Welcome to my fundraising page for CoppaFeel! This November I will set out on a challenging, extraordinary and life-changing trek, all in the name of checking chests! I am taking on 100km of Morocco's forbidding Sahara Desert in a bid to raise vital funds towards our life-saving mission.Your donations will not only support my fundraising target, but most importantly CoppaFeel!. They are a charity on a mission to stamp out the late diagnosis of breast cancer by making sure that young people are regularly checking their boobs, pecs and chests and getting to know their bodies in order to have the confidence to see their GP if something just doesn't feel normal. Thanks so much for your donation & support. To find out more about CoppaFeel! head to www.coppafeel.org.

This is my story:

I think we can all agree without a shadow of a doubt that 2020 was the most challenging year of our lifetimes. For me however COVID was a battle the rest of the world was fighting whilst I had been given my very own personal battle to deal with.

During 2019 I suffered with a rash under each arm. I visited the doctors on several occasions and was prescribed with various creams and lotions. The doctor suggested possible causes such as a change in detergent/an allergic reaction/ skin irritation or stress from work or home. I was supporting my Dad through his own battle against Oesophagus Cancer which was the worst time of my life. My Dad passed away in July 2019 which absolutely devastated me. I miss my Dad everyday.

I look back now and wonder if that rash was the first sign of breast cancer or if it was just one of those things they suggested. I guess I’ll never know.

In December 2019 I noticed the rash wasn’t getting any better on one of my arms although it had completely cleared up on the other, so I went to the docs again. I had an appointment with the Women’s Health Clinic at Redditch hospital and was told there was a small build up of fluid which could be easily removed. I was given some anti-biotics and told it was folliculitis. They drained the fluid and gave me antibiotics and gave me an appointment for a follow-up scan 6 weeks later. My letter said ‘things will gradually resolve back to normal’ and so I thought nothing more of it.

On 8th February 2020 my husband surprised me with a weekend trip to London to see Only Fools & Horses at the Theatre (one of my Dads all time faves and something I grew up watching!). It was so emotional to watch it but it was utterly brilliant. The morning after the show in the hotel when I woke up I turned over in bed and noticed a large lump on the right side of my right breast which definitely wasn’t there the day before.

I called the Women’s Health Clinic for an appointment to go back and see them. At the appointment they agreed there was a lump (I don’t know how they couldn’t it seemed huge to me! So huge in fact I was convinced you could see it through my clothes sticking out!). The Consultant said it was most likely a cyst, in fact 95% sure it was a cyst as I was young and healthy, had no other signs of any health condition and cysts were very common and easily dealt with. I felt very reassured. They said they would do a scan and at the scan they took a biopsy.

I went back to the Clinic on 5th March. The Clinic was the old maternity ward and delivery suite at the hospital. I could see the rooms where I had delivered by son and daughter. It was very surreal to be back there. My previous appointment was in the very room I had my son in 2011. I sat in the waiting room surrounded by other women, some of who were upset and being comforted by their loved ones. I went alone as this was only a cyst and nothing to worry about and common and ………………

When I was called in the Consultant who was accompanied by the breast care nurse told me that I had breast cancer. The room went dark. I couldn’t breathe. WHAT? HOW? No, this doesn’t happen to people like me? How can I have? Its just a cyst? I’m too young! Cysts are very common. You were sure it was a cyst!

And then came the tidal wave of information. The biopsy had shown that I had Grade 3, fast growing HER2 positive breast cancer. I didn’t know what any of these things meant except Grade 3, I knew from my Dad’s treatment that Stage 4 was incurable. I was instantly scared that I was going to die. I couldn’t stop thinking about my husband and my children. How was I going to tell them this? Who was going to look after them?

The nurse gave me a little folder with a pink banner headed ‘Primary Breast Cancer’. It didn’t feel real holding this folder and being told it was mine. How could this be mine? How could I at 39 years of age have breast cancer?

The nurse told me my treatment plan, chemotherapy, surgery and a referral to clinical genetics.

I watched my Dad go through chemotherapy. I sat with him in the treatment room whilst he had chemotherapy and knew just how hard this was going to be.

I told the nurse about my Dad and she reassured me that there are many different types of cancer and I shouldn’t compare mine to my Dad’s as oesophagus cancer is very hard to treat and particularly cruel. I could hear the words but it was hard not to think about my Dad in so much pain and not with the illness, with the medicine. The medicine that couldn’t save him. 

