Look, nobody actually remembers the day they’re told they’re “clear”. Not really. You recognise the smell of the floor wax in the oncology ward: that sharp, synthetic lemon trying to mask sickness. You could still hear the precise hum of the radiator in the consultant’s office when you were waiting for the results from that biopsy. But the “all clear”? That is a blur of disbelief and weird, residual guilt.
I’m sitting here in a small café in Aberdeen, watching the rain smear against the window, and it’s World Cancer Day. My phone’s been pinging nonstop with hashtags for “United by Unique” all morning. It’s been three years since I completed my last round of treatment for stage 3 colorectal cancer, and, tru=thfully, as I write this, I still feel like a bit of an imposter. As I sip my lukewarm oat latte here, I’m reminded that about 10 million people globally did not experience the ribbon-pinning ceremony this year.
Anyway, I wanted to pen this column because we usually only talk about cancer in two ways: the tragic obituary or the “warrior” success story. But there’s a massive, messy middle ground where the rest of us live.
The 62-Day Wait
Here’s the thing they don’t put on the brochures: the NHS is a marvel, but it’s a marvel under siege. I remember my own “62-day wait”. That’s the target time from urgent referral to starting treatment. Back when I was in the thick of it, the national average for hitting that target was hovering around 60%.
As of this week, the new National Cancer Plan—unveiled by Health Secretary Wes Streeting on February 3, 2026—aims to get that survival rate up to 75% by 2035.
That’s a bold promise. But for someone sitting in a plastic chair in a Highland clinic today, those percentages feel like a lottery. Streeting, who’s a survivor himself, called it the “lottery of life”. He’s right. If you’re in certain parts of Scotland, you’re still facing “postcode lotteries” for the latest SGRT (Surface Guided Radiation Therapy) that can spare your healthy tissue from being fried.
I was lucky. My “lottery ticket” came up on a board that had the latest kit. But I saw the people in the waiting room who weren’t as lucky. The ones who had to travel three hours each way for a ten-minute zap because their local hospital was still relying on scanners from the Blair era.
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Precision and the Seven-Minute Jab
Now, I’m usually the first to roll my eyes at “breakthrough” headlines, but things are actually moving at a terrifyingly fast pace.
Just last year, we started seeing the rollout of the “seven-minute jab.” For years, cancer patients were tethered to IV drips for hours. It was a slow, draining process that made you feel like a piece of faulty equipment being recharged.
Now, drugs like Atezolizumab can be injected in under ten minutes. It sounds like a small thing, doesn’t it? But it’s the difference between spending your Tuesday in a ward and spending it at the park with your kids.
We’re in this “golden age” of genomics, too. In my second year of remission, I talked to a researcher at Imperial who explained how they’re using AI to spot lung cancers that the human eye just misses. They’re even using mRNA tech—the stuff from the COVID jabs—to create “personalised vaccines” that tell your immune system exactly which cells to hunt down. It’s like giving your white blood cells a GPS and a set of handcuffs.
The Invisible Side Effects
Look, I’m “clear” now. My hair grew back, though it’s a weird, wiry texture I didn’t ask for, and my energy is back to about 80%. But the “clear” isn’t a finish line. It’s more like a ceasefire.
But look, let’s talk about the grit. The stuff that doesn’t make it into the government white papers.
Cancer leaves a mark on your head that chemo can’t touch. Even now, if I get a persistent cough or a weird ache in my side, my brain immediately goes to “Stage 4”. It’s a type of low-grade trauma that stays with you. I call it the “ghost in the waiting room. “You’re physically out of the hospital, but a part of you is always still there, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
The financial hit is real, too. Most people don’t realise that a cancer diagnosis is basically an unpaid second job. Between the travel costs, the specialised diet, and the time off work, it’s a massive drain.
I was reading a Macmillan report that said the average “cancer tax” is about £891 a month. That’s a lot of money when you’re already fighting for your life.
Why We Still Mark the Day
So, why do I care about World Cancer Day if the ribbons feel a bit performative?
Because of the “New Talent” I see coming up. I see researchers like Dr Ehsan Ghorani, who are obsessed with “precision oncology”—treating the person, not just the tumour. This year’s theme, “United by Unique”, is actually a pretty accurate description of where we’re headed.
We’re moving away from the “sledgehammer” approach of the 90s and toward something that actually respects the human body.
And honestly, the biggest change isn’t a new pill. It’s the “ping.” The NHS App is now pushing screening reminders directly to people’s pockets. About 40 million of us have that app now. It’s a tiny digital nudge, but it’s catching bowel and cervical cancers months earlier than we used to. That’s where the 320,000 lives promised in the new 10-year plan will actually be saved. Not in a lab, but in a bathroom or a GP surgery.
The View from the Other Side
I’m three years clear now. My hair grew back (mostly), my energy is about 80% of what it was, and I still can’t stand the smell of hospital hand sanitiser.
But I’ve learned that survival isn’t a finish line. It’s a responsibility. It’s the responsibility to tell the person who just got their “Recall” notice that it’s okay to be terrified. It’s okay to cry in the car park. But it’s also okay to hope.
The system is broken in places—God knows the waiting lists in Scotland are still a scandal—but the science is winning. We’re finally starting to treat cancer like a chronic condition rather than a death sentence.
If you’re reading this and you’ve got a screening kit sitting in your kitchen drawer next to the old batteries, just do it. Don’t be “British” and “not want to bother anyone.” Bother them. Be the loudest person in the clinic. Because the statistics say you’ve got a better chance today than any human in history.
Anyway, my toast is cold, and the dog is staring at me. It’s an ordinary Tuesday. And honestly? That’s the best World Cancer Day gift I could ever ask for.
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Medical Sources & Official References
- The 75% Survival Target: GOV.UK – Three in four cancer patients to survive long term under new plan
- The “Seven-Minute Jab”: NHS England – NHS world first rollout of cancer jab
- The £891 “Cancer Tax”: Macmillan Cancer Support – The Financial Impact of Cancer
- mRNA Vaccine Trials: NHS England – Cancer Vaccine Launch Pad
NHS App Screening Stats: NHS England Digital – App Hits 40 Million Mark
