I'm a former paramedic, writer and wild swimmer, diagnosed in February 2016 with a brain tumour which means I can no longer work.

This is my story as it develops, in which I also remember my experiences working for South Western Ambulance Service in the local community over ten years.

My urgent neurosurgery was delayed twice for lack of beds, including on 11 March 2016, when I was gowned up and ready to go. I had received nothing less than a compassionate, excellent and timely service from my GP and the hospital until the point where the start of my treatment was due, when the chaos caused by austerity and government cuts hit me (and many others) square in the face.

I have since undergone neurosurgery to remove the tumour, an aggressive and incurable Glioblastoma Multiforme grade 4 (GBM4) on 16 March 2016.

My aim is to achieve a good quality of life with palliative treatment for as long as possible, rather than to simply prolong my death. I've seen far too much of the latter in my work with frail elderly and chronically sick people. I hope to spark debate around this vital issue; what is important in life? Is it acceptable to remove people's autonomy and freedom in order to keep them 'safe'?

I'm also using my illness and professional knowledge of the NHS to highlight what our Tory and coalition governments have done, without mandate, to privatise our NHS right under our noses since 2010.

I fully support the junior doctors in their battle; they are fighting to save our NHS.

My tumour is called Hunt. You can see him spinning away in in the right parietal lobe on the MRI scan pictured at the top of my blog, mired in darkness and apparently on the left. Since his removal the spectral Cheshire Cat smirk remains; he will re-appear, somewhere in my brain, soon.