“Mum… I have cancer.”

My Kidney Cancer Journey

My name is Paul Souter, and I’m a kidney cancer survivor – something that still feels surreal and strange to say, even now. This is my story, from the very beginning to where I am today.

I’m sharing this in the hope that it reaches people who may be struggling, perhaps finding themselves in a situation they never thought they’d be in. If my story helps even one person feel less alone, then it has served its purpose.

The whirlwind journey so far

My journey has been a complete whirlwind. From the moment of diagnosis to where I am now, it still hasn’t truly sunk in. So much has happened in such a short space of time that it almost feels like a lifetime’s worth of events crammed into months.

Since beginning my recovery, I’ve often thought about writing a blog – partly as a way to process everything myself, but also in the hope that it might help someone else. Maybe you’re reading this because you need to hear my story, maybe you have questions, or maybe you just need to know that you’re not alone. If reading this helps you in any way, then that means the world to me.

I don’t want this to be a one-off story. Kidney cancer isn’t just about diagnosis and treatment – it’s a day-to-day struggle. Some days I wake up feeling grateful and ready to attack the day, determined to make the most of life. Other days are far tougher, the kind of days only my wife sees: depression, mood swings, anxiety.

And then there are the moments no one sees – moments when I get lost in my own thoughts. It might only start with a minute of reflection, but before I know it, an hour has passed, and my mind is racing with questions: What does the future hold? Will the cancer come back? What about my kids? My family? These thoughts can spiral quickly, dragging me into a place I don’t want to be.

That’s why this first blog is an overview – the story of my diagnosis and the realisation that I had cancer. 

Life before diagnosis

Before my diagnosis, life was good. I’m married to my incredible wife, Kerry – my rock and quite literally the reason I’m here today. We’ve been together for 20 years, and I owe her more than words could ever express.

We have three amazing children:

• Jaiden (19): Determined, hard-working like his mum, polite, and my best mate. He’s the kind of grandson every Nan dreams of – always ready with a kiss and cuddle, never too old to show affection. 
• Archie (15): Hilarious and clever, constantly making me laugh. He’s also incredibly talented, especially at cricket – annoyingly good at almost everything he tries! 
• Belle (14): My beautiful daughter, who has autism and amazes me every single day. She’s funny, determined, a brilliant gymnast, a talented footballer, and an excellent baker. 

I couldn’t be prouder of the three of them. They have the world at their feet, and Kerry and I will always be there to support them.

We were living a busy, fun, “off-the-cuff” kind of life. I considered myself fairly fit – I went to the gym, played golf, and we were always active thanks to our kids’ sports. We loved spending weekends watching them play, cheering them on from the sidelines.

One thing we all share is a love for Southend United Football Club. Watching matches became a family tradition, and later in this story, I’ll share how our connection to the club took on an even deeper meaning after something devastating happened to us.

As young parents, Kerry and I had started planning our future – holidays, adventures with and without the kids, all the things we wanted to do as a family. Life was looking good… or so we thought.

 

The pain that started it all

The year leading up to my 40th birthday, I began having persistent lower back pain. I assumed it was from years of sport, golf, exercise, and fluctuating weight. I tried everything – chiropractors, acupuncture, sports massages, physiotherapy, and even silly fad diets – but nothing worked.

Eventually, through my company’s private healthcare, I decided to get a routine back scan. I just wanted some answers.

Around the same time, I was diagnosed with Ankylosing Spondylitis (AS) – an inflammatory condition affecting the spine. During flare-ups, the pain was unbearable, sometimes leaving me unable to move. My children seeing me like that broke my heart. I wanted to be the dad who could run around with them, watch their matches, and grow old with Kerry by my side – not someone stuck on the floor in agony.

This was part of my motivation throughout everything that came next. My wife and kids became my driving force then, and they still are today.

 

The call that changed everything

I don’t remember much about having the scan itself, but I will never forget the phone call with my results.

It was a Friday afternoon, and I was out celebrating my 40th birthday in London with my managing director and our wives. When my phone rang, Kerry and I excused ourselves to take the call privately.

We expected to hear something minor – maybe wear and tear, a disc issue, or at worst, something that might require further investigation. The doctor did mention wear and tear, which didn’t surprise me. But then came the word I would come to dread: “BUT.”

He explained that he’d seen something unusual on my kidney. The scan hadn’t been done specifically for my kidney, so it wasn’t clear, and he wasn’t a kidney specialist. But he knew enough to be concerned – and he wanted it checked immediately.

The rest of that evening was a blur. I tried to enjoy myself, but my mind wouldn’t let me relax. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.

 

Kerry, my relentless rock

By Monday morning – just three days later – Kerry had made sure I was sitting in a waiting room for a follow-up appointment. She didn’t give me a chance to delay or make excuses. Throughout this entire journey, she has been relentless in fighting for me and keeping me on track. Without her, I don’t know where I’d be today.

The first appointment felt surreal. I couldn’t focus, my mind was racing, and I was barely listening. Luckily, Kerry was there, taking everything in.

The doctor showed me the blurry scan image, and even to my untrained eye, there was clearly something there. I was booked in for a more detailed scan – one specifically focused on my kidney.

By Wednesday, I was back in the hospital. The waiting was agonising. Sitting there, knowing that the next room you walk into could hold news that will change your life forever… it’s a sickening feeling. My thoughts immediately went to my children – imagining not being there for them, not seeing them grow up. It’s a kind of pain I can’t put into words.

When the doctor finally spoke, my world shifted.

“Mr Souter, you have a 2cm tumour on your kidney.”

While 2cm isn’t the largest tumour, I was worried the tumour would spread quickly. At that moment, we didn’t know if it had already spread. More tests. More scans. More waiting. More fear.

Despite the devastating news, the doctor remained positive. He smiled and reassured me: “You’re young, fit, and healthy. We’ll create a plan for you, and we’ll get through this.”

Leaving the hospital, I felt like I was in a fog. On the drive home, I called my mum. As soon as she answered, I broke down and sobbed as I said the words out loud for the first time:

“Mum… I have cancer.”