It’s around 10.30am on Friday, November 6th 2026. I’m in my hotel room in London, doing a few Arseblog bits on my laptop, and getting ready for the launch of the The 22 in the Big Red that night. My phone rings. It’s a Dublin number but one not in my contacts. Typically I wouldn’t answer, but I think I know who it probably is. I’m right. It’s the Oncology department of the hospital I was admitted to a couple of weeks ago. They have news. “We have the results of your biopsy.” “Ok.” “Can you come into us on Monday afternoon at 2.30?” “Yes, of course.” “Great, we’ll see you then. Oh, and you should bring somebody with you. It’s a lot of information to take in.” Well, fuck. — As of this moment, I’m still not 100% on all the details. I had another scan yesterday, and I have a procedure scheduled for Tuesday which will give us more information. However, they’ve already laid out a plan for three months of chemo, which is kind of why I’m writing this. My very, very strong instinct with any medical stuff is to keep it private. And I suppose if I was a guy who had a regular 9 to 5 and went to the office every day, I could do that. However, the privilege of my work is that it is very public facing. I do the stuff, you read the stuff and listen to the stuff, and you are part of my life in a very big way; in the same way – even if it it’s just for a few minutes each morning, or a couple of hours in your headphones – that I’m part of yours. Which isn’t say I feel like I owe anyone an explanation, but this is my reality now, and for what’s likely to be an arduous road ahead for a while. Unfortunately, that makes it part of your reality too. I will say, I’m not going to document my ‘journey’. Fair play to anyone who does. Whatever you need to do to get through the challenges an illness presents, it’s just not really who I am. I don’t even do video on podcasts about football, so I’m not gonna start now for something like this! But I do need the distraction of work, of Arsenal, of football and all its ludicrousness and drama, and this incredible community that has grown over the near 25 years of Arseblog’s existence. I’ve missed it this week, despite the fact it’s been such a difficult time in this household. We’ve gone through all the normal human reactions and emotions, and the whole thing was compounded by the fact I came back from London with the single worst stomach bug I’ve ever had in my life. To be honest, that felt a bit mean from the universe. Here, have a bit of this, and just to make you feel worse, you will require about twenty visits to the bathroom every day. It’s a bit like one of those days where every set of traffic lights you hit turns red as you approach, but the traffic lights also make your arse hurt. Fuck off! So, I’m going be around, and I’m gonna do my best to do what I normally do. I need as much normal as I can get, because right now too much isn’t. But there will be days when I’m not, or I can’t be, and I’m happy to let the lads pick up the slack as much as possible. To preempt many messages and thoughts, I know what the priority is, and I’m not going to push myself at the expense of my health or getting better. I have a vested interest in, you know, making a full recovery. I’m not going to risk doing anything that might conflict with that. But I also feel like the best way to navigate this is to not it take over my life, or to define who I am. I’m still just an Irish bloke with a website about Arsenal first and foremost, and the last week or so has made me feel strangely protective of that. A dose of perspective is a really interesting thing, I know what the most important thing is right now, but that can only succeed if I remain myself. I hope that makes sense. Some lads kicking a ball around a football pitch is, in the grand scheme of things, not that important. But hasn’t that always been the case? Football is so intrinsic to all of us, and we give so much of our time and energy to it, because we (well most of us) understand the absurdity of giving so much of ourselves to something that is completely out of our control. We can pretend otherwise, but that’s all part of the fun too. Lucky socks and lucky shirts and matchday routines. Our brain’s way of trying to make it feel like we have some influence, because we need that sliver of pretence, but in the end it’s about whether some millionaire at the back post can apply the finish. I suppose at least this shit waited until there was an Interlull. Thanks for that. — I’m lucky because I have an amazing wife and daughter, and family and friends, who will be with me every step of the way. Their support thus far has been incredible, and I know I can count on it 100%. I’m going to listen to the doctors and the medical team and do whatever it is they ask of me. They seem to know what they’re on about, which is reassuring. Almost like they’re experts or something. We should listen to them. I know as well that wider support from the Arseblog community will be forthcoming, and I just wanted to say in advance that I appreciate it hugely. I suspect that replying to every message is going to be beyond me, and in normal circumstances that would bother me greatly. I always try to respond to every email I get, even if it takes me a while, but in this instance I hope you’ll understand if I don’t or can’t. So that’s where we are. I still don’t know where we’ll end up or how we’ll get there, but despite the fact I’m scared and worried, I’m also positive and determined. I could really do without this, to be quite honest, but it is what it is, and the only way through is forward. I’ll keep you in the loop as much as I feel I can, and in the meantime if Arsenal could make my day to day life as stress free as possible, I’d really appreciate that. Someone have a word with Mikel and the lads. 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