Tag Archives: dying

Guernsey parliament votes against assisted dying

An attempt to legalise assisted dying in Guernsey has been defeated in the island’s parliament after a three-day debate.

Members of the legislature voted against a requete – similar to a private member’s bill – proposed by Guernsey’s chief minister, Gavin St Pier. A series of votes on different clauses were lost decisively.

If the requete had passed, Guernsey would have become the first place in the British Isles to offer euthanasia for people with terminal illnesses.

Supporters of the requete said they were disappointed by the outcome, but believed change was inevitable.

“Naturally we are disappointed with this result, although it was not entirely unexpected. We believe that a majority of the population do support a change in the law. However, we live in a representative democracy and our parliamentary assembly, the States of Deliberation, has by majority, made a democratic decision which settles the matter in Guernsey.”

“We, of course, accept that decision. We remain of the view that this is an inevitable change which in the fullness of time Guernsey will one day adopt.”

The proposal sought to adopt the Oregon model, meaning that euthanasia would be restricted to people with a diagnosis of terminal illness with less than six months to live and full mental capacity. People from other areas of the British Isles would not be able to travel to Guernsey to take advantage of its law.

It was opposed by Christian leaders on the island, the British Medical Association and the Guernsey Disabilities Alliance. A key government committee refused to back the proposal, saying it was not a priority and investigations would be a drain on resources.

The Oregon model has been adopted in six US states as well as Oregon, Canada and the Australian state of Victoria. New Zealand is considering the legislation.

The Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg have more permissive laws, based on applicants’ suffering, but not requiring a terminal diagnosis. Switzerland allows assisted dying on compassionate grounds to residents and non-residents.

The requete needed a simple majority of the 40 deputies who sit in Guernsey’s States of Deliberation.

Guernsey parliament votes against assisted dying

An attempt to legalise assisted dying in Guernsey has been defeated in the island’s parliament after a three-day debate.

Members of the legislature voted against a requete – similar to a private member’s bill – proposed by Guernsey’s chief minister, Gavin St Pier. A series of votes on different clauses were lost decisively.

If the requete had passed, Guernsey would have become the first place in the British Isles to offer euthanasia for people with terminal illnesses.

Supporters of the requete said they were disappointed by the outcome, but believed change was inevitable.

“Naturally we are disappointed with this result, although it was not entirely unexpected. We believe that a majority of the population do support a change in the law. However, we live in a representative democracy and our parliamentary assembly, the States of Deliberation, has by majority, made a democratic decision which settles the matter in Guernsey.”

“We, of course, accept that decision. We remain of the view that this is an inevitable change which in the fullness of time Guernsey will one day adopt.”

The proposal sought to adopt the Oregon model, meaning that euthanasia would be restricted to people with a diagnosis of terminal illness with less than six months to live and full mental capacity. People from other areas of the British Isles would not be able to travel to Guernsey to take advantage of its law.

It was opposed by Christian leaders on the island, the British Medical Association and the Guernsey Disabilities Alliance. A key government committee refused to back the proposal, saying it was not a priority and investigations would be a drain on resources.

The Oregon model has been adopted in six US states as well as Oregon, Canada and the Australian state of Victoria. New Zealand is considering the legislation.

The Netherlands, Belgium and Luxembourg have more permissive laws, based on applicants’ suffering, but not requiring a terminal diagnosis. Switzerland allows assisted dying on compassionate grounds to residents and non-residents.

The requete needed a simple majority of the 40 deputies who sit in Guernsey’s States of Deliberation.

‘Children were dying of hunger’: the doctor fighting for Ecuador’s poor – podcast

Dr Erika Arteaga-Cruz left her work in an Ecuadorean hospital to become a health activist, trying to get medication and treatment to the country’s indigenous communities. ‘We took a huge range of medicines, but what they really needed was food.’ Arteaga-Cruz talks to Lucy Lamble about her work improving the living standards of the most vulnerable people in society.