The nurse asked me over and over if I needed anyone or if she could call someone as I was on my own but I could barely speak. I didn’t know how to even begin to ask someone to come to the hospital and tell them over the phone. No I would drive home and tell my husband.

That was one of the weirdest drives of my life. Luckily, it’s very short and only a couple of miles. I don’t really remember it other than seeing the new tell-tale folder on the passenger seat. They also gave me a story book to go through with the kids to explain it all to them but I couldn’t even look at that and hid it away in my bag.

I stood in the kitchen and showed the folder to my husband, I started to cry and just blurted out ‘I’m so sorry, I have breast cancer’. I don’t think I will ever forget the shock on his face. I must have looked the same when they told me.

That’s the day I’ll never forget. 5th March 2020. And then the world went even more crazy!

A week and a half after my diagnosis the UK entered into lockdown. Suddenly the children were sent home from school, we had to work at home and the world changed. For me the first day of lockdown marked my first appointment with the Oncologist. Little did I realise that this would be the only time that my husband would be allowed to come with me and hold my hand. 

March saw a flurry of appointments, they seemed to be daily! Blood test, ultrasounds, ECG, MRI, mammogram, clip insertion and lots of other things I just didn’t understand. One of the hardest things to deal with was having a PICC line inserted into my arm so that they could give me my chemotherapy by IV. It was like a permanent reminder of what was ahead. I went to the chemo ward for the first time for my ‘pre chemo chat’ and had to go alone as by this time no visitors were allowed to hospital. It all felt so overwhelming. This new tube in my arm, the chemo chairs with the ominous IV stands next to them, the kind nurses, the smell of hospital. I was crying before I even got in there. The nurse sat me down and explained that she was going to look at my line, flush and dress it for me. It was all too much. How was this happening? I passed out…….

For days I hadn’t been able to get the PICC line out of my head. I was convinced something was wrong with it and suffered with really bad pains in my chest to the point where I was doubled up in pain. I called the Chemo helpline who immediately told to me to call 999 for an ambulance. I didn’t want to call, there were people out there who needed ambulances, people with COVID. My husband and the chemo helpline insisted and the paramedic arrived. After calming me down and doing some tests they determined that it was most likely a panic attack. I couldn’t believe it, I felt silly but the pain had been so real. It was so strange how something in your head can make you feel physical pain.

I had to prepare for my first chemo on 30th March. They weren’t messing around just a few short weeks since I got the news. The hospital encouraged me to join a Facebook Group called Bosom Friends. I was so scared reading the other ladies’ stories. I didn’t want to go on there at first but then some of the stories and posts were so powerful I couldn’t help myself. I was suddenly in awe of these amazing women fighting this disease and refusing to give in. I noticed that one member owned a nail salon and I needed some help getting my nails off before my chemo the next day as all the nail bars were closed. I took the plunge and messaged Mel. 

Mel was incredible. The very same day she turned up at my house and dropped of everything I needed for my nails, instructions on what to do and her wig. We messaged each other nonstop. She told me her story and we became friends. I was able to talk to Mel about things I couldn’t with anyone else. Any silly question that entered my head in the middle of the night. Every worry and feeling. She has been truly inspiring, and I couldn’t imagine going through this without her. She declared herself my ‘pink sister’ and I am sure we will be friends for life. It felt very strange to be given a wig as the whole hair loss thing seemed miles away to me!

The next day was my first chemo. This was it. Big girl pants on and a very deep breath, I kissed my husband and children goodbye in the car and walked into the hospital. I was so nervous I could barely breathe. I had to hold it together at home for my family but the second I walked onto the ward I broke down. An amazing nurse looked after during that first session. She reassured me over and over and taught me a breathing technique to try and calm me down. I had to have a sedative in the end and I’m glad because I didn’t want to have another panic attack. The sedative made me woozey but it definitely helped. The first session was over but as I was sent home with packs of medication, instructions for injections (that I had to administer myself), appointments for district nurses to visit to look after my line and forms for further blood tests I realised what I was about to enter into. This became my life for the next 5 months. 

