Golden Warriors

A celebration of glorious Goddesses whose breasts have been touched by cancer.

In October 2020, Kat Shaw wanted to use her art to promote Breast Cancer Awareness Month. She painted 15 women to honour their glorious breasts, which had all been touched by breast cancer. Working with breast cancer charities Wigs for Heroes and Copafeel, Kat made her paintings into a calendar. She donated 100% of the profits from her calendar sales to the charities.

The project was called Golden Warriors, honouring the ancient Japanese art form called Kintsugi. This art form uses gold in the repair of broken items. This gold then highlights the object's history, making it unique. This uniqueness adds to its beauty and strength.

Kat lovingly used gold leaf to paint the scars of the golden warriors, reminding them of their own strength and unique beauty.

Check out the Golden Warriors video by clicking here!

January

My first diagnosis came about on 2nd May 2017, a day after celebrating my 6th year wedding anniversary. I was diagnosed with stage 2 grade 3 HER2 positive Breast cancer. The unwanted anniversary gift.

I’d just spent the weekend in Glastonbury having a cottage stay with a group of friends but the whole weekend I was restless as results day was looming. When they told me I had cancer, at the age of 31, my world felt as though it had crumbled around me.

Before treatment started, I was asked if I wanted to freeze embryos. On top of cancer, infertility was another worry. I froze 11 embryos in total and was happy that if I was left infertile after treatment I’d at least have a backup if I ever wanted kids in future.

My treatment was brutal. It included chemotherapy, a lumpectomy, radiotherapy then finishing off with 18 rounds of Herceptin. I lost count of my hospital admissions; those were mentally the worst moments of it all. Where I’d feel as though I was losing - the hair loss didn’t even affect me as much as those admissions did. But about 6 months after completing treatment, in the midst of moving on and getting my life back on track, the cancer came back.

I couldn’t believe it. I was devastated. It was a local recurrence, meaning it hadn’t spread & it was deemed treatable. But I had to have a full mastectomy this time. Surgery that would leave me with hip-to-hip scars and breast scars too.

To hear those words ‘it’s treatable’ changed everything. I felt lucky. I felt like I had been given a second chance, despite the circumstances. But to be told I had to do it all over again.. that was hard. I was in a very dark place for what felt like a long time. But still, I got through it and I’m still here to keep telling the tale and raising awareness.

When it came to it, I just had to trust the process and keep on. As hard as it is, finding the will was and is the most important thing.

February

I am a survivor, I am a warrior. I am surviving two attempts by breast cancer to take me from this world. In the last 16 years, I have experienced: 22 mammograms, 26 ultrasounds. countless blood tests, 6 biopsies, 6 Zoladex injections, 6 rounds of chemo, 46 rounds of radiotherapy, 4 operations, 1 breast MRI, 2 CT scans, 1 miscarriage, and aromatase inhibitors for the foreseeable future. And those are the ones I can remember.

Back in 2003, when you were in your early 30s and you found a lump, you didn’t automatically jump to breast cancer. Why would you? Especially since it hurt and the internet said it’s not cancer if it’s painful. Even more so when your GP tells you it’s not, your consultant tells you it’s not and your mammogram also says no. On the NHS, this is where my testing would have ended.

Thankfully, I had private health cover through work. Because the ultrasound said otherwise, and the biopsy confirmed it. A huge triple negative tumour the size of a chocolate muffin. I think of it as a chocolate muffin because I really do not like them! And the big bastard didn’t show up on the mammogram because of my dense breasts. Who knew that was even a thing? No blonde likes to be called dense. For any reason.

Because of the tumour’s grading, there was no time to harvest and freeze my eggs—a bitter blow for a single childless woman who had always wanted kids.I had to endure monthly Zoladex injections to shut my ovaries down, putting me into temporary menopause, chemotherapy (a smell that some hand soaps replicate making me feel sick to my stomach) steroids (helping me to put on 2 stone along with ginger biscuits), losing my hair (something I considered to be my best feature), one very long operation and weeks of radiotherapy. The vomiