Paul Younger, 53, an NHS executive from Kent, has throat cancer caused by HPV and started chemotherapy and radiotherapy in March.

In the second harrowing extract from his journal to be published by The Mail on Sunday, he tells of his final weeks of treatment – and of the unbearable pain that still plagues him.

Paul Younger, 53, (pictured with his partner Helen Powell) an NHS executive from Kent, has throat cancer caused by HPV and started chemotherapy and radiotherapy in March

April 1, 2018 The Mail on Sunday has published [the first part of] my blog. My phone has been pinging all morning with messages of love and support.

I feel quite humbled. I have to face this illness head on but by raising awareness I hope it encouraged the Government to offer the vaccine to boys. Several friends send me messages to say they are having their sons vaccinated.

April 2 The pain in my mouth is descending into my throat. The back of my neck is blistering. I chat with my fellow patient Darren, who is unable to swallow anything.

We're both non-smokers, occasional drinkers, attenders of a gym three to five days a week. This demonstrates how indiscriminate throat cancer is.

April 9 My partner Helen is cooking meat and the smell makes me want to throw up. My neck is getting sorer by the day. I feel sick, my gums bleed and I feel like I'm reaching breaking point.

April 12 Not being able to speak properly is quite embarrassing as the clinical team ask questions which strain my throat. Just quoting my date of birth and first line of address is difficult.

I go for radiotherapy at 1pm in a panic as I'd just eaten and the thought of being sick with my mask on is terrifying.

April 16 I am in excruciating pain. I spend most of the night on the settee, in an upright position. My tongue has black patches where blood has seeped during the night.

April 20 My last day of radiotherapy treatment. I should feel elated but the period of 'cooking' when I'm told my symptoms will get worse will now kick in.

My prescribed pain relief causes extreme pain when I take it. It has me coughing and spluttering on the floor. My neck wound has broken open. I have massive ulcers in my mouth.

April 27 It's a week since my last treatment, but my neck remains extremely hot to touch. I can't hold a normal conversation and have no appetite.

May 7 I'm up at 2.15am for morphine and feel convinced I'm dying. I'm so angry about the potential robbed years after a lifetime of working. It's eight weeks since I started treatment and I pray the tide will soon start to turn.

I keep prodding my neck, convinced the tumour is still growing. I worry about my future quality of life and my life with Helen – who never bargained on becoming a carer.

I never thought that this treatment would be so harrowing. I've developed a real hate of food and drink. I'm not sure I can live like this much longer.

May 11 There's an ulcer as big as a penny under my tongue. It's three weeks since the end of treatment and things aren't much better. I spend all afternoon and early evening spitting in a cup. The secretions are awful, blood-splattered.

May 14 I have a feeling I have a ball of hair stuck in my throat which makes me gag continually.

May 18 Helen and I went to the shops. I so wanted to stop for a drink and a cake but would be mortified at displaying my eating habits in public. I have to carry a paper cup everywhere in which to spit my secretions. Literally every mouthful I eat attacks the roof of my mouth.

May 19 After dressing, I note a 3in gap between my waist and my jeans. I'm also on the last hole of my belt.

May 21 The pain in my mouth I would describe as 9/10: the worst it's been, yet I'm more than four weeks post-treatment. When eating, the pain goes up my left cheek, through my left nostril and into the top of my head.

May 22 Mum makes a chicken casserole which takes me an hour to eat with two litres of cold water. My throat's dry and throbs all evening. Going to bed around 1am. I just hope tomorrow sees some improvement.