It started with a lump.
I'd been on a weekend walking trip with colleagues in the Lake District in September 2025, attempting something called the Buttermere Round. Twenty of us, varying degrees of fitness, united by good intentions and the kind of optimism that only exists before you've actually seen the hills you're about to climb.
Our guide took one look at our group on arrival and quietly recalibrated expectations. Seven peaks, he suggested diplomatically, was probably ambitious. Three to five would be more realistic given our numbers, our fitness levels, and the available daylight. I wasn't particularly bothered. I hadn't done much training and was there as much for the company and the cause as anything else.
The walk was tough from the start. The first two to three hours were almost entirely uphill — demanding, relentless, and a fairly honest early indicator of who among us had actually prepared. Despite what my belly and general appearance might suggest, my fitness is reasonable, and I managed to keep pace with most of the group. A small, more ambitious contingent broke away early, determined to chase all seven peaks. The rest of us settled into a more comfortable rhythm.
We reached the first peak after around three hours, having lost a couple of people along the way and collected a few more who were beginning to struggle. At that point a decision was made to split — one group pushing for five or more peaks, the rest of us opting for a more civilised three or four. I chose the slower group without hesitation. I was enjoying myself and had no desire to ruin it by trying to be a hero.
After three peaks, all of them properly challenging, we decided we'd earned a trip back to the pub. The faster group pressed on and later reported completing five peaks — roughly two more hours of walking than we'd managed. All in, I think we covered about six or seven hours on our feet, which felt like plenty.
What I remember most, oddly, is the visibility. I'd done the Yorkshire Three Peaks before in conditions where you could barely see your hand in front of your face. This was different — clear skies, stunning views across Buttermere and the wider Lake District. It was the kind of walking day that reminds you why people do this sort of thing. Great company, a good cause, lovely scenery. I genuinely enjoyed every minute of it.
Back at the bunkhouse that evening I was asked to run another pub quiz. I'd done one the previous night — an event that had somewhat inadvertently kept people up until three in the morning, which, given that most of them were attempting a serious hill walk the following day, was arguably not my finest contribution to the weekend. The second quiz was slightly less chaotic, slightly more sensible, and followed by a good meal and a good laugh. All in all, a really good weekend.
It wasn't until the following morning, standing in front of the bathroom mirror after a shower, that I noticed it. A small lump on the right side of my abdomen. My first thought was hernia — all that climbing — but it wasn't painful, which seemed to argue against it. My second thought was that I should probably get it checked out, without feeling particularly alarmed about it. Lumps, in my experience, were usually nothing. Cysts, benign growths, things that got left alone or removed with minimal fuss.
I phoned the GP that morning and made an appointment.
The nurse who examined it was reassuring. Probably a cyst, she said. Certainly not a hernia — no pain. Come back in a few weeks if it's still there, and get in touch sooner if anything changes. I went home, largely forgot about it, and returned a few weeks later when nothing had changed.
On the second visit I was referred for an ultrasound. These things take time, I was told — a few months, most likely. I'd hear when an appointment came through. And so I waited, and the whole business drifted to the back of my mind in the way that things do when nothing is hurting and life is busy.
It wasn't until November that I thought to chase it up. The backlog was significant, I was told. February or March was more likely. I called again in January. Soon, they said.
The appointment letter arrived eventually. The 1st of March 2026.
I had absolutely no idea that date would change everything.
