Years ago, I found myself seated beside a mother whose son had just been sentenced to 30 years for murder. She quietly admired how well he wore his new suit, seemingly unfazed by the gravity of the moment. Fast forward a few years, and I witnessed the family of a teenager sigh with relief as a jury declared her not guilty of manslaughter after a mere 28 minutes of deliberation. I later learned that their decision might have come even sooner, if not for a few jurors wanting to finish their sandwiches first. Meanwhile, in cases that appear straightforward, juries sometimes take what feels like an eternity to deliver their verdicts.

As a journalist covering court proceedings, I’ve often been intrigued by the life-altering decisions juries make. Yet, I’ve never been able to truly grasp what goes on in their minds. How much sway does a charismatic prosecutor hold over them with his dramatic presentation of events? And on a Friday afternoon, do they treat evidence with the same disregard as students do double maths, eager for the weekend?

That’s why I was genuinely thrilled when a letter from HM Courts and Tribunals Service arrived, summoning me for jury duty. According to the letter, I’d be serving at the Old Bailey in London this December, unless I had a valid excuse to decline.

I always believed I’d make an excellent juror. A few years back, I would’ve been the ideal candidate—dedicated to uncovering the truth, cutting through deception, and ensuring that the verdict was just and fair.

However, the landscape has shifted since the summer of 2023. Everything has changed.

Now, my ability to fulfill jury service hinges on a precarious balance. Unless the defendant decides to plead guilty by the second day of the trial, aligning perfectly with my medical appointments, the likelihood of me attending is slim. The demands of hospital visits and blood tests have taken precedence, leaving little room for civic duties.

It’s different because that was when I was diagnosed with stage four bowel cancer and since then everything has to revolve around treatment.

Last week I was in hospital for blood tests, observations, and a medical team appointment on Monday, an MRI scan on Tuesday, chemotherapy on Wednesday, was hospital free on Thursday, before being back in on Friday for a chemotherapy pump removal and finishing the week off with a CT scan on Saturday.

Everyone in the UK would have a right to be outraged if the trial I was a juror on only happened for one day a week so I could get to hospital appointments.

With cancer it’s not just the massive amount of time I have to spend in hospital every other week. It’s also battling the side effects every day.

The side effects were, sadly, the biggest reason why I had to ask to be excused from jury service.

Sitting writing this I’m feeling very tired and wondering if it’s best to go to bed afterwards or whether to try and tough it out until it’s dark outside. It’s a decision I have to make most days as the chemotherapy battles with the cancer cells inside me.

Usually it’s a decision I can make freely but imagine the horror if I fell asleep on my jury bundle while an expert witness is on hour three of their evidence about how glass shatters when hit by a golf club. If I was the defendant’s legal counsel I’d call for a new trial with a different jury, meaning my mistake would cost taxpayers thousands of pounds.

And that’s effectively what I said in my response giving my reasons to be excused. As a juror I’d want to be focused on all the evidence at all times and as a cancer patient I don’t think I’d be able to do that.

It’s brought home once again the difficulties of having cancer while trying to have a normal life. It’s the missed opportunities to help others instead of being fearful that you’ve let everyone down.

It’s the walking down the street and being cold because it’s winter, not because the medicine in your body makes you feel ill all the time. It’s the not being able to talk about how cancer makes you feel because you’re all talked out as you struggle to think how your nightmare will end.

But even when you are all talked out there should be someone there who can listen to the silence and help you through your tears. This is why I’m leading the Daily Express’s Cancer Care campaign. It’s vital that the Government and the NHS ensures there is mental health support for all cancer patients both during and after treatment.