VETERAN fundraiser and funnyman Scott Glynn's world was turned upside down in March, when doctors told him he had liver cancer, and his only hope of survival was a transplant.

Here, in his own words, the Tranent resident recalls the aftermath of the news...

WHAT I thought was a quick trip for blood results – and on the way home, nip in and buy leads for the two new Lab pups – turned out to be one of the worst days in my life.

I remember the excitement in the car journey up to hospital – Carol and I were planning where to let the puppies sleep, holidays, names, etc. Then the rest of that day is a blur; I remember snippets: “Sorry to tell you…cancer...survival...liver transplant...”

We just sat in the car and thought: “What just happened in there?” We cried, held each other, then sat silent for a while.

Looking back, I think that is one NHS downfall. We got life-changing news, then you’re left on your own to go home; nobody stops you on the way out to ask: “How are you?” No booklets or leaflets, you are just left at the edge of a cliff looking into an abyss.

Next challenge: telling family and friends. Carol took the news very hard and in a strange way this helped me – I realised I had to roll the sleeves up and take on this fight now to help and protect my family ,and in doing this I set myself targets to survive.

Twenty days later I went into hospital to see if I would make it onto the ‘transplant list’. Stupidly, I thought everybody goes on the list but no, it’s a week of tests from bloods, scans, bloods, physical, bloods, psychological, bloods and fitness. Then at the end of the week the entourage are like God: they decide if you make it or not.

So sleeves rolled up for my first target: ‘Make the List’. I was up every morning at 6am for a walk round the hospital grounds. Finally on the Friday I had my meeting to be told I had made the list – I actually burst into tears. To put this in perspective the man in the bed next to me didn’t make the list and he got 18 months to live.

This is a rollercoaster ride of emotions and wellbeing – some days you feel you could walk forever and others every step is a prisoner. But you keep walking, thinking of survival.

My next target was making people aware of organ donation through social media and other sources. Organ Donation Scotland actually phoned Carol and said there had been an increase of donors by 44 per cent, then I contacted MPs and other big names to make people aware that you could sign up again, even if like me you did it years ago, and now Scotland has become an opt-out donor system (I think I’ll claim that as target two).

Target three was the 27-mile walk with the Walk With Scott Foundation to raise money to buy three completed and five Rempods bought.

The hard bits are the dark days, and boy do you get them, but I try to keep going for my family’s sake; no one else’s, just theirs.

I have discovered that people think cancer is contagious, sometimes even just saying the word. I have been amazed by friends who I would have put money on for support letting me down, and people that you wouldn’t expect to stepping right up to the plate.

For me, the hardest thing is being tied in and controlled by a phone signal and time... if you go out for a meal, a picnics there a signal?...can’t go more than two hours from the hospital.

I have thought long and hard and really I am not afraid of dying, my fear is leaving my family to cope. I still have old-fashioned values that I am there to protect and defend, and if I pass I have let them down. I also don’t understand when people say: “I’ve not been in touch, I don’t know what to say.” Try ‘hello’, it’s so short and so simple! And another piece of advice: if you have friends that are going through the same as Carol and I and you have asked the ill partner how they are, then ask the partner too.

Another thing I have realised: get off your mobile phones and look about you, talk to people, take your family for a picnic, stop taking selfies and take surroundings. Try a barbecue where no phone calls are allowed, just photos.

I hope people reading this realise I am not being ignorant if I don’t reply right away with a text, a call or an email, because sometimes you just want to sit in peace. I am on a death sentence awaiting a donor – it’s a lot for your mind to take on.

Yes, I do get dark days, sometimes really dark days, but I give myself a talking too, roll up my sleeves and take on the fight.

Target four, I hear you ask?

Get this transplant and get back to my family.