‘I’m 37, I’m dying and this is how I spend it’

I live in the East End of London and own my flat. I have a brain tumour. I’m dying – it’s inoperable, and I’m halfway through my third round of chemo.

I try to live my life to the full, in four-week sprints, with a round of chemo coming up every month.

When I was 25, I had a job paying a very decent wage. I bought the flat then. My critical illness insurance has paid out, and that means I have paid off most of the mortgage.

I have stopped work. The last full-time salaried job I had I chucked in this time last year.

I live on benefits and my savings. Because I was sensible, I always paid into a pension. I’ve now cashed some of that in. I lead a very, very frugal life. I have no car, no credit cards, and a bicycle. I’ve always hated being in debt.

I used to work in recruitment. I went to a normal comprehensive in Suffolk, then did engineering at university and then came to London. I quite like spreadsheets and planning. By the age of 25 I was earning more money than I knew what to do with. I still have a copy of a payslip where I had a take-home of more than £10,000.

I bought the flat in 2005 for £189,000 with a deposit of just £9,000. It’s now worth about £400,000. I suppose if I were younger and buying now I would certainly not be able to afford it.

I was diagnosed in 2010, and had my first surgery in 2011. It’s growing really quickly.

I’ve been separated from my wife for the last 18 months and we’re about to get divorced.

I won’t pretend that it hasn’t been tough, because it has. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching.

But I’m not lonely, I have a good social life and the next thing I’m going to do is to get a dog.

I’ve had a good life, I’ve travelled a lot, done most things. I don’t like the idea of the bucket list of things to do before you die. I want to go on with the things I already do in my life – go camping, start a fire, shoot my bow and arrow – and I don’t want a list where I have to go and swim with dolphins or the like. These things seem very finite to me. Maybe I’m just too cynical, although equally, even with my condition, I don’t think the world is out to get you.

Everything has become the new normal. I’m not allowed to drive. Sometimes you think you could take out credit cards and buy a Porsche or something, knowing you won’t have to pay it back. But it’s just not worth it. And bicycles are cheap.

My monthly spending is now about £500. It’s not a lot of money. I cycle whenever I can. I don’t go to fancy restaurants. But then I don’t deny myself completely.

I go to Lidl for food shopping and it doesn’t cost me much at all. I just don’t understand how people can be so extravagant with their bills. My biggest bill is the £235-a-year management charge for the flat. My mobile is £12 a month, broadband £20, water £20 and council tax £90.

I still have savings from when I worked for Comic Relief. They paid me £45,000 a year as a product manager looking after the website, and I saved £1,000 a month.

I actually only just sorted out the will. Something in me made me put off doing it for a long time. The money will go to my mother, my sister and my current girlfriend. She’s a superstar.

The Macmillan nurses have been really great. They put me in contact with a company that helps you write a will and gave me a lot of advice.

I’m on universal credit, as they have assessed me as not fit for work – I receive about £250 a month. I got a Macmillan grant of £350.

None of this has come easily: it’s been painful. What I see is people getting so cross with the world. I don’t think it’s helpful – just chill out a bit. I loved the film Paddington 2. If you smile and you’re polite, then everything will be all right. That’s how I try to spend every day.

As told to Patrick Collinson

If you are affected by the issues in this story, you can contact Macmillan Cancer Support in the UK on 0808 808 0000

‘I’m 37, I’m dying and this is how I spend it’

I live in the East End of London and own my flat. I have a brain tumour. I’m dying – it’s inoperable, and I’m halfway through my third round of chemo.

I try to live my life to the full, in four-week sprints, with a round of chemo coming up every month.

When I was 25, I had a job paying a very decent wage. I bought the flat then. My critical illness insurance has paid out, and that means I have paid off most of the mortgage.

I have stopped work. The last full-time salaried job I had I chucked in this time last year.

