Various health complaints meant I never expected to live to see my sixteenth birthday and, two years ago, when I was diagnosed with incurable bowel cancer, I wondered if I’d see this one. But, at the time of writing, unless I get stabbed on the way home, all signs look good for me celebrating turning 46. I’ll spend some of it working on the Daily Express’s Cancer Care campaign and the rest wondering if my colleagues like the dougnuts I’ve purchased for their delectation and delight. I hope they do because I’ve spent as much time choosing iced doughy treats as I used to spend swiping on Tinder.
Flicking through their pictures online, I felt like a ruthless dater who is far too picky to swipe right. I wondered which ones would be too gooey, which would be too sickly, and which would be too squashed so they don’t look anything like the photos. I wondered whether the one with an orange face and triangular eyes is a keeper, or whether the one called Maple Pecan Pie is a safer bet. And I wondered how many people would ask me whether the one they chose contains nuts.
This year, I bet no one asks me the nut question because, for the first time in my life since I first brought in cakes to an office on my birthday, I won’t be there. (I didn’t even consider it as an option last year.)
I won’t be there, not because I’m out with Paddington, hot on the trail of an exclusive story about Peru. I won’t be there, not because I’m kayaking down rapids in a river somewhere exotic, where there are rapids. I won’t be there, not because I’m working my way round the world’s best sandwich shops and have reached Latvia.
I won’t be there to enjoy the Dunkin’ Donuts people because when I was diagnosed with stage four cancer back in the summer of 2023 I was told to not go on the Tube in London and not go to offices. Supposedly, this is because of the risk of infections in enclosed spaces.
And sadly, because a calendar doesn’t mean much to infections, they don’t understand that they should take a day off for my birthday.
I haven’t been in the Daily Express newsroom to work since starting chemotherapy, so I’ve had to imagine what kind of doughnuts my colleagues like, when I haven’t met most of them.
I joke that having cancer is my second job, and sadly, if truth be told, I know more about the nurses at my cancer hospital than the colleagues who produce the fantastic stories you read on this website.
Just like I know which ones like tuna mayonnaise in a jacket potato and which energy drink flavours they prefer, I think I’d be a pretty good judge of which nurse would plump for a traditional jam doughnut and which would prefer theirs to resemble a Rocky Road treat.
Because of this, I’ve had to imagine what kind of doughnuts my colleagues like and whether they will understand that Dunkin’ Donuts are far better than Krispy Kreme.
I’ve had to pause any thoughts of progressing my career to the level of a journalist extraordinaire.
And I’ve had to realise that if I’m genuinely going to fight cancer, then I need to stop looking at how things used to be.
It isn’t easy, but I’m trying to remember how far I’ve come. I know I haven’t got decades left of life, but I also know I won’t die until the Daily Express has achieved the goal of the Cancer Care campaign, to ensure all cancer patients have mental health support both during and after treatment.
