In the UK of 2025, trust is an essential commodity. Whether it’s relying on the local mechanic to handle your car’s MOT without overcharging or depending on your hairdresser to transform your unruly hair into something manageable, trust underpins daily life. Equally, when boarding a flight for a much-anticipated holiday, there’s an inherent trust that the pilot is not only competent but also experienced.

However, perhaps nowhere is this trust more critical than in matters of governance and healthcare. As citizens, we hope that competent leaders will guide the nation wisely. On a personal level, especially for individuals like myself dealing with incurable bowel cancer, placing trust in the medical professionals managing our treatment is non-negotiable. Our lives depend on their expertise.

It’s against this backdrop that I found myself, during a routine consultation with my cancer treatment team, silently exclaiming, “what the actual f***?” It was a thought, not voiced, but nonetheless a reflection of my incredulity.

Interestingly, this reaction wasn’t triggered by the delay in receiving my MRI and CT scan results. I had been forewarned about potential delays due to staff shortages, so I was prepared to continue waiting in anxiety for news about whether my tumors had spread. That was a delay I could rationalize.

What caught me off guard was a question posed by the doctor. While discussing my intention to film a chemotherapy session to shed light on the treatment process, he asked if I was working full-time. This query seemed out of place, especially given my recent schedule.

Just two weeks prior, my calendar was packed: Monday involved blood tests and a doctor consultation, Tuesday an MRI scan, Wednesday chemotherapy, Friday was for disconnecting my chemotherapy pump, and Saturday a CT scan. A week like that leaves little room for anything else, let alone full-time work. The question only underscored the complexities of trusting a system that sometimes seems disconnected from the realities of living with a chronic illness.

So, how did the doctor think I would have time to work full-time? My employer is very accommodating in allowing me to work as and when I can. But most jobs aren’t like mine.

Can you imagine trying to explain to your boss that you’re happy to work all week, but the only day you can guarantee you’ll be in is Thursday? I don’t think they’d be pleased.

And with cancer patients, it isn’t just a case of not being able to work because of having to be at hospital appointments. My chemotherapy is a challenging treatment course with side effects including fatigue, nausea, and diarrhoea.

On their own, they are the kind of things you could deal with for a day and soldier on by saying you’ll work from home. But what if they never stop until the treatment stops, and you know that won’t happen until you’re lying in a coffin and are six feet under.

For me, the most alarming part of the doctor’s question is that it seemed he really didn’t know how impossible it is for cancer patients to work full-time. He didn’t seem to know about the impact that treatment has on the person undergoing such a gruelling regime.

I’m leading the Daily Express’s Cancer Care campaign as it’s vital that all patients have access to mental health support both during and after their treatment. Medical teams must realise that mental health issues are one of the main side effects of cancer.

And clearly some of them need a bit of educating about the physical side effects, too.

Working is great for my mental health and is helping me through my “cancer journey”. But it can only happen when I’m not feeling wiped out by my treatment, and it definitely can’t happen full-time.