What nobody tells you about life with cancer – and why Yvette Cooper must act now

My biggest fear about dying isn't that it will be long and painful as my cancer slowly spreads through my bones, envelops my organs and rips into my brain, so my last words are garbled and confused. My biggest fear about dying is that I'll come back as a ghost and will see my prized possessions for sale in a charity shop. The words "prized possessions" are important here because, to be honest, most of my things are not worth much.

My books are definitely destined for the shelf in the store where once-loved tomes live for ages, gathering dust before they make it to the bargain bin. The ones I've read were all loved by me at some point but none are worth the hassle of reselling individually.

My DVDs will probably suffer the same fate, and then the not-always-polite charity shop workers will have to explain that not even they want them. And I'm not sure what they'll say about the handful of videos I've managed to keep for longer than I can remember.

But some things, like my Norman Cherner-style dining chairs, my Singer sewing machine table, and my artworks that haven't increased in value since I bought them five years ago, deserve to find their way into a musty cavernous interiors store in a trendy part of town.

For this reason I'm writing a list. It's a list of possessions to let my loved ones know that there are some things worth shoving on eBay or taking to an interiors dealer, so they can get a bit of cash rather than it all going to a charity.

And it makes me wonder whether I should start selling things off now. Surely that's the best way to reduce the amount of tasks my loved ones will have to do after I die.

The problem is I don't know exactly when my death will be. I was given a big hint about how it will happen back in the summer of 2023, when I was diagnosed with incurable bowel cancer.

According to the statistics for my particular cancer, I only have an 11% chance of living for longer than five years after diagnosis. For quite a while I thought I could beat the odds and be one of the 11% but three-and-a-bit years in to treatment and the cancer is fighting back against my gruelling treatment regime.

This means I'm likely to be dead by July 2028.

So, I should definitely sell my winter coats by the start of spring that year. But how about everything else?

I do like to sit on a chair while eating dinner so I should probably hold off on selling that furniture for now. But do I need a hallway table and a 1947 sixpence? Do I need so many plates when I'm the only one who eats in my home?

And do I need so many shirts in sizes I can no longer fit into?

Selling off my wordly goods isn't something I ever thought I'd be considering in my late 40s. But now I'm realising it might be a necessity as I'm unlikely to ever reach 50, and it makes me wonder about the level of support that cancer patients get.

At each stage of treatment there's a vague explanation of what will happen and you nod along as someone who did far better at science than you explains what the side-effects will be.

But what happens when it gets to the stopping treatment stage? After I've emerged from the "family room" after receiving the devastating final news from my cancer team, and realise that last Christmas really was the last time I'll hear Wham's Last Christmas, what then?

I'd obviously hope that the 18-month wait for counselling I was told about when I was first diagnosed doesn't exist for people with less than a year to live. And I'd hope that support isn't a postcode lottery.

I'd also hope that discussions about where and when is the best place to sell items before my life support machine is turned off would be allowed during these counselling sessions. After all, it's all part of preparing for death.

Dealing with these feelings about death, and planning for it, is just one of the reasons why I've been leading the Daily Express’s Cancer Care campaign since it started in January 2025.

We want everyone with cancer to be able to get mental health support both during and after treatment.

Wes Streeting acknowledged the need when he pledged for all cancer patients to have their own personal cancer plan, which will include help on dealing with all aspects of the devastating disease.

But that was back in February, when he was Health Secretary. Now it's time for Yvette Cooper to follow his lead and bring the plans in as soon as possible.