​2023: The Year Everything Changed​

​It started with a lump, a slight difference in my armpit. At first, even the doctor couldn’t find it. Two weeks later, it was visible to the eye. Following a whirlwind of mammograms, biopsies, and CT scans, the diagnosis was official: Stage 3 Breast Cancer.​ The not knowing was the hardest part. Between a severe ear infection and vertigo, I spent weeks terrified the cancer had spread to my head or neck. When the scans finally came back clear from the neck down, the relief was overwhelming. I could finally stop panicking about the “what ifs” and start fighting.

2024: Adapting to the Fight

Chemotherapy is a brutal education in your own limits. To manage my phobia of cannulas, which had caused a meltdown in my first session, I had a chest port fitted. It’s a small disc under the skin that connected directly to a vein above my heart. It transformed treatment from a source of sensory terror into a manageable process.​ I also braved the cold cap during sessions. It’s painful and freezing for the first thirty minutes, but it was my way of trying to hold onto hair and identity while the medication did its work.​ Unfortunately, this didn’t work for me.

​Treatment turns weekends into a write-off and leaves your energy depleted, but it also reveals the incredible kindness of people. From my family and friends unwavering support to a wig gifted by a young lady with great craic, who was finishing her own journey, I have never felt more loved.​

​The Red Devil and the Week from Hell​

By March, I started EC chemotherapy – the infamous “Red Devil.” While my port made the administration smooth, the side effects were relentless. I was also receiving immunotherapy.

In May, a simple virus turned my world upside down. My legs were in so much pain I couldn’t walk; I was bedridden and eventually rushed to A&E.​ After a cycle of sickness, high temperatures, and more hospital visits, my treatment had to be cut short.​

Six Out of Eight

I felt like I had failed, but my Oncologist saw it differently. She told me I had done remarkably well to complete six out of eight cycles, noting that some only manage two. Because of the toll on my body, we cancelled the remaining chemo and moved straight toward surgery and radiotherapy.​

The Victory Dance

The turning point came with a single phone call. My surgeon delivered the best news possible: I had an excellent response to chemotherapy. ​I was literally dancing around the house. We moved quickly into surgery prep, including the placement of a Magseed to guide the surgeon. They removed the lesion and several lymph nodes, clearing the path for the next phase.​

Looking Forward

​As the weather warmed up, I was ready to ditch the wigs. My hair was finally growing back, and for the first time in a long time, the momentum was on my side. I moved into radiotherapy to “mop up” what’s left, feeling stronger and more hopeful than ever.

I recieved the pathology results in June, which were fantastic. I was cancer free! I had my chest port out and my first buzz cut to tidy up my new hair. The cortisol was flagged though, so my next step was endocrinology.

By July, all treatment had finished.

The takeaway? If you notice something small and suspicious, get it checked. I’m still getting my ducks in a row even now – but I am doing it with a profound sense of gratitude. I have a future, and I intend to make it count.