“This shouldn’t be happening, you’re only 36!” … were the first words the consultant said to me as he looked at the results of my spinal MRI with disbelief after I arrived at A&E. The scan report described tumours all along my spine, from just below my neck, right down to the base. While this itself was horrific, little did either of us know it was just the start of the harrowing medical picture that would be built up during a three-week stay in hospital.
Scan after scan, the news got worse, more tumours in more bones and organs, with no idea of where it started or what kind of cancer it was. A month after that initial conversation I was diagnosed with Neuroendocrine Cancer. Worse, not only did I have a rare cancer that I’d never even heard of, but I also had a version of it (lung supra-carcinoid), which until a year ago had never even been written about in medical papers.
My prognosis was devastating, 12 to 18 months if treatments worked. “What if they don’t,” was my reply.
Since that moment, a variety of medical teams have been fantastic. I have regular blood work, scans, adjustments in pain meds, and a number I can call 24/7 with any worrying chemo symptoms.
I could not ask for more in terms of making sure my body keeps going and for that I am incredibly grateful to the NHS. The area which has been a struggle is my mental health.
Consider for a second how you might feel, or begin to process your entire life falling apart. In the space of a month, I went from working full time as a lecturer, having an active social life, exercising and trying my best to eat well — to having a terminal illness and constantly thinking about cancer, dying, and how to make the most of the time I have left.
I’ve been through every emotion, from anger, to sadness, from laughing to crying, from debilitating grief to pleading with the universe for longer to live. My family and friends have been amazing in supporting me, but they, too, are going through a version of this hell.
I quickly realised I was going to need an intense level of mental health support until I’d either accepted what was happening, or it wasn’t my concern anymore.
But getting an adequate level of mental health support is something I’m battling alongside the cancer.
When my oncology team referred me to psych-oncology, I was hopeful that I’d be meeting with a psychologist to discuss how difficult things had been since my diagnosis and daily. Instead, after a three-month wait, I met with a young mental health nurse, who seemed unable to offer anything more than a prescription of Sertraline (an antidepressant) and access to a 50-minute counselling session every other week.
I am a trained counsellor, so this seemed like an inadequate level of support for someone facing their own death — and fell far below my expectations of what cancer patients might have access to.
If my back starts to flare tomorrow, I can call a hotline for advice and come into the hospital to be assessed.
If I end up crying for a few hours because I’m scared that one of my spinal tumours may paralyse me, there’s no hotline to call or mental health professional who can sit with me.
Even allowing for an element of supporting myself, and trying self-soothing, meditation, and reframing thoughts all have their limits. When facing my own rapidly approaching death, and dealing with loss after loss, they don’t do much!
In 2025 we’ve moved quite the distance in recognising how important our mental health is. We continue to discuss how linked our psychological and physical worlds are, and yet the funding and provision for cancer patients’ mental health is severely lacking.
There is a need to recognise just how difficult it can be for anyone dealing with a terminal illness to face each day and the challenges it throws up. Where are the timely services and experts for cancer patients?
I know I’m going to die in a relatively short period of time. Nothing is likely to change that.
My ask is to have access to a higher level of mental health support until that day comes. To have a trained professional that can help me face the uncertainty of what might happen, and to turn to in those moments when it all feels too much. And to have it quickly.
There’s no question of needing this level of support for my physical health, so why should mental health be any different? This is why I’m backing the Daily Express’s Cancer Care campaign to ensure patients receive mental healthcare both during and after their treatment.
The charity Neuroendocrine Cancer UK supports patients like Mr Dickson. You can reach the charity by visiting www.neuroendocrinecancer.org.uk
This story originally appeared on Express.co.uk
