17/02/2026
Barry Du Bois a television personality amongst other things and a very thoughtful person write the following thoughtful words. They will resonate gor many of us
Before you read this I want everyone to know I am fine and healthy,
This morning I walked out of the hospital with tears running down my face.
For 14 years, every two months, I’ve handed my life to Dr Sam Milliken
A week before each appointment, I give blood and a urine sample.
Then comes the waiting.
If you live with an incurable disease, you understand this space.
You carry on.
You work.
You smile.
You regulate your mind.
But beneath it all, there is a quiet hum,
sometimes you ask yourself, is this the month things change?
In 2011 I was given three months to live.
Dr Sam Milliken became the lead in my medical team that day.
Since then, every two months, he has called my name from the waiting room.
We walk down the corridor.
I always say, “How are you?”
He always says, “Oh, okay.”
We sit.
We talk about Christmas.
He asks about my children.
Then he tells me my numbers.
For 14 years, he has delivered the most important words in my life:
“Stable.”
“No change.”
“We’ll keep watching.”
In 2017 he had to tell me that the cancer had spread from a single tumour to multiple Myaloma which has been tough but we work with it together.
Today my numbers were good.
And then he said,
“I’m retiring.”
In that moment, something inside me cracked.
Because this wasn’t just a doctor stepping away.
It was the realisation that someone who has symbolised survival — continuity — safety — was leaving the room.
We talk a lot about resilience.
About mindset.
About emotional regulation.
And yes — I teach those tools. I live them.
But resilience does not mean you don’t attach.
It does not mean you don’t feel.
It does not mean you don’t grieve transitions.
For 14 years, this man has been part of the machinery that kept me alive.
Not just clinically.
Humanly.
As I walked out of the hospital, my chest was pounding with the kind of pain that only comes when someone you love leaves your orbit.
We weren’t friends in the social sense.
But I love him.
Because every two months for 14 years, he carried the weight of my future in a set of numbers, and delivered them with steadiness.
Here’s what this moment reminded me:
In life, we all build quiet pillars of safety.
People who hold us when we don’t even realise we are being held.
A teacher.
A parent.
A partner.
A mentor.
A doctor.
And sometimes we don’t fully understand their significance… until the day they say goodbye.
If you are walking a health journey or any uncertain season and you feel deeply connected to someone who steadies you… that’s not weakness.
That’s humanity.
This journey is clinical.
But it is profoundly human.
Thank you, Dr Sam.
For 14 years of life.
Baz