I’ve been sitting feeling numb most of this week. I’ve had a million thoughts running through my mind, in particular the dreaded “what if” question resulting from my unplanned CT scan.

As the oncologist explained during all my operations there is always a risk that a microscopic piece of tumour drops and can cause another growth.

There is the chance of metastasis which has not happened in 13 years, or maybe it’s just Scoliosis of my spine as a result of me walking with the paralysis.

Whatever it is I have been unable to move this week and motivating myself to get out and moving my body has been a struggle.

The paradox is that I know the only thing that helps me is the one thing I am struggling to do, and that is move.

However, on Wednesday an opportunity arose in Lee Valley Athletics centre and I had to take it up.

I haven’t been there since my bobsleigh days but was keen to explore this new opportunity.

I have struggled in cycling since my paralysis as I found myself at the bottom end of my classification, albeit racing athletes far more able bodied than myself. I never wanted to use this as an excuse or dwell on it as the life I live with my tumour is far more important than classification in sport. But I do miss the energy of competition and having lifted weights all winter I feel strong.

A passing conversation around seated discus spiked my curiosity. And as I always say to people each day you get up, always try to go through your day with curiosity.

So taking my own advice I decided to drive to Lee Valley and meet one of the world’s top Paralympic throwing coaches.

Walking into the athletics centre brought back many good memories and it wasn’t long until I found myself with some powerful- looking athletes warming up.

It was a small group of discus throwers and I marvelled at the speed and power.

Then it was my turn. I got strapped into a seat (as when navigating a C2 spinal cord injury, standing throws is not happening).

My only experience of throwing a discus was back at Kingussie High school many years ago.

As that first discus left my hand it flew into the nets staying flat the whole time.

God, I thought, that felt so good, what a feeling it was when it left my hand. I loved it, I loved the atmosphere and the fact that maybe, just maybe, I could have another chance to compete for Great Britain on the international in my fifth sport.

Who knows where this may go?

I loved every throw but when I returned home to the silence of my flat, the only break in my thoughts is the tube running under the building every 50 seconds.

And I have the thought: “Please don’t be sick again, please, please, please, be clear on this scan.”

Then the voice: “Well, why did they want you to do a scan?”

The struggle in my mind torments me the rest of the week and I know over the weekend I have to get out the door and to the gym to distract my attention on Monday’s visit to oncology for the results.

I don’t want to set a goal with my new throwing opportunity as I am scared, but I can dream of what might be and let’s just say my dream is a vision of throwing in a GB vest.

That dream doesn’t just hang on if I am actual any good at the moment, it hangs on Monday’s result of that chest scan.

Actually, come to think about it, it’s not just my future in sport that hangs on that result, it’s my life.