I live on benefits and my savings. Because I was sensible, I always paid into a pension. I’ve now cashed some of that in. I lead a very, very frugal life. I have no car, no credit cards, and a bicycle. I’ve always hated being in debt.

I used to work in recruitment. I went to a normal comprehensive in Suffolk, then did engineering at university and then came to London. I quite like spreadsheets and planning. By the age of 25 I was earning more money than I knew what to do with. I still have a copy of a payslip where I had a take-home of more than £10,000.

I bought the flat in 2005 for £189,000 with a deposit of just £9,000. It’s now worth about £400,000. I suppose if I were younger and buying now I would certainly not be able to afford it.

I was diagnosed in 2010, and had my first surgery in 2011. It’s growing really quickly.

I’ve been separated from my wife for the last 18 months and we’re about to get divorced.

I won’t pretend that it hasn’t been tough, because it has. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching.

But I’m not lonely, I have a good social life and the next thing I’m going to do is to get a dog.

I’ve had a good life, I’ve travelled a lot, done most things. I don’t like the idea of the bucket list of things to do before you die. I want to go on with the things I already do in my life – go camping, start a fire, shoot my bow and arrow – and I don’t want a list where I have to go and swim with dolphins or the like. These things seem very finite to me. Maybe I’m just too cynical, although equally, even with my condition, I don’t think the world is out to get you.

Everything has become the new normal. I’m not allowed to drive. Sometimes you think you could take out credit cards and buy a Porsche or something, knowing you won’t have to pay it back. But it’s just not worth it. And bicycles are cheap.

My monthly spending is now about £500. It’s not a lot of money. I cycle whenever I can. I don’t go to fancy restaurants. But then I don’t deny myself completely.

I go to Lidl for food shopping and it doesn’t cost me much at all. I just don’t understand how people can be so extravagant with their bills. My biggest bill is the £235-a-year management charge for the flat. My mobile is £12 a month, broadband £20, water £20 and council tax £90.

I still have savings from when I worked for Comic Relief. They paid me £45,000 a year as a product manager looking after the website, and I saved £1,000 a month.

I actually only just sorted out the will. Something in me made me put off doing it for a long time. The money will go to my mother, my sister and my current girlfriend. She’s a superstar.

The Macmillan nurses have been really great. They put me in contact with a company that helps you write a will and gave me a lot of advice.

I’m on universal credit, as they have assessed me as not fit for work – I receive about £250 a month. I got a Macmillan grant of £350.

None of this has come easily: it’s been painful. What I see is people getting so cross with the world. I don’t think it’s helpful – just chill out a bit. I loved the film Paddington 2. If you smile and you’re polite, then everything will be all right. That’s how I try to spend every day.

As told to Patrick Collinson

If you are affected by the issues in this story, you can contact Macmillan Cancer Support in the UK on 0808 808 0000

‘I’m 37, I’m dying and this is how I spend it’

I live in the East End of London and own my flat. I have a brain tumour. I’m dying – it’s inoperable, and I’m halfway through my third round of chemo.

I try to live my life to the full, in four-week sprints, with a round of chemo coming up every month.

When I was 25, I had a job paying a very decent wage. I bought the flat then. My critical illness insurance has paid out, and that means I have paid off most of the mortgage.

I have stopped work. The last full-time salaried job I had I chucked in this time last year.

I live on benefits and my savings. Because I was sensible, I always paid into a pension. I’ve now cashed some of that in. I lead a very, very frugal life. I have no car, no credit cards, and a bicycle. I’ve always hated being in debt.

I used to work in recruitment. I went to a normal comprehensive in Suffolk, then did engineering at university and then came to London. I quite like spreadsheets and planning. By the age of 25 I was earning more money than I knew what to do with. I still have a copy of a payslip where I had a take-home of more than £10,000.

I bought the flat in 2005 for £189,000 with a deposit of just £9,000. It’s now worth about £400,000. I suppose if I were younger and buying now I would certainly not be able to afford it.

