Cancer’s Trojan Horse: Finally, A Drug Smuggled In That Should Be in Your System
It’s a world-first for the NHS, a second chance for patients, and a proper pat on the back for once; if you ignore the minor detail that it’s taken years and several broken vertebrae to get here.
As someone who’s spent more time hooked up to beeping machines than the average Heathrow baggage carousel, I know a thing or two about cancer treatments. I’ve had so many toxic substances pumped into me I could probably light up a Geiger counter from space. Bone marrow transplant? Been there. Chemotherapy? Done that. Radiotherapy? Glowed like a budget Christmas decoration. So when I read about Paul from Sheffield and his new “Trojan horse” cancer therapy, I felt a curious blend of hope, admiration and mild envy. Not because he’s got cancer, obviously; but because this new treatment sounds like something out of a Marvel film, minus the tights.
Paul’s story is a corker. Diagnosed with myeloma, bones breaking like soggy breadsticks, relapsed after a transplant, and then—bam! He’s handed a world-first treatment that sneakily infiltrates cancer cells with the subtlety of a ninja carrying a very large stick. Within weeks, remission. Within months, he’s planning day trips to Hadrian’s Wall and turning up at graduations like the cool, resurrected uncle.
Now if you’ve never had cancer, let me explain something. Traditional chemotherapy is about as subtle as dropping a piano on a mouse. It nukes the cancer, yes, but it also gives your hair the sack, makes your gut feel like it’s been used in a blender commercial, and transforms your bedroom into a sterile, foodless, joyless quarantine zone. I might have got a bit carried away there, but you get the point! So the idea that we now have a therapy that does the job without rendering you a pale, vomiting hermit is frankly, groundbreaking. Revolutionary. Possibly off the charts incredible!
So the drug is called belantamab mafodotin; which yes sounds like something you’d yell if you stubbed your toe at Hogwarts. It’s what’s known as an “antibody-drug conjugate,” which in simpler terms means it’s chemotherapy with a satnav. (GPS for my American readers) The drug latches on to the cancer cell, barges its way in like it owns the place and then detonates its toxic payload like a microscopic action hero with a death wish.
Imagine chemotherapy, but wearing camouflage and whispering, “shhh, I’m here to help.” That’s what we’re dealing with.
This “Trojan horse” concept is lovely too. A nod to Greek mythology, obviously, although I’m guessing the cancer doesn’t appreciate the cultural reference. It’s one thing to be destroyed by a medical marvel; it’s another to be schooled in classical literature at the same time.
Of course no treatment is perfect. Apparently, a bit of the chemo leaks out post-attack, causing dry eyes and blurry vision. A small price to pay, unless you’re a fighter pilot or a YouTuber who reviews mascara for a living. I know, I know, but I’m excited…
Now, I promised not to rant today and I almost won’t. But while we’re all clapping and congratulating ourselves, let’s remember this wonder drug is only being offered when the first treatment fails. So the NHS is still saying, “let’s try the clunky old VCR before we plug in the 4K smart TV.” Progress, yes. But still politely British about it.
The truth is, this is exactly the sort of story that gives real hope. It shows that cancer treatment doesn’t have to mean months in a lead-lined room praying your immune system doesn’t go on strike. It means walking the dog, watching your daughter get married and possibly even enjoying a slice of sourdough without immediately regretting it. If you’ve ever been on that journey, through the biopsies, the fear, the five-year survival stats printed in size 8 font; you’ll know how massive that is.
So today, I raise my espresso to Paul, to the boffins at GSK and even, dare I say it, to the NHS. This is the kind of world-first that should make headlines, not just because it works, but because it gives people like us something we thought we’d lost… a fighting chance.
Here’s hoping they roll it out fast, wide and without the usual five-year delay, five-ring binder, and five-hour hold time on the hospital switchboard.
Because frankly, if cancer’s going to keep changing the rules, it’s about time we had a few clever tricks of our own.
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Chris Geiger, Author of The Cancer Survivors Club.
Daily Dose of Disbelief!
Bsky: @chrisgeiger.com
Bsky: @thecancersurvivorsclub.com
Bsky: @dailydoseofdisbelief.com
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