I always thought it took months of treatment before your hair fell out, so I don’t think I was ready. I mean, I knew that’s what was going to happen but that’s was ages away right? I expected it to fall out in the shower and just gradually get thinner and thinner. What I didn’t expect was the speed in which it changed. It was almost 3 weeks and nearly time for chemo number 2 when I kept complaining that my head was sore. I was working at home and my husband commented that my parting looked red and sore. We thought nothing more of it but by the end of the working day my parting was 5 times wider than it was at the start. There were hairs all over my keyboard and everywhere I walked! It was happening. My head was so painful, no one warned me that it would hurt! I video called my mom on the ‘House Party’ app. ‘House Party!’. How ironic. Something so joyful sounding and yet here I was bawling my eyes out over my hair! That was hard. Wanting my Mom. Wanting my Mom to put her arms around me and tell me hair didn’t matter. Of course, she still told me that but through a screen whilst I sobbed. Hair doesn’t matter but it was all so quick. Talking to my Mom made everything feel better. The chemo must be working! Just look what it was doing to my hair! I told my husband I was going in the shower and that when I got out I would probably be bald but that’s not what happened. Instead as soon as the water touched my hair it clumped together in a huge knot. I couldn’t do anything with it. It was attached but not attached but it didn’t feel like hair anymore. I was emotionally exhausted and couldn’t do anything else and so knew the time had come to cut it all off. 

The next day my husband borrowed clippers from a friend. I gathered my best friend, Mel, Mom and Sister on ‘House Party’ and this time we had a fun video call. I asked my children to cut my hair and to film it being cut so that they could feel part of it and not be scared. I told my little boy that we were having matching lockdown haircuts. The knot was so bad my husband could barely get the scissors through it but then it was gone! He shaved the rest of it off and the relief was huge. No more sore scalp, no more worrying about it falling out. Gone. Just in time for chemo number 2.

My PICC line was hurting again but I didn’t know if it was anxiety. I could barely move my arm at chemo number 2 so they sent me for a scan (luckily after my chemo so I still got to have my treatment) that showed a blood clot. Blood thinning injections was the answer for 6 months!! Now in addition to everything else I had to have 2 injections per day for the clot! I was beginning to look very bruised and feel like a pin cushion. Luckily after a few weeks the doc changed them to pills instead!

I told my ‘Bosom Friends’ that my hair was now gone and I was sad that all the wig shops were closed. I felt like I’d had a ‘fun’ part (if there are any fun parts of cancer) taken away from me. When I was diagnosed in those few days before lockdown I imagined going to the wig shop with my friend and us giggling at each other trying them on and then off for lunch with a large possibility of a glass of wine. The group were amazing and spread the news that it wasn’t right that women going through treatment were having to miss out. A wig can be so important for boosting your confidence and your mental health. If you look good you feel good even if you are battling cancer. The local news heard the story of the group who had now started offering their wigs to new members who needed them. We had an online shop where you could browse the donated wigs and Mel kept lots in her salon. I was interviewed and on TV for the local news, I was so nervous. It was all recorded over Zoom but I thought it was such an important message to get out that I couldn’t turn it down. Following the news we got even more members to the group so I was delighted that some ladies had found a way to the amazing support that I knew was there. I loved the wigs that were donated to me and felt so grateful to those ladies who gave them as I know they mark a special time in your life. 

I was very lucky with my first 4 sessions of chemo. I decided I didn’t need the sedative any longer and had got into the 3 week routine of chemo, meds, injections, bloods and nurses visits. I had some side effects but didn’t spend days on end in bed like I expected. Work was a great distraction which meant I got to use my brain to think about something other than cancer. The children were amazing and remind you why you get up every day. We went for walks, baked, played in the paddling pool pretty much what every other family up and down the country were doing during lockdown. We attempted and failed at home schooling The sun shone and we made the most of our time together whilst the world was on pause. Don’t get me wrong there were bad days. The steroids caused insomnia and the days seem so long when you are up from 2am! I learnt that ‘Google’ is not your friend during those lonely hours and you should be very careful what you put into that search bar! The support group and especially Mel were amazing. She was there for me no matter what. I could share anything and everything and we had a giggle. Hard to imagine but yes we laughed at the odd side effects and the wigs, She lifted me up when I felt down and she knew first hand just how it felt when I couldn’t explain it to anyone else.  

