For a super active man of 30, a climber and canoeing instructor, it was devastating news. But what really broke his heart was that he would not be there to see his two-year-old son Caleb grow up. He had already undergone months of ­gruelling chemotherapy, radiotherapy and surgery to try to save his life. But Yorkshire-born Rob refused to give in to self-pity. As his body recovered from the effects of the treatment, he kept himself going by writing a bucket list of the ­memories he wanted to create with Caleb, who lives with his mother Beth, to make the most of the short time remaining.

No longer able to complete his dream of climbing Mount Everest, he would travel to Norway in his camper van with Caleb to show him the Northern Lights. Then he would take his son to the Scottish highlands.

Just as he felt ready to start ticking off that wish list, lockdown was imposed, and Rob, as one of those deemed most vulnerable, had to shield himself, and was not even supposed see his son, let alone take him on holiday.

“This year was supposed to be about doing all the things that I didn’t get to do last year because I was going through chemo and was on my back for most of that time,” he says quietly. “Lockdown felt like a re-run of my ­terminal diagnosis. I felt like I had time, and opportunity, taken away from me a ­second time.”

Like millions of others around the world, Rob has been stuck indoors for weeks as ­coronavirus shuts off every aspect of normal life, yet the stakes for him could not be higher. In addition to the tumours attacking his body, he is fighting off a recent chest infection. A single trip to the supermarket could end his life.

“I am especially vulnerable to any respiratory infections – if I get Covid-19, it will kill me,” he says. “I’d love to be making the most of every day but I can’t.

“People imagine what they’d be doing if they had less than a year left to live, but the reality is all I have is this right now.”

Cruelly, Rob’s current five‑month prognosis means he is unlikely to outlive ­current social distancing rules, expected to remain in force until the end of 2020 at least.

Now his whole world is the one-bedroom flat in Kelbrook, Lancashire, where he is obliged to isolate himself.

“Before lockdown, I had down days but I always managed it by keeping myself busy,” Rob explains. “I could take a drive in my van or tinker with my bikes. Suddenly, you get that taken away from you and I’ve spent the last four weeks going from my living room to sitting outside in the driveway. My mental health took a real hit.”

But what broke Rob’s heart was not being able to see Caleb, who was living with NHS worker Beth.

“It’s the hugs, goodnight kisses and watching bike videos with him before he went to bed that I missed,” Rob says. “To go from seeing him practically every day to complete nothingness was ­unbelievably difficult. It just feels like you’ve had a part of you ripped away.”

He continues: “My main drive through all this has been to stay as well as possible for him. When you have that taken away, it feels like you’ve had your meaning taken away. You feel like, what’s the point of getting up in the morning? I turned 31 on April 4 and it was Caleb’s third birthday the day before so I missed that too.”

It was not long after that, Rob says, that his mental health became so “diabolical” he decided to risk what life he has left to see his son. “I was worried I wasn’t going to see Caleb again if I continued shielding,” he admits. Knowing that the only person he was putting at risk was himself, he chose “life over lockdown”.

He explains: “In the past week I got into a pretty dark place and I couldn’t have carried on living with how I was feeling, sat in the flat on my own.

“It got really bad. I got to the point of thinking stupid things. I’m already ­having my life taken by cancer so I’m not going to do it myself but just sitting there having those thoughts – I had to do s­omething about it.”

He arranged a visit to his son. And it changed everything. “Instant cure,” he says with a beaming smile. “I burst into tears like a right wimp. He ran up to me shouting ‘Daddy’ and wrapped his arms around me. “He started unzipping my coat and saying, ‘Daddy’s here, Daddy’s here’. It was pure bliss.”

But Caleb is the only person Rob has had a hug from in weeks. His treatment is on hold, and he is waiting for a procedure that will drain his lungs. He understands that should the worst happen, he would not be put on a ventilator.

He is still social distancing himself from his mum Jenny, dad Clive and brother Chris, 32.

Until lockdown, Rob would drive to Jenny’s house and ring on arrival. She would make him a cup of tea in a sterilised cup, hand it to him with gloves and they would sit two metres apart in her garden.

But recently she has been too fearful to continue this cherished ritual for fear she might pass on the virus that would end her son. “My mum has become very anxious about it,” Rob explains. “They’re in complete lockdown apart from coming here to drop things off. She will park up and stand at one side of a driveway. She won’t come anywhere near me.”

Current NHS guidelines say people with less than six months left to live do not have to self-isolate from ­family and friends, but Rob believes the decision to make special memories has been taken away from him. “If I got stopped by the police while driving and said ‘I’ve got terminal ­cancer and want to see this place before I pop my clogs’, I think they would go ‘That’s really not essential is it’,” he says. “But what’s essential to one person is not essential to somebody else.”

One thing keeping him sane is writing his Facebook blog, which gives him therapy and routine. “I can say what I want about how I’m feeling and it’s not like ­having a conversation,” he says. “Someone might leave a message but you don’t have to respond so I can get everything off my chest.”

He has called it Zeds Blog – Walking With Sarcoma in reference to the affectionate nickname given to him by brother Chris. Rob’s videos capture his morning cups of tea on the doorstep, his passion for mountain biking and charity ­fundraising when he has the energy.

A keen photographer, he managed a six-hour self-portrait photoshoot the other day. He also writes ­eloquently about his love for his son and his frustrations with people who flout social distancing.

“It did really get to me at the start,” he says. “I know I have made the decision to come out of shielding but that is because I feel I am deteriorating and it’s important for me to see family and my son. Obviously, I don’t want to catch the virus and I’m still doing everything I possibly can. I’m washing my hands and using hand sanitisers.”

Another support tool is the social networking platform War On Cancer, where people affected by cancer can share their experiences. “None of my friends or followers on Instagram are on there so I can be open on there and that’s great,” says Rob. “You can get support from people who know exactly what you are going through.”

He also hopes his blog will be a way for his son to remember him. “On the video links he can see stuff we have been doing such as going to the bike tracks.”

Rob has lovingly created a memory box for his beloved boy filled with letters, ­photographs and keepsakes, everything from the swimming medal Rob received, aged 14, from Sports Relief to the rocks they painted together at a soft play centre before lockdown. More than anything, he hopes Caleb will remember him as being good fun.

And the message he’d pass on for the future? “If you want to do something, do it, if you’ve got a dream, go for it,” Rob says. “I have had a good life but I also worried about things that were trivial and shouldn’t really worry about.

“Don’t sweat the small stuff. Go and enjoy yourself. And go and climb Mount Everest.”

Zeds Blog Walking with Sarcoma 

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