Below, Dan shares his heartbreaking story.
Prior to my bone cancer journey, I was diagnosed with multiple sclerosis (MS) in 2006. I went blind for a couple of years, and in 2016, I was fortunate to have life-changing cataract surgery to regain my sight.
Being blind enabled me to have strong internal vision. This was recognised after a year of dark depression. On reflection, I believed this allowed me to build strong resilience and acceptance.
Little did I know this would play an important part over the coming years.
Before I went blind, my measure of how my MS was progressing was how long I was able to play golf without using a buggy. Sport was an important part of my life growing up and I continued to play until I couldn't walk.
I was lucky enough to have a close group of friends, some of whom I have known since I was a boy. "When I was a boy, I had a dream." - Elo
I didn't realise just how much friendship meant to me until recently, when I was texting my pal Jorden. He told me that he was thinking of coming to see me. The following day, we were sat reminiscing after he spontaneously booked a flight from America.
Feeling like it was my last hello with him struck me deep.
I'm not a parent myself, but accepting that I won't see my friends' children grow up is very hard. The innocence and presence they communicate is delightful. "You won't fool the children of the revolution." - T-Rex
I experienced various mental health challenges throughout my twenties, and I feel like I peddled along with my mental and physical challenges for a long time.
Professionally, I fell into the motor trade industry working in after-sales. I never felt that commercial work was for me, but the years kept merging — it wasn't until I became a mental health support worker that I was fulfilled and realised the importance of emotionally fulfilling work.
It was nice to have a purpose to lifting your head off the pillow.
I felt like I would never have to work again, I was addicted to helping people. In doing so, I created an activity booklet combining music and the arts. I'm not a strongly religious person, but I do believe in fate and that it was meant to me. "Now that you've been sighted, oh, do you live till you die" - Richard Ashcroft
In August 2021, I noticed a sizeable lump in my groin. My partner at the time encouraged me to visit the doctors. My GP referred me for an ultrasound, which took place within a few weeks. From this, they found a tumour and diagnosed me with Ewing sarcoma.
It was all a bit of a blur, but I believe I was receiving chemotherapy a couple of months after my initial GP appointment.
I'm a positive person, so my thinking was although it's cancer, it's treatable. My consultant told me that it was a sizeable lump in my groin, similar to a pepper, which was difficult to comprehend.
My mind responded with Sgt. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band. Coldplay's "light's will guide you home, and ignite your bones" was next. "Yes n' how many years can some people exist" - Bob Dylan
Music has always been a dependable constant, and this was amplified when I learned that I had bone cancer. A healing playlist was growing, Alanis Morissette That I Would Be Good was one of the first on my list. Moonshadow by Cat Stevens was one of many on the list of sarcoma songs.
I placed all my trust in the professionals who were looking after me, I didn't even look up what sarcoma meant. My grandmother used to tell me what your eyes can't see the heart can't grieve over. I suppose everyone copes with things differently.
During chemotherapy, I stayed in hospital every other week for six months the first time round. I then received limb-salvage surgery to my femur and was given a prosthetic hip, followed by radiotherapy.
My music speaker was always the first to be packed. I like to start the day with a song, whether fighting unpredictable waves in hospital or embracing simple pleasures at home.
When I was undergoing treatment at the Churchill in Oxfordshire, I met my good friend Gabor "Kabi" Kabacs. He was also receiving treatment for Ewing sarcoma, and being a similar age to me, we hit it off right away. It felt like we were both navigating these rough waters on the same boat. On reflection, he was always Captain Kabi, whereas I am more Captain Chaos.
Kabi and I were both huge lovers of Pink Floyd — I would call him my crazy diamond, if you get the reference. Kabi's friendship helped me immensely, and the short time we shared was valued. Sadly, Kabi passed away in 2024. I wish he was here.
I find some comfort in knowing that we will be reunited at some stage.
When I got out of hospital, I stayed with friends until I could be independent again. I was in a wheelchair before cancer, but I didn't like relying on others. "When you're in need of love, they give you care and affection." - Queen
Unfortunately, the Ewing sarcoma metastasised to my left side, and I was given another hip replacement. 2024 was mostly consumed by a stem cell transplant, for which I was able to be my own donor. My loving friend, Amanda, was my brightest light through the darkest of times. "Who cares if one more light goes out" - Pink Floyd
It wasn't until December 2024 that I finally entered remission. "The dog days are over" - Florence and the Machine
Days after opening the confirmation letter from my oncologist, I noticed a lump on the back of my skull.
The lump grew rapidly, the biggest surprise to me was the size of it within days of noticing. Because of where the lump was located, it was more noticeable than the tumour in my groin.
Washing my hair and putting my head on the pillow, the little things we take for granted, became difficult.
In January 2025, doctors delivered my terminal prognosis and told me I had between 6 - 12 months left. Today, my pain is being managed as best it can. I'm undergoing radiotherapy every day for six weeks, with the aim of shrinking the tumour in my skull and managing the pain.
The month of March 2025 meant me seeing David Gray in Oxford and The Who at the Royal Albert Hall. I await to see Richard Ashcroft with my pal, Deany, over the summer.
It's always nice to have something on the horizon regardless of the weather forecast.
I've realised the importance of spending time and talking to relatable souls whilst navigating these rough waters. BCRT, along with a local charity, strongly help with this.
I'm being supported by Katherine House Hospice, who are visiting me to help me prepare for what's to come. I'm not ready to lay down and join Kabi just yet, but I'm also realistic about what I've been told and what lies ahead.
Despite the difficulties I faced in my twenties, I've told myself that I don't mind life anymore. Being terminally ill, knowing you're not going to be here much longer and that choice is out of your hands, is nothing compared to depression.
I don't feel depressed knowing I'm going to die. Being able to share my story reminds me of the rewarding feeling I so dearly miss.
I feel the speed of life increases as we age because we've allowed technology to speed everything up and erase what's important. Life is a gift we often take for granted. Appreciating every moment is essential to us all.
"Thank you for the days, those endless days, those sacred days you gave me" - The Kinks
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