Well, this is a surprise

Summer 2023. England missed out on winning back the Ashes by one rainy day in Manchester. Charles III was crowned. And I was completing my seventh year at Yonder Consulting. Whether it was the seven-year itch or something else, I made the difficult decision to leave Yonder. (My daughter urged me not to, mainly on the strength of the excellent coffee machines that adorned their open-plan kitchens). By spring 2024, I started what was to be a short-lived stint at Basis.

Then in July came what appeared at first glance to be an ordinary Friday. I went to the gym with the intention of running a 5k on the treadmill. That had become a fairly regular occurrence. (In its own right, this would have been a surprise to my pre-2020s self, as I had never really enjoyed running nor had I hitherto enjoyed a level of fitness which would have allowed me to contemplate it.) Water bottle in one hand, Apple Watch around my wrist, I started to run. Within a few minutes, I realised something was not right. I was out of breath. The lactic acid in my legs was screaming at me. And I’d barely been going 3 minutes.

Was it just an off-day? Surely that’s all it was. The GP, whom I visited as a precaution, was certain it was dehydration. Or maybe just the summer heat. He took a blood sample to be sure. I had the tests and forgot about them. The next morning I was rudely awoken by my phone at 6.30am. An unknown caller. Must be a spam call. What a nuisance. I answered anyway and, in my half-awake state, listened to a woman ask me to confirm my name and date of birth. Sleepy as I was, I wasn’t about to divulge that to a stranger. As I was about to hang up, I realised she was telling me she was an NHS nurse. The reason for her call was to tell me I needed to head to A&E to have the blood tests repeated.

Not wishing to be rushed, I had my breakfast. I sent a short email to work to say I’d be starting late, then drove to the hospital.

I wouldn’t see home again for nearly three weeks.

The second half of 2024 remains a blur. Not really knowing what was going on. Not having a diagnosis, but needing weekly blood platelet transfusions and twice-weekly hospital visits. My blood counts were stubbornly - and dangerously - low. Apparently I was something of a mystery. A curiosity, even. I didn’t “fit neatly into any box”. At the same time, I was trying to continue to work, albeit part-time. With hindsight, that was a bad idea. We must have had an Indian summer that year, as I remember a sunny October walk with my wife in Hampstead Heath. It was during that walk that I decided I needed to leave Basis and focus on my health. I needed time off to do precisely nothing, at least until the new year.

Everything was scary. My health. Not having a job. The mortgage. The future.

I’d posted about my experience on LinkedIn so some old contacts kindly got in touch. (I am bound to say their kindness exceeds their oldness.) They were pitching for segmentation work. Would I be available to run it for them? It seemed a great opportunity to keep busy, keep my grey matter ticking over and keep a few pennies coming in.

Then, in February, if not quite light at the end of the tunnel, at least an arrow on the wall pointing towards it appeared. I’d been referred to King’s College Hospital, specialists in Bone Marrow disorders. My consultant was sure I had something called Aplastic Anaemia. And, what’s more, treatment was available. It was the first time I’d experienced hope. In April, I was admitted for treatment. I was told there was a 70% chance of response. As a statistician, that sounded okay, but 30% was also larger than I would have wanted. Fortunately - that word doesn’t seem to do it justice - I was in the former. By autumn my consultant would conclude I had a “very good partial response”. I allowed myself to momentarily feel something close to elation. Of course my journey continues.

I was fortunate to pick up some more projects following my treatment at King’s. I began to realise I enjoyed this way of working. Working on interesting standalone projects, working with a variety of wonderful clients, delivering my own training, having time off when I needed and - most of all - not having to concern myself with the seemingly incessant extra-curricular needs of the corporate world. And thus the idea for Ask Karsten was born. “Let’s ask Karsten” was something colleagues often said when a problem needed solving. The phrase stuck in my head. Eventually, so did the name. And now it has transformed from a few projects into a business complete with a website.

In the summer of 2023, if anyone had told me I’d be launching my own business just a few years later, I’d have given them a very strange look indeed. Now it feels like I’ve been heading here the whole time, even though the road has been far from straightforward.