DAD-OF-TWO Mike Giles has been diagnosed with incurable advanced kidney cancer but a pioneering clinical trial in London has offered hope to him and his family. The 42-year-old from Selby is chronicling his experiences in the online blog, Diary of a Fad Man.

I first heard about the clinical trial when I had just been told my kidney cancer was incurable and that my future would be chemically dependent.

By that stage in December 2012, my life had changed beyond recognition. Just months earlier I had been fit and well on a sunny French beach with my wife Emma, and our kids Freddie and Logan, having the time of our lives. Now I was four stones lighter and had endured five operations and five radiotherapy sessions in my battle against cancer.

My oncologist in Leeds broke the news that because the cancer had spread to my spine there was no hope of a cure and I was offered a drug to suppress it. But I wasn't prepared to accept that I had an incurable cancer and that surely somewhere out there, someone could cure me.

I'd heard about the leading kidney cancer specialist Dr James Larkin at the Royal Marsden Hospital in Chelsea. When my wife and I went to see him he impressed us with his enthusiasm and manner. He told me he was starting a clinical trial for advanced kidney cancer patients who had failed NHS treatment and I should contact him once my primary treatment failed.

Sure enough, the treatment did start to fail in August 2013, when tumours were found on my lungs and the tumour on my spine grew. Two drugs could protect me for an average of four to six months. I would only be funded to receive one of the two treatments and no further treatments after that could be offered.

Back in London, Dr Larkin was still recruiting for the worldwide trial involving 800 people. The trial involving a drug called Nivolumab which works by blocking the cancer from shielding itself and then reactivates the body’s own immune system, letting it destroy the cancer cells. Media coverage had reported exciting results in earlier trials. As you’d imagine, I became desperate to take part.

It gave me hope and if nothing else it would give me another option to try. Obviously this was a trial drug, there were no guarantees that it would work at all on me, but it was a gamble I was prepared to take.

This was a very tense time for us. The trial sounded optimistic, but one small issue with my medical and I wouldn’t be allowed on. Another issue you don’t realise until you are part of it is the game show style way of getting on your drug of choice - a randomised 50/50 chance of getting the new trial drug or the existing one being used. It was nearly too much for my nerves waiting for the phone calls.

Fortunately I passed the medical and the next day they rang to tell me I had been selected onto the trial and what's more I would receive the new drug Nivolumab.

My wife and I were punching the air in our back garden after they rang. I then rather meekly had to lie down, as I was emotionally exhausted with the pressure the wait had caused.

On each visit, doctors are scrupulous about observations. If they aren’t happy about something they act quickly. I once said my knee felt a little fuzzy sometimes and an hour later I was having an MRI on my knee. No expense spared.

At the end of it all I have a veinous infusion for an hour in the hospital’s very peaceful day unit, where people come from all over Europe to receive treatment on the trial (which is now closed to new participants). Every two months I have a chest and thorax scan to see if the cancer has progressed. If progression is found I will be taken off the trial.

It's a hectic and expensive business to travel so often. Emma and I travel early from Selby. It’s a real scramble for Emma to get the kids to relatives, come back to pick me up and get to the station.

Emma then carries all bags and pushes a wheelchair I need due to my spinal condition onto the train all before departure time of 7.36am. We travel by taxi across London to the Royal Marsden. The trial picks up my expenses but not Emma’s so it costs us a small fortune every fortnight to get down, but we manage.

The days leading up to, and particularly the night before a scan, are always incredibly intense, terrifying, traumatic times. You think about your boys who need a father. There is a real sense of leaving things unfinished.

I am part way through bringing up my boys Freddie, 12, and Logan, eight. They need a father figure to support them unconditionally in everything they do, whether it’s being there stood on the touchline or helping them out with homework. Giving them advice and being stern when necessary.

Above all a Dad should be there to provide wonderful experiences that we can share together. Anything is possible and that message should be pushed gently onto your kids as they grow up. The illness can at times make you selfish; sometimes you have to put yourself first.

My wife is my best friend; she has given up her life to look after me for 18 months. She doesn’t stop with the housework, bringing up the kids and taking them to school or out of school activities. She is also my psychologist and carer and does all the tasks that previously I would’ve done. She is a demon wheelchair driver who takes no prisoners and leaves me a quivering wreck.

All this she does under enormous pressure due to the cancer. We have the hideous prospect of the scan every two months to decide if I proceed or if I am taken off. I have unpredictable pain due to the tumour on my spine. When pain surfaces you analyse it: is it in my mind? A new tumour? The tumour growing? Or none of the above. We feel like we are on a tightrope constantly. The kids sense when Mum and Dad worry.

But there is good news. On my first scan in November I listened fretfully for five minutes as doctors talked technically about my lungs. After five minutes I had to stop the doctor to ask if we had ‘passed’ the trial as I didn’t understand what he was saying. “Oh yes,” he replied, "your lung tumours have gone." The spine hadn’t moved much but they were astounded by how well it had dealt with the multiple lung tumours I once had.

Brilliant news.

We have just had our third scan. My lungs are still clear. No new tumours have been detected and the spine has stabilized. It had got slightly smaller in January and now it is the same size. The doctors are happy with the situation. I look well. I am now 15 stone - two stone heavier than I was in the summer.

I accept that it's still too early in the trial to say how it is going and that doctors have no idea what my future holds. They have said I should be prepared for any outcome as any outcome is possible - I could be alive in two years or I could have bad news next month, that's the reality.

We have learned to keep smiling. It is possible to have a great laugh despite the pressures we are under. Emma and I are getting more used to our situation. We have also just bought a new puppy, Hector (the protector) who is a fox red Labrador Retriever.

He has switched the focus of the house to “Where’s Hector, what’s he chewing now?” He’s definitely helped me; I don’t have time to worry about my condition when I am being chewed by an ever growing, inquisitive Labrador.

Please keep up to date with my cancer journey by visiting my blog www.diaryofafadman.blogspot.co.uk

*As told to Kate Liptrot