The journeys to chemo were odd. There were no other cars on the road, no cars in the car park of the hospital and no-one in the corridors when I went in. It was empty. I would walk past the shop that wasn’t open and the hospital café where the shutters were down. I felt like the only person left in the world until you got onto the ward. Nurses couldn’t hug you to make you feel better and you weren’t allowed anyone to accompany you. It was hard to take in so much information whilst ‘going it alone’, I would often come home and my husband would ask what had been said and I couldn’t remember. I always took my diary and a pen as I had to write everything down. 

I had a mini meltdown in May where I was convinced the lump was getting bigger. I could feel it burning after treatment! I suppose that was the chemo working. I had a call with the doctor as there was also a flag on my bloods and they needed to reduce the dosage in my chemo. This really panicked me, was I doing something wrong? Would a lower dosage mean I wouldn’t get better? I also got an ear infection which meant chemo #4 had to be delayed by a week. Everything was going wrong. This wasn’t the plan. My MRI was cancelled and I was devastated. I was so close to half way and then this. I felt like everything was falling apart. 

Early June I completed chemo #4 and had my mid-point MRI. Good news! We were back on track. The tumour had reduced in size by 40% and the docs were pleased with my progress. The burning and the changing size of the lump was due to inflammation - basically the chemo was fighting it! Come on chemo!

Chemo’s 5–8 were the second part of the treatment. Different drugs to the first so it was almost like starting again with what to expect in terms of side effects. I had a low red blood cell count and might need a blood transfusion but we battled on. The insomnia was still there but these rounds made me lose my sense of taste. Now this doesn’t sound like a particularly bad side effect but when everything you eat or drink including water tastes so disgusting you want to be sick its pretty miserable. The toll on my heart was also starting to show. I couldn’t go out for walks anymore with the children. I struggled to climb the stairs at night to take them to bed. I felt exhausted.

I was so excited for chemo 8! 1st September. Last one! And even better than that I could have my PICC line removed!!! This is probably the first medical thing I had done that I was actually looking forward to. I didn’t need a sedative or another nurse to hold my hand or distract me. I didn’t pass out like I had at blood tests and even at my MRI! I couldn’t wait for it to be removed. My arm was back and it felt amazing. So that was it - chemo over! But there was no bell to ring. I felt robbed. Where was my bell? There was no bell because the chemo ward had been moved between chemo 1 and 2 to Kidderminster where there were no COVID patients. This was to keep cancer patients safe while we received treatment. I am so glad they did this so we never had to worry about our treatment being cancelled or postponed like other areas on the news. We didn’t have a bell so we blasted the car horn in the car park when my husband picked me up. All done! 

My final MRI showed that the chemo had worked well. The tumour had shrank from over 5cm to just 1.5cm. I was thrilled that it had all paid off. All those days crying, the pain, the moaning, the PICC line, the needles and scans, it was all worth it! 

I had my surgery on 6th October just 2 days before my 40th birthday. It felt so strange that I had started 2020 with dreams of a milestone birthday in a faraway place now all I wanted was to be cancer free. That would be the best birthday present ever. 

I’ve never had an operation before and didn’t know what to expect and yet again had to go it alone. The nurses, surgeon and staff were all amazing. Before my op I had to have yet more tests including a COVID test. I had to isolate with my family between my test and the date of my operation. Another day off school for my children!

On 16th October at 2.45pm the consultant and nurse (the same ones from back in March) told me the incredible news that the operation had been a success! I sat in the room waiting for them in my facemask with petrified eyes. What if it was bad news? How did I go home to my husband and tell him again that we still had a battle to fight. As soon as the consultant and nurse walked he said ‘I have nothing but good news’. I broke down in tears. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. The best news ever from the same voice that I had told me the worse news ever. He said he would hug me if he could, but he wasn’t allowed. Bloody COVID.

So here I am doing the Coppafeel Trek in order to find the new me.  Thank you all for your incredible support, the messages, gifts, cards and calls were all so so so appreciated. They cheered me up whenever I felt down and pushed me to stay strong, think positive and kick cancer’s butt! I’m so lucky to have such amazing friends, family and colleagues who helped me through the worst time of my life. You really did make a huge difference to me and I couldn’t have done it without you. Please donate and share my page with all as it really will make a huge difference.