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Several weeks ago, I felt a lump on the roof of my mouth. I didn't think about it much and thought it would disappear after a while. Nicola's PET scan had suggested a problem that needed to be fully investigated. Finally, after more tests, the results were good, and the cancer hadn't returned. We had been planning to go to France, as we now do each year in Spring and early Summer. So we chatted about when to book the Eurotunnel tickets and head down to Provence for some sunshine. I told Nicola the lump in my mouth hadn't gone away, and we agreed that I should get it checked out.

The next day, I saw a specialist dentist who said it didn't look right and that I should see a maxillofacial surgeon. An X-ray was done and it suggested that the lump went further upwards into my sinus space. The maxillofacial surgeon immediately called it a tumour and said we needed to get an MRI and biopsy done. France would have to wait.

The MRI scan was completed, and the next day, we met Leo, my consultant, to perform the biopsy. I was dreading this part, but to be honest, it was pretty straightforward. The local anaesthetic numbed the roof of my mouth, and then Leo stitched up the area. Job done, all good. We just have to wait for the results and hope for the best.

In a chat with Leo just after the biopsy, we discussed what the surgery to remove the tumour would involve. Somewhat casually, Leo suggested that if the tumour was malignant, then my entire soft palette would have to be removed and a new one reconstructed from a graft from another part of my body.

Nicola and I chatted about what Leo had said on the drive home. It was grim, a bit too much to handle, so we returned to what we had done for years before, waiting until we knew what was happening and then making decisions.

Initially, the site of the biopsy felt OK. I could feel the stitches in my mouth, which was a little weird but fine. Then the stitches came out, and it felt really sore after that. The left side of my head, from temple to jaw, hurt, and my mouth was swollen and eating and speaking became difficult. I was taking painkillers. They were the only thing that took the pain away.

The results from the scan and biopsy hadn't come back yet. Nicola had taken on the role of dealing with Leo's secretary and trying to give the medical team the hurry up and get the results back. This role reversal was making both of us feel out of sorts. This wasn't how our life had been for the past nine years. I rode my bike a few times to numb my brain and use adrenalin as a painkiller. It helped, mostly.

The MRI results were back, and Nicola had read them late one evening whilst I was asleep. I had taken some painkillers and Piriton to help me sleep, and I slept all night. She hadn't woken me up. The following day, I read the report. It didn't make for great reading. The suggestion was that the tumour showed an indication of malignancy, and it was categorised as a stage three disease. A big tumour, right smack in the middle of my head. There were no metastases and no indication of lymph nodes being affected.

Nicola got up. She had been awake most of the night. The report's caveat was that its findings would need to be confirmed by biopsy.

I started reviewing a list of things I had to do to sort my affairs out. If my ability to speak would be removed in the future, I needed to have some chats with people while I could.

Nicola pushed for the biopsy report, which we didn't expect for several days. Then, an email came in asking us to attend a meeting at the hospital the next day. In the past, when we had been invited to attend meetings with Nicola's medical team on the spur of the moment, the news invariably had been bad.