On the 15th November 2025, I was taken to Brighton Hospital following a string of panic attacks, severe right-sided chest pain and tachycardia.

The series of events that unfolded that day would shape the next six months of my life and change it forever.

After almost a year of saying, “I don’t feel ill, I just don’t feel right,” and trying to describe what felt like a physical ball of anxiety sitting in my chest, I got the news eight hours later.

“You have a mass in your chest. I’m sorry Nicola, it is cancer.”

Nothing can prepare you for those words.

What followed was an operation under the care of Guy’s Hospital in London, a gruelling three-week wait for results, and after ruling out several other possibilities, a diagnosis one month later of aggressive Diffuse Large B-Cell, Non-Hodgkin lymphoma.

Blood cancer.

What I didn’t know at the time was that many of the signs had been there all along. Symptoms I had written off as stress, work, anxiety, or simply everyday life.

Suddenly, you're immersed in a world of scans, tests, hospital appointments, unplanned admissions, endless blood tests and becoming what can only be described as a human pin cushion.

Then came chemotherapy.

Before treatment, there were days I could barely stand because of the impact the cancer was having on my body. Chemotherapy saved my life, but my goodness, it took a lot from me too.

The last few months have been the hardest of my life. There have been some incredibly dark moments, physically and mentally. Losing my hair was difficult. The uncertainty was relentless. The outside noise gets quieter, but the silence in your own head can be deafening.

And all the while, you're wondering if any of it is working.

I have recently completed my final round of chemotherapy and am now waiting for my end-of-treatment scan next month. I don't yet know what the next chapter looks like, but reaching this milestone feels like something worth celebrating.

That's why I'm taking part in the Lymphoma Bridges of London Walk.

I'll be walking alongside my family and one of my now closest friends, Scully, who has also been fighting lymphoma at the same time as me. Of all the things life throws at you, this is one battle I wish neither of us had ever had to face. But having someone who truly understands the uncertainty and reality of this disease has meant more than words can say.

I have also been incredibly lucky to have the support of my family and friends throughout all of this. The calls, messages, hospital visits, tears, laughter, endless encouragement and probably far too many voice notes. I genuinely don't know how I would have got through this without them.

This walk is for everyone affected by lymphoma.

For those currently fighting.

For those waiting for answers.

For those supporting someone they love.

For the incredible people I've met along the way – the club nobody wants to join.

For our brilliant and incredibly brave Paul. 💫

And for the people whose outcomes weren't as fortunate as mine has hopefully been so far.

Most importantly, this walk is about raising awareness. I didn't find my lymphoma early. The mass in my chest was almost 8cm by the time it was discovered, with uptake in other areas of my body. Looking back, the signs were there.

Trust your gut.

If something doesn't feel right, it probably isn't.

If you're able to donate, no matter how big or small, I would be incredibly grateful. Every donation helps support people affected by lymphoma and funds the vital work of a charity that supports so many families navigating this disease.

Thank you for your kindness, support and encouragement. It means more than you'll ever know. 💚