My story
In August, my wife Millie and I will be taking on the Rob Roy Mighty Hike, a marathon distance, challenging hike in Scotland to raise money for Macmillan Cancer Support.
In October 2025, I was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer after finding a lump near my collarbone. The weeks that followed were mentally tough, especially waiting to find out whether the cancer had spread. During that time, Macmillan were an incredible source of support, helping me with financial worries, difficult conversations with family and friends, and reminding me I didn’t have to go through it alone.
Since then, I’ve undergone major surgery and further treatment, and this challenge is part of my recovery, helping me stay focused, rebuild physically, and give something back to a charity that genuinely made a difference when I needed it most.
Any donation, no matter the size, will help Macmillan continue supporting people through cancer, from diagnosis and beyond.
Thank you so much. If you’d like to read more about my journey, it’s below.
I noticed a hard lump under the skin near my neck/collarbone and went to my GP. After a couple of months of scans, tests, cameras down my throat and a biopsy, I was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer on 8th October 2025, sh!t one. A date I won’t forget.
Although I’d mentally prepared myself for the diagnosis, the weeks that followed were the hardest. I needed further scans to see if the cancer had spread. If it had reached my lungs, it would have been incurable. Those weeks of waiting were mentally exhausting, you naturally assume the worst.
This is where Macmillan Cancer Support were amazing. I spoke to them about financial worries around not working, the worst-case scenarios, and how to talk to family and friends. I felt like a burden, like I was adding to other people’s problems, but they helped reframe that thinking, gave practical advice, and sent genuinely helpful resources free of charge. That support made a huge difference.
The cancer had spread, but thankfully not to my lungs. It had reached my lymph nodes, meaning surgery and radiotherapy were next.
19th November, normally Millie’s birthday in the Flynn household became the date of my surgery (I really went all out on the present). I underwent a 7-hour operation: a thyroidectomy and radical neck dissection to remove my thyroid and several tumours (one the size of a tennis ball, happy to share pics, ha).
There were complications. A tumour on my left vocal cord left me with a vocal cord palsy, meaning I could barely speak above a whisper. Waking up with drains coming out of my neck and unable to communicate was tough, and I underestimated how big an operation it was. I now have a gnarly scar on my neck and still haven’t settled on a good story for how I got it, suggestions welcome.
After a week in hospital, I went home and began rehab: neck and shoulder exercises, vocal therapy, and slowly rebuilding movement and strength. Progress has been steady, and I’m pleased with how far things have come so far.
In February, I headed to nuclear medicine to swallow a tablet and make myself radioactive and isolate in a leaded room, with the aim of killing off any remaining cancer and hopefully getting some kind of superpower (yet to be seen) I’ll now undergo further tests and scans to see if the treatment has worked. If it hasn’t, like any football manager says after a big defeat, we go again.
Being diagnosed with cancer is strange. You feel grateful (and guilty) that it’s treatable, while also having moments of “why me?” and self-pity. I don’t want to be known as “the guy with cancer,” and I don’t want a pity party but when the people closest to you care, it inevitably becomes part of conversations. Finding that balance of normality and discussing your diagnosis has been hard but important.
I want to thank a few people. Millie - it’s no surprise you signed up for this challenge with me. You’ve been there every step of the way. You’re amazing. Although part of me thinks you just couldn’t let me get a medal you don’t have… don’t worry, it’ll be lost among your marathon collection.
My family and friends - thank you for the hospital visits, the takeaway vouchers, video games, books, gifts, and most importantly, for being real ones and showing up emotionally. I’m incredibly grateful.
But yes… now I’m asking for more money. I chose this challenge to keep me focused on rehab and get back to doing what I love, football, hiking, boxing, cycling, and the gym, while giving something back at the same time.
Today, almost 3.5 million people in the UK are living with cancer. Macmillan’s aim is to support people from diagnosis through every step of the journey. I’m incredibly thankful for their support and any donation will help them continue doing the same for others.
In October 2025, I was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer after finding a lump near my collarbone. The weeks that followed were mentally tough, especially waiting to find out whether the cancer had spread. During that time, Macmillan were an incredible source of support, helping me with financial worries, difficult conversations with family and friends, and reminding me I didn’t have to go through it alone.
Since then, I’ve undergone major surgery and further treatment, and this challenge is part of my recovery, helping me stay focused, rebuild physically, and give something back to a charity that genuinely made a difference when I needed it most.
Any donation, no matter the size, will help Macmillan continue supporting people through cancer, from diagnosis and beyond.
Thank you so much. If you’d like to read more about my journey, it’s below.
I noticed a hard lump under the skin near my neck/collarbone and went to my GP. After a couple of months of scans, tests, cameras down my throat and a biopsy, I was diagnosed with Thyroid Cancer on 8th October 2025, sh!t one. A date I won’t forget.
Although I’d mentally prepared myself for the diagnosis, the weeks that followed were the hardest. I needed further scans to see if the cancer had spread. If it had reached my lungs, it would have been incurable. Those weeks of waiting were mentally exhausting, you naturally assume the worst.
This is where Macmillan Cancer Support were amazing. I spoke to them about financial worries around not working, the worst-case scenarios, and how to talk to family and friends. I felt like a burden, like I was adding to other people’s problems, but they helped reframe that thinking, gave practical advice, and sent genuinely helpful resources free of charge. That support made a huge difference.
The cancer had spread, but thankfully not to my lungs. It had reached my lymph nodes, meaning surgery and radiotherapy were next.
19th November, normally Millie’s birthday in the Flynn household became the date of my surgery (I really went all out on the present). I underwent a 7-hour operation: a thyroidectomy and radical neck dissection to remove my thyroid and several tumours (one the size of a tennis ball, happy to share pics, ha).
There were complications. A tumour on my left vocal cord left me with a vocal cord palsy, meaning I could barely speak above a whisper. Waking up with drains coming out of my neck and unable to communicate was tough, and I underestimated how big an operation it was. I now have a gnarly scar on my neck and still haven’t settled on a good story for how I got it, suggestions welcome.
After a week in hospital, I went home and began rehab: neck and shoulder exercises, vocal therapy, and slowly rebuilding movement and strength. Progress has been steady, and I’m pleased with how far things have come so far.
In February, I headed to nuclear medicine to swallow a tablet and make myself radioactive and isolate in a leaded room, with the aim of killing off any remaining cancer and hopefully getting some kind of superpower (yet to be seen) I’ll now undergo further tests and scans to see if the treatment has worked. If it hasn’t, like any football manager says after a big defeat, we go again.
Being diagnosed with cancer is strange. You feel grateful (and guilty) that it’s treatable, while also having moments of “why me?” and self-pity. I don’t want to be known as “the guy with cancer,” and I don’t want a pity party but when the people closest to you care, it inevitably becomes part of conversations. Finding that balance of normality and discussing your diagnosis has been hard but important.
I want to thank a few people. Millie - it’s no surprise you signed up for this challenge with me. You’ve been there every step of the way. You’re amazing. Although part of me thinks you just couldn’t let me get a medal you don’t have… don’t worry, it’ll be lost among your marathon collection.
My family and friends - thank you for the hospital visits, the takeaway vouchers, video games, books, gifts, and most importantly, for being real ones and showing up emotionally. I’m incredibly grateful.
But yes… now I’m asking for more money. I chose this challenge to keep me focused on rehab and get back to doing what I love, football, hiking, boxing, cycling, and the gym, while giving something back at the same time.
Today, almost 3.5 million people in the UK are living with cancer. Macmillan’s aim is to support people from diagnosis through every step of the journey. I’m incredibly thankful for their support and any donation will help them continue doing the same for others.