I was diagnosed in 2010, and had my first surgery in 2011. It’s growing really quickly.

I’ve been separated from my wife for the last 18 months and we’re about to get divorced.

I won’t pretend that it hasn’t been tough, because it has. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching.

But I’m not lonely, I have a good social life and the next thing I’m going to do is to get a dog.

I’ve had a good life, I’ve travelled a lot, done most things. I don’t like the idea of the bucket list of things to do before you die. I want to go on with the things I already do in my life – go camping, start a fire, shoot my bow and arrow – and I don’t want a list where I have to go and swim with dolphins or the like. These things seem very finite to me. Maybe I’m just too cynical, although equally, even with my condition, I don’t think the world is out to get you.

Everything has become the new normal. I’m not allowed to drive. Sometimes you think you could take out credit cards and buy a Porsche or something, knowing you won’t have to pay it back. But it’s just not worth it. And bicycles are cheap.

My monthly spending is now about £500. It’s not a lot of money. I cycle whenever I can. I don’t go to fancy restaurants. But then I don’t deny myself completely.

I go to Lidl for food shopping and it doesn’t cost me much at all. I just don’t understand how people can be so extravagant with their bills. My biggest bill is the £235-a-year management charge for the flat. My mobile is £12 a month, broadband £20, water £20 and council tax £90.

I still have savings from when I worked for Comic Relief. They paid me £45,000 a year as a product manager looking after the website, and I saved £1,000 a month.

I actually only just sorted out the will. Something in me made me put off doing it for a long time. The money will go to my mother, my sister and my current girlfriend. She’s a superstar.

The Macmillan nurses have been really great. They put me in contact with a company that helps you write a will and gave me a lot of advice.

I’m on universal credit, as they have assessed me as not fit for work – I receive about £250 a month. I got a Macmillan grant of £350.

None of this has come easily: it’s been painful. What I see is people getting so cross with the world. I don’t think it’s helpful – just chill out a bit. I loved the film Paddington 2. If you smile and you’re polite, then everything will be all right. That’s how I try to spend every day.

As told to Patrick Collinson

If you are affected by the issues in this story, you can contact Macmillan Cancer Support on 0808 808 0000

‘I’m 37, I’m dying and this is how I spend it’

I live in the East End of London and own my flat. I have a brain tumour. I’m dying – it’s inoperable, and I’m halfway through my third round of chemo.

I try to live my life to the full, in four-week sprints, with a round of chemo coming up every month.

When I was 25, I had a job paying a very decent wage. I bought the flat then. My critical illness insurance has paid out, and that means I have paid off most of the mortgage.

I have stopped work. The last full-time salaried job I had I chucked in this time last year.

I live on benefits and my savings. Because I was sensible, I always paid into a pension. I’ve now cashed some of that in. I lead a very, very frugal life. I have no car, no credit cards, and a bicycle. I’ve always hated being in debt.

I used to work in recruitment. I went to a normal comprehensive in Suffolk, then did engineering at university and then came to London. I quite like spreadsheets and planning. By the age of 25 I was earning more money than I knew what to do with. I still have a copy of a payslip where I had a take-home of more than £10,000.

I bought the flat in 2005 for £189,000 with a deposit of just £9,000. It’s now worth about £400,000. I suppose if I were younger and buying now I would certainly not be able to afford it.

I was diagnosed in 2010, and had my first surgery in 2011. It’s growing really quickly.

I’ve been separated from my wife for the last 18 months and we’re about to get divorced.

I won’t pretend that it hasn’t been tough, because it has. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching.

But I’m not lonely, I have a good social life and the next thing I’m going to do is to get a dog.

I’ve had a good life, I’ve travelled a lot, done most things. I don’t like the idea of the bucket list of things to do before you die. I want to go on with the things I already do in my life – go camping, start a fire, shoot my bow and arrow – and I don’t want a list where I have to go and swim with dolphins or the like. These things seem very finite to me. Maybe I’m just too cynical, although equally, even with my condition, I don’t think the world is out to get you.

Everything has become the new normal. I’m not allowed to drive. Sometimes you think you could take out credit cards and buy a Porsche or something, knowing you won’t have to pay it back. But it’s just not worth it. And bicycles are cheap.

My monthly spending is now about £500. It’s not a lot of money. I cycle whenever I can. I don’t go to fancy restaurants. But then I don’t deny myself completely.

I go to Lidl for food shopping and it doesn’t cost me much at all. I just don’t understand how people can be so extravagant with their bills. My biggest bill is the £235-a-year management charge for the flat. My mobile is £12 a month, broadband £20, water £20 and council tax £90.

I still have savings from when I worked for Comic Relief. They paid me £45,000 a year as a product manager looking after the website, and I saved £1,000 a month.

I actually only just sorted out the will. Something in me made me put off doing it for a long time. The money will go to my mother, my sister and my current girlfriend. She’s a superstar.

The Macmillan nurses have been really great. They put me in contact with a company that helps you write a will and gave me a lot of advice.

I’m on universal credit, as they have assessed me as not fit for work – I receive about £250 a month. I got a Macmillan grant of £350.

None of this has come easily: it’s been painful. What I see is people getting so cross with the world. I don’t think it’s helpful – just chill out a bit. I loved the film Paddington 2. If you smile and you’re polite, then everything will be all right. That’s how I try to spend every day.

As told to Patrick Collinson

If you are affected by the issues in this story, you can contact Macmillan Cancer Support on 0808 808 0000

‘I’m 37, I’m dying and this is how I spend it’

I live in the East End of London and own my flat. I have a brain tumour. I’m dying – it’s inoperable, and I’m halfway through my third round of chemo.

I try to live my life to the full, in four-week sprints, with a round of chemo coming up every month.

When I was 25, I had a job paying a very decent wage. I bought the flat then. My critical illness insurance has paid out, and that means I have paid off most of the mortgage.

I have stopped work. The last full-time salaried job I had I chucked in this time last year.

I live on benefits and my savings. Because I was sensible, I always paid into a pension. I’ve now cashed some of that in. I lead a very, very frugal life. I have no car, no credit cards, and a bicycle. I’ve always hated being in debt.

I used to work in recruitment. I went to a normal comprehensive in Suffolk, then did engineering at university and then came to London. I quite like spreadsheets and planning. By the age of 25 I was earning more money than I knew what to do with. I still have a copy of a payslip where I had a take-home of more than £10,000.

I bought the flat in 2005 for £189,000 with a deposit of just £9,000. It’s now worth about £400,000. I suppose if I were younger and buying now I would certainly not be able to afford it.

I was diagnosed in 2010, and had my first surgery in 2011. It’s growing really quickly.

I’ve been separated from my wife for the last 18 months and we’re about to get divorced.

I won’t pretend that it hasn’t been tough, because it has. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching.

But I’m not lonely, I have a good social life and the next thing I’m going to do is to get a dog.

I’ve had a good life, I’ve travelled a lot, done most things. I don’t like the idea of the bucket list of things to do before you die. I want to go on with the things I already do in my life – go camping, start a fire, shoot my bow and arrow – and I don’t want a list where I have to go and swim with dolphins or the like. These things seem very finite to me. Maybe I’m just too cynical, although equally, even with my condition, I don’t think the world is out to get you.

Everything has become the new normal. I’m not allowed to drive. Sometimes you think you could take out credit cards and buy a Porsche or something, knowing you won’t have to pay it back. But it’s just not worth it. And bicycles are cheap.

My monthly spending is now about £500. It’s not a lot of money. I cycle whenever I can. I don’t go to fancy restaurants. But then I don’t deny myself completely.

I go to Lidl for food shopping and it doesn’t cost me much at all. I just don’t understand how people can be so extravagant with their bills. My biggest bill is the £235-a-year management charge for the flat. My mobile is £12 a month, broadband £20, water £20 and council tax £90.

I still have savings from when I worked for Comic Relief. They paid me £45,000 a year as a product manager looking after the website, and I saved £1,000 a month.

I actually only just sorted out the will. Something in me made me put off doing it for a long time. The money will go to my mother, my sister and my current girlfriend. She’s a superstar.

The Macmillan nurses have been really great. They put me in contact with a company that helps you write a will and gave me a lot of advice.

I’m on universal credit, as they have assessed me as not fit for work – I receive about £250 a month. I got a Macmillan grant of £350.

None of this has come easily: it’s been painful. What I see is people getting so cross with the world. I don’t think it’s helpful – just chill out a bit. I loved the film Paddington 2. If you smile and you’re polite, then everything will be all right. That’s how I try to spend every day.

As told to Patrick Collinson

If you are affected by the issues in this story, you can contact Macmillan Cancer Support on 0808 808 0000

‘I’m 37, I’m dying and this is how I spend it’

I live in the East End of London and own my flat. I have a brain tumour. I’m dying – it’s inoperable, and I’m halfway through my third round of chemo.

I try to live my life to the full, in four-week sprints, with a round of chemo coming up every month.

When I was 25, I had a job paying a very decent wage. I bought the flat then. My critical illness insurance has paid out, and that means I have paid off most of the mortgage.

I have stopped work. The last full-time salaried job I had I chucked in this time last year.

I live on benefits and my savings. Because I was sensible, I always paid into a pension. I’ve now cashed some of that in. I lead a very, very frugal life. I have no car, no credit cards, and a bicycle. I’ve always hated being in debt.

I used to work in recruitment. I went to a normal comprehensive in Suffolk, then did engineering at university and then came to London. I quite like spreadsheets and planning. By the age of 25 I was earning more money than I knew what to do with. I still have a copy of a payslip where I had a take-home of more than £10,000.

I bought the flat in 2005 for £189,000 with a deposit of just £9,000. It’s now worth about £400,000. I suppose if I were younger and buying now I would certainly not be able to afford it.

I was diagnosed in 2010, and had my first surgery in 2011. It’s growing really quickly.

I’ve been separated from my wife for the last 18 months and we’re about to get divorced.

I won’t pretend that it hasn’t been tough, because it has. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching.

But I’m not lonely, I have a good social life and the next thing I’m going to do is to get a dog.

I’ve had a good life, I’ve travelled a lot, done most things. I don’t like the idea of the bucket list of things to do before you die. I want to go on with the things I already do in my life – go camping, start a fire, shoot my bow and arrow – and I don’t want a list where I have to go and swim with dolphins or the like. These things seem very finite to me. Maybe I’m just too cynical, although equally, even with my condition, I don’t think the world is out to get you.

Everything has become the new normal. I’m not allowed to drive. Sometimes you think you could take out credit cards and buy a Porsche or something, knowing you won’t have to pay it back. But it’s just not worth it. And bicycles are cheap.

My monthly spending is now about £500. It’s not a lot of money. I cycle whenever I can. I don’t go to fancy restaurants. But then I don’t deny myself completely.

I go to Lidl for food shopping and it doesn’t cost me much at all. I just don’t understand how people can be so extravagant with their bills. My biggest bill is the £235-a-year management charge for the flat. My mobile is £12 a month, broadband £20, water £20 and council tax £90.

I still have savings from when I worked for Comic Relief. They paid me £45,000 a year as a product manager looking after the website, and I saved £1,000 a month.

I actually only just sorted out the will. Something in me made me put off doing it for a long time. The money will go to my mother, my sister and my current girlfriend. She’s a superstar.

The Macmillan nurses have been really great. They put me in contact with a company that helps you write a will and gave me a lot of advice.

I’m on universal credit, as they have assessed me as not fit for work – I receive about £250 a month. I got a Macmillan grant of £350.

None of this has come easily: it’s been painful. What I see is people getting so cross with the world. I don’t think it’s helpful – just chill out a bit. I loved the film Paddington 2. If you smile and you’re polite, then everything will be all right. That’s how I try to spend every day.

As told to Patrick Collinson

If you are affected by the issues in this story, you can contact Macmillan Cancer Support on 0808 808 0000

‘I’m 37, I’m dying and this is how I spend it’

I live in the East End of London and own my flat. I have a brain tumour. I’m dying – it’s inoperable, and I’m halfway through my third round of chemo.

I try to live my life to the full, in four-week sprints, with a round of chemo coming up every month.

When I was 25, I had a job paying a very decent wage. I bought the flat then. My critical illness insurance has paid out, and that means I have paid off most of the mortgage.

I have stopped work. The last full-time salaried job I had I chucked in this time last year.

I live on benefits and my savings. Because I was sensible, I always paid into a pension. I’ve now cashed some of that in. I lead a very, very frugal life. I have no car, no credit cards, and a bicycle. I’ve always hated being in debt.

I used to work in recruitment. I went to a normal comprehensive in Suffolk, then did engineering at university and then came to London. I quite like spreadsheets and planning. By the age of 25 I was earning more money than I knew what to do with. I still have a copy of a payslip where I had a take-home of more than £10,000.

I bought the flat in 2005 for £189,000 with a deposit of just £9,000. It’s now worth about £400,000. I suppose if I were younger and buying now I would certainly not be able to afford it.

I was diagnosed in 2010, and had my first surgery in 2011. It’s growing really quickly.

I’ve been separated from my wife for the last 18 months and we’re about to get divorced.

I won’t pretend that it hasn’t been tough, because it has. I’ve had to do a lot of soul searching.

But I’m not lonely, I have a good social life and the next thing I’m going to do is to get a dog.

I’ve had a good life, I’ve travelled a lot, done most things. I don’t like the idea of the bucket list of things to do before you die. I want to go on with the things I already do in my life – go camping, start a fire, shoot my bow and arrow – and I don’t want a list where I have to go and swim with dolphins or the like. These things seem very finite to me. Maybe I’m just too cynical, although equally, even with my condition, I don’t think the world is out to get you.

Everything has become the new normal. I’m not allowed to drive. Sometimes you think you could take out credit cards and buy a Porsche or something, knowing you won’t have to pay it back. But it’s just not worth it. And bicycles are cheap.

My monthly spending is now about £500. It’s not a lot of money. I cycle whenever I can. I don’t go to fancy restaurants. But then I don’t deny myself completely.

I go to Lidl for food shopping and it doesn’t cost me much at all. I just don’t understand how people can be so extravagant with their bills. My biggest bill is the £235-a-year management charge for the flat. My mobile is £12 a month, broadband £20, water £20 and council tax £90.

I still have savings from when I worked for Comic Relief. They paid me £45,000 a year as a product manager looking after the website, and I saved £1,000 a month.

I actually only just sorted out the will. Something in me made me put off doing it for a long time. The money will go to my mother, my sister and my current girlfriend. She’s a superstar.

The Macmillan nurses have been really great. They put me in contact with a company that helps you write a will and gave me a lot of advice.

I’m on universal credit, as they have assessed me as not fit for work – I receive about £250 a month. I got a Macmillan grant of £350.

None of this has come easily: it’s been painful. What I see is people getting so cross with the world. I don’t think it’s helpful – just chill out a bit. I loved the film Paddington 2. If you smile and you’re polite, then everything will be all right. That’s how I try to spend every day.

As told to Patrick Collinson

If you are affected by the issues in this story, you can contact Macmillan Cancer Support on 0808 808 0000