When I was told I had cancer again, there was no big emotional reaction. At 72, and having already faced another cancer before, I simply saw it as another adventure , though one I’d rather not be taking. My wife, Sue, told our kids. My only real thought was about a trip to Europe we’d planned. We were flying out in two days and, against medical advice, we went. I barely made it home. 

Since then, I’ve been through around eight different chemotherapy treatments. The hardest part wasn’t so much my own discomfort but the toll it took on my family, especially Sue, my carer. Watching her go through it all was incredibly difficult. I could barely walk at times, my bones were cracking, I couldn’t eat, and I lost a third of my body weight. ICU and nearly dying were tough moments, but perhaps the hardest thing of all has been seeing younger people with cancer, the tragedy for them and their families stays with me. 

But for all its challenges, my five-year journey with chemo has also been remarkable. I wouldn’t change a minute of it. I’ve met amazing people and seen the very best of humanity,from the cleaners and caterers to the nurses, doctors, specialists and the team at Linear Clinical Trials. 

In WA, we have a world-class medical system, and I’ve been privileged to experience it firsthand. I’d heard of clinical trials. 

It felt like another adventure 

I’d heard of clinical trials before, a friend’s life was saved by a trial drug, so when I was referred to Linear, it felt like another adventure. My experience has been wonderful. I often joke that I’m a happy lab rat. The investment drug companies put into each patient is astonishing. 

For me and my family, the trial has meant everything. I’m alive when I wasn’t meant to be. My cancer is now undetectable. Sue is delighted. And others benefit from the knowledge gained, which is something that brings us comfort. 

Gold-standard haematologist, even if he does follow Carlton! 

There are moments that stand out: a code blue 

emergency in my hospital room, with five 

doctors, five nurses and one nurse holding my 

hand. It was humbling. I remember lying in ICU, 

not expecting to see the next day, with my 

family called in and three doctors at the foot of 

the bed shaking their heads. And yet I’m still 

here. 

The dedication of Dr Brad Auguston, a gold 

standard haematologist and a gold-standard 

person (even if he does follow Carlton!), has 

been extraordinary. As has the care from Sue. 

It was a tough and lonely road for her. And my 

dear friends and family who truly care, I’m 

forever grateful.