In January of 2019, three days after her 56th birthday, my mum was rushed to hospital, struggling to breathe and in terrible pain.

She’d been complaining of abdominal pain and swelling, alongside a massively decreased appetite, for several months, but the her doctor was unable to give her any answers.

At A&E, x-rays discovered a huge mass stretching from her pelvis to her breast bone. Biopsies of the mass proved it to be a type of malignant tumour called a carcinoma, and she was formally diagnosed with stage four ovarian cancer; the cancer had spread and was now attacking the other organs of her body.

I was then ‘officially’ given the news that Mum was terminally ill.

I can’t begin do justice to how difficult that conversation with Mum’s oncologist was. I remember feeling totally numb; as if I was watching someone else’s tragedy unfold; it couldn’t possibly by *my* reality…

To be told, at 28 years old, a new, first-time mum myself, that my Mum was going to die was simultaneously devastating, baffling, terrifying and completely surreal. The idea of losing her, whilst she (and I, and her new granddaughter) were still so young felt completely nightmarish, and all the more so for coming at us all completely out of the blue.

Ovarian cancer is often not caught early because its symptoms are similar to less serious conditions, and by the time the cancer is seen for what it is, it has often spread and become much harder to treat. Only around half of women live five years after diagnosis. Most aren’t as ‘lucky’.

After her diagnosis; Mum was transferred to the palliative care team for pain management and end-of-life care.

Whilst waiting for tumour removal surgery to make her more comfortable, she developed a blood clot, and we were told that her any surgery was now off the cards. We were out of options, and the year we had been advised that we had left with her was now “maybe six months.”

In reality, those six months were two, and my mum died in the March.

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Ovarian cancer is most likely to affect women over the age of 50.

My mum, who was then 56, had repeatedly described her symptoms to the doctor, and she was told at various stages that it was: “probably just a UTI”, that she’d “put on weight over Christmas” and that it was “most likely, the menopause”.

She also had additional risk factors: a personal history of breast and spinal cancers, and gynaecological cancer in the family - yet, bafflingly - none of this added up to her symptoms being recognised for what they were.

I’ve had to make my peace with what feels very much like medical negligence - there’s absolutely no way that, presenting the way she did, Mum should have slipped through the net, she shouldn’t have died at 56 years old - and I’ve found that part of coming to terms with what happened, is about understanding just how little ovarian cancer is understood.

Contrary to popular belief, ovarian cancer won’t show up on a smear test; there is no national screening programme in the UK, and there’s a real lack of awareness, both in the medical profession and within the general public, about symptom recognition.

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That’s why, this August, I’ll be climbing Mount Snowdon as part of the Target Ovarian Cancer’s ‘Snowdon at Night’ trek 🏔️, a night-time ascent of Yr Wyddfa, to raise funds for the charity’s tireless work promoting awareness, empowering change, providing support and funding ground-breaking medical research.

I chose this challenge, not only because it’s a powerful way of raising vital funds, but also because it spoke to me on a personal level.

I spent so much of my childhood, with my mum, in Snowdonia (and we often made the trip up Snowdon, lured in one of the rickety carriages of the mountain railway, by the promise of a cuppa in the café at the top!)

It’s somewhere that for me, is embedded with memories of her: of National Trust picnics and days out, of afternoon teas and rainy days in. It’s somewhere that plays host to a lifetime of Mum-memories, and somewhere that will always hold a special place in my heart.

So, for me, this isn’t just a physical challenge, and it’s not *just* about supporting Target Ovarian Cancer’s incredible work, it’s also a very personal act of remembrance.

If you can, I’d be so grateful for your support.

Every penny you give helps fund life-changing research and gives hope to families, like mine, who have to face the horrible realities of ovarian cancer.

Diolch,

Issy 💜