1. In the beginning

“Adenoid cystic carcinoma of the left parotid gland with invasion into the infratemporal fossa and lung metastases.”

Sounds made up to me. A sentence of words I’d never heard before, arranged in a way that nonetheless felt deeply worrying. I didn’t fully understand it; one thing was for sure though, it didn’t sound good.

Cancer is like that. We all know the statistics — one in two of us will get it at some point — but it remains reassuringly at arms length. Something that happens to other people. Until, very abruptly, it doesn’t.

Just Jaw Pain, It’ll Sort Itself Out

July 2025. It started as jaw pain. Nothing dramatic. The sort of thing you dismiss without ceremony. I’d had it earlier in the year from grinding my teeth in my sleep, so I did what any sensible man would do, put the mouthguard I had from the dentist back in, took the odd painkiller, and carried on.

Men are famously terrible at seeking medical help. I don’t like to stereotype, but in this case, I am the stereotype. If you ignore something long enough, it will either resolve itself or become someone else’s problem.

July passed, but the pain didn’t.

By August it had spread into my ear. A pharmacist prescribed an antibiotic. That would have to do for now — we were heading off on holiday the next day.

California. Road trip! Two weeks of blue skies, miles of driving, too much food, and making memories. We packed a lot in and, genuinely, had the most fantastic time.

Looking back, I’m grateful for one small, irritating habit of mine: always insisting on at least one proper family photo on holiday. At the time it just makes me annoying. Later, it would feel very different.

By the end of the trip, eating hurt. Sleeping hurt. Everything hurt.

Something Isn’t Right

Once home, I did what I should have done weeks earlier and went to the doctor. The working theory was an ear infection. Then a dental issue. Then possibly a blocked salivary gland.

Painkillers escalated. Appointments accumulated. Nothing helped.

I was struggling, and took myself to A&E. After a seven-hour stint, I emerged clutching a new prescription and the faint sense that maybe, finally, someone was taking this seriously. An MRI was booked.

That night my left eye stopped blinking properly.

By the next morning half my face had dropped. Facial paralysis has a way of sharpening your focus. Another trip to A&E. More steroids. More waiting.

The MRI itself took seventy minutes. I’m not claustrophobic, but I don’t think anyone should spend that long inside a tube listening to industrial techno and their own thoughts. Still, I was relieved. Surely this would give us answers...