Cancer. At the beginning of last year, little did I know this word would take on a whole new meaning. Affecting some of the most important people in my life. On May 16th 2024, we went to an appointment and came out with my mum’s world having changed completely. This blog post is for me to tell her story and give credit to the most incredible display of strength I have witnessed over the last year. 

Breast Cancer is something that is known to run within my family. My nanna was diagnosed twice, and the first time, she was the same age as my mum. Mum described it as a ticking time bomb once she hit her 50s. She always felt like she was waiting for the day it would finally catch up with her. When I was younger, they always told me to check my breasts; I looked at the diagrams, watched the ads and even went to CoppaFeel talks. Yet, hearing the words ‘It’s Breast Cancer’ at my mum’s appointment, it felt like they were speaking an alien language to me. 1 in 7 women will hear the same diagnosis in the UK at some point in their lives. My mum had just become one in seven. It was a terrifying space for my mum to be plummeted into, with new terminology, surgery plans and treatment being poured at her whilst she was still trying to process the word Cancer. Writing this post has, in many ways, felt like the weirdest one I have ever wrote. For lots of reasons, this has been one of the most traumatic and exhausting periods of my life I’ve lived through. When you’re stuck in fight or flight mode, it can be hard to look back, process what has happened, and digest it into words. I wanted to try, though. Some people don’t get to tell their stories. I’m so lucky that whilst telling my families, I still have one of the most important people in my life sitting right next to me.

On a Thursday last July, we found out my mum’s cancer had started to spread to her Lymph Nodes. Meaning she would need another serious surgery, invasive chemotherapy and radiotherapy. It was a gut-wrenching feeling, the type of pain and panic that turns your stomach sick. The kind that I can’t fully explain with words. I cried but tried to keep it together, listened to my mum, offered some advice, and we discussed the next steps. Getting off the phone, I started hyperventilating in the office. After a few minutes, I pulled myself together, walked back to my desk, and continued with my day, answering emails and attending meetings. I look back on this day, and it always stands out to me. I think of how many other people are going through similar things. Health diagnoses, grief, losses and mental health battles. It blows my mind to think that the world keeps going on, even when something life-altering happens to you. You’re stuck in time, but the world around you keeps moving. There is nothing else to do when life throws you this level of difficulty. All that’s there is to carry on, one foot in front of the other. 

By September, we were told my mum’s new treatment plan along with dates and began to prepare ourselves for what lay ahead in the winter months. During the last 5 months, my mum has undergone six chemotherapy sessions and 15 radiotherapy sessions. I have had to watch the effects of treatment slowly take over her body, making her so ill she struggled to function. It’s a different type of pain watching someone you love going through treatment and knowing you’re helpless. Last winter was one of the most challenging periods for us as a family. After just coming out the other side of a horrible mental health breakdown, I was on the highest dose of my anxiety tablets. I was trying to keep the house running on the days when my mum couldn’t function. In the midst of all of this, I was made redundant from my job just before Christmas. Leaving that company, I took the high road because, at the time, I didn’t have the energy to fight back or kick up a fuss. Looking back, I think it takes a special type of apathetic to let a staff member go a few weeks before Christmas in the middle of a family member’s cancer treatment. I’m happy to be out of that industry at the moment because the people who make those types of decisions could and never will be me. After enduring some of the hardest months, my mum rang the cancer-free bell at the end of April. This moment is indescribable; it felt like a huge sigh of relief to know that everything she’s gone through has brought her to this point. She did it and was finally in remission.

They say that one in two of us will get cancer in our lifetime; three happened to be in my family in 2024. After several examinations, my Nan was diagnosed with Colon Cancer. Sadly, she is fighting advanced Dementia and was told she would not survive the surgery, so they were unable to operate. Around the same time last year, my stepmum’s sister noticed one of her moles was slightly darker than usual. A few appointments and a biopsy later, it turned out to be skin cancer. Over the last year, she has had to undergo surgery to remove the cancer along with lymph node removal, just like my mum. Once Cancer is in your body, it is the one disease that is designed to seek out healthy areas in your body and break them down; it spreads so quickly quicker than you’d believe. In the past, I have been a frequent user of sunbeds, not caring for what they did to me. While the effects of sunbed or sun exposure may not be immediately visible, the accumulated damage can take years to manifest as skin cancer. The harsh reality is there is no need for a tan if you’re lying in a coffin, you think it could never happen to you then it does. I’m so proud of the three women in my life for battling one of the most evil diseases. After all the hospital appointments, surgeries and treatments, my step-mum and mum are both cancer-free. Cancer is a word, not a sentence. It’s just one word in both my mum’s sentences; one part of their lives, and I’m beyond grateful they get to see past this chapter.

Cancer doesn’t discriminate; it affects the healthiest, kindest, and most beautiful people. As much as cancer can affect anyone regardless of age, gender or race, the impact of the disease and access to care is influenced by so many social factors. There is a huge stigma surrounding cancer within the healthcare system and broader society, leading to sometimes delayed diagnosis and poorer treatment outcomes. Since being diagnosed, my mum has been part of many forums with other cancer survivors and those receiving treatment. Some stories from women who don’t live in the UK have made my heart ache. We don’t realise how lucky we are to have access to the NHS healthcare that we do. During my mum’s treatment, I’ve never once doubted that they were doing everything they could to bring her survival rate up, but this isn’t the case for everyone. In England alone, 46% of cancers are diagnosed at an advanced stage, meaning it has reached the point where it is too late to be treated effectively. Half of cancer patients are diagnosed when the cancer has already spread. I am so grateful that there is significant research that has led to improvements in breast cancer diagnosis and treatment. This has led to increased survival rates, which have doubled in the past 40 years. When the doctors spoke to my mum, the attitude was always focused on that she was surviving this. I have so much hope that in the future, all cancers will be discussed in the same way. Having cancer won’t be a death sentence but something to overcome with no hesitation of making it out the other side of treatment. 

In my eyes, there is no one as strong as my mum. No one is more resilient, no one. Growing up, we see our parents as superheroes, that they magically know all the answers and can fix every problem. Being older comes with the knowledge that they are just girls and boys, too. This is their first time living and experiencing everything we are. Looking back on when I was younger, I realise how much sacrifice, pain and struggle my mum protected me from. It’s only now, at 27, that I can walk beside her, take off her bags, share the load, and hold her hand through it. If I could change some of the things she has had to go through in this life by not existing I would, but I also know my mum would never wish this in a million years. That’s just one of the things that makes her so amazing. I’m beyond excited for this next chapter of her life and to watch her flourish. Throughout my life, she has stood back and let me take centre stage, supporting me in every crazy endeavour I put my mind to. My hope for the next few years is for our roles to switch. 

The last year taught me that nothing else matters when you are faced with the reality of losing one of the most important people in your life. When we’re younger, we think we’re invincible; we go through life untouchable and often take our health for granted. We believe we will survive everything and that the people we love will always be here. Everything is so fragile, and life can change in an instant. Experiences like this teach you to really stand where your own two feet are and never to get complacent. Never take for granted how beautiful it is to live with, be surrounded by and have your loved ones still in your life.