I still remember the late December afternoon when we discovered that Helen had stage four Lymphoma. The words spewed out of the Doctor's mouth, it was a very rare and aggressive form called Mantle cell cancer.

Then everything just seemed to melt away. Every word, every gesture.The world stopped turning and we suddenly felt alone. Nothing really seemed real. Or seemed to matter.  

I can't speak for what was going through Helen's mind. 

But as the doctor spoke I was thinking about everything and nothing simultaneously.  You just enter a kind of stasis. And then you realise that the world is still turning. You've got kids to explain everything to and a world of stuff that needs dealing with. So you try to maintain some grip, but it's flimsy really. 

You need hope. In our case it came in the form of the Consultant and team at Bristol Haematology and Oncology centre team. 

Our Consultant was a wonderful forthright woman who in her own words said, "I've got a Plan A, B, C and D.  Look, basically we're going to poison the arse out of this cancer, then give you a stem cell transplant and reboot you. It's going to be tough.  But we'll beat it. I just have to warn you, for legal purposes, it might kill you. So do you want to sign here and we'll crack on with the poisoning?" 

For the first time in a long time we burst out laughing. And that in a nutshell summed up the wonderful team at the centre. Honest, dedicated, expert and a brilliant sense of humour. 

Over the 18 months plus Helen went through her treatment plan.

There was a crazy level of chemo, steroids and medication all culminating in stem cell transplants. The consultant was right it wasn't easy. Helen  suffered kidney and liver failures more than once, a collapsed colon, her heart stopped, she had sepsis more times than I'd like to remember and slipped discs and a broken foot from passing out.  There was more but you get the picture. 

There were nights we didn't think she would make it. Days where I wasn't sure she was alive.

But the team were a constant. They would not give up. They would not let us give up.Their care, determination and energy helped us through. We'll never forget their dedication, and humour, which was just the ticket during the darkest hours. They just knew what to say and do and when.

Eventually we got the news we'd wanted to hear. 

She'd beaten the cancer. I'll never forget the joy on the team's faces. Every cancer beaten was something to celebrate and equally, having seen it during my time visiting, every person lost to cancer was like losing a member of the family to them. You could say they cared too much, but you know that's no bad thing in these situations.

Like all blood cancers it could come back but we know we've got the best team around helping us and checking she's ok. And if it does they'll be ready to 'poison the arse out of it again.'

That's why I'm doing this. It's our way of saying 'thank you' for everything they did and giving something back to help them help more people. 

You know in the perfect world places like these would get all the funding they need to. Sadly they don't. And that's a tragedy. We were lucky to get in this centre. 

That's why I hope you'll help me in saying 'thank you' by sponsoring my attempt at running my first half marathon.

Thank you