I need right now is any more stitches.

A&E, Again

An ambulance was called. After an in-depth review and a series of verbal tests, we were told it would be around two hours.

After about fifteen minutes, the cold floor had lost its appeal. I’d managed to make it into a chair, and we decided we’d head to A&E ourselves — Mel doing the driving.

I was seen immediately. In a bed within twenty minutes. ECG, bloods, CT scan.

Five and a half hours in hospital wasn’t the start to 2026 I’d had in mind. Still, I’m incredibly grateful for the care I received — and the immediate effect of the steroids, which alleviated the headache. Another one added to the daily medication list.

It turns out there are two further spots of cancer at the skull base, on the brain — 1cm and 2cm in diameter. Importantly, on rather than in the brain, which I’ll happily count as a win.

Had I read the oncologist’s report more carefully, I’d have known about these already. One thing they don’t warn you about being ill is the endless, relentless admin. I may have been culpable in skimming this one. Still, at least those who really need to know were aware of them and the CT scan showed nothing new. These were already on the radar to be targeted with the proton therapy beginning in the next week.

Back in Play

The daily exercises for the rest of my body do seem to be having a more positive impact. That said, I hadn’t quite expected to be playing golf again within six weeks.

But I’d missed it — properly missed it. I’ve only managed to play twice in the last six months, so when the opportunity came up, I grabbed it with both hands. In truth, I wasn’t entirely sure how my body would respond, but it held up remarkably well.

I’m not saying that my golf game did the same, there were some decent shots, some terrible ones. But I didn’t care, I was just happy to be out there, in the wind and the cold! Even more so having only collapsed two days earlier.

Finally, my writing seems to have been well received, which is genuinely lovely — and has reached further than I expected. Reconnecting with old friends, some I haven’t spoken to properly in nearly 25 years, has been wonderful.

Next stop: back to London, and the relative unknown of how I’ll respond to radiotherapy.

Onwards and upwards.