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Remission - which a quick Google search reveals is defined as something along the lines of "the disappearance of the signs and symptoms...

After getting the fantastic Remission news on Halloween 2024, I was ready for life to go back to normal in a hurry . And while in some ways normalcy followed quickly, the reality is that the body takes time to heal, and side effects don’t vanish overnight – some of them can even continue to persist years later. The most pressing of the side effects I was eager to say goodbye to was the sorry state of my immune system following chemotherapy. My white blood cell counts remain

This blog is already saturated with information about the testing programs during diagnosis, post-surgery, and chemotherapy periods – so I’ll do my best to keep this one relatively brief. As you may know – remission is the state of being cancer-free, but not yet being considered cured of cancer. Being cured means making it to 5 years cancer free without a relapse. During those 5 years, there is an active monitoring period with regular testing. The tests are carried out every

If you’ve somehow miraculously managed to keep reading from the beginning, you’ll remember that one of the most heartbreaking points in the whole cancer journey was having to cancel the 3-month sabbatical / honeymoon my wife and I had planned for August, September, and October 2024 to travel the world directly after our wedding, to instead return home to start chemotherapy. But actually, “cancel” isn’t the right word there – because we always saw it as a postponement . We fel

Since entering remission, I have been asked to give talks at my company to various teams and audiences about my experience. It started off as a very daunting concept, but it’s become an almost therapeutic exercise, forcing me to talk through what I experienced. Most of all though, I get to use my experience as a spark to spread awareness and encourage the men in the audience (and the husbands, brothers, friends etc. of those in the audience) to be more proactive with their he

At the end of my first week of chemotherapy, a strange confluence of factors—mainly a peculiar rule in the German hospital system—meant I had to stay overnight in order to receive my fifth and final infusion the next day. Though fatigued and not at my best, there was really no medical reason for me to occupy a hospital bed. Yet there I was on a Friday night, being wheeled into the inpatient oncology ward. That night was arguably the hardest moment of my entire cancer journey.

I think most readers will be at least vaguely familiar with Movember, given how simple but powerful the concept is: men around the world growing moustaches during the month of November to raise awareness and funding for men’s health. More specifically, men’s cancers (Testicular & Colon) and mental health. I first grew a moustache for Movember back in 2009, and have participated many times since. I have to admit however that saying I “grew a moustache” is debatable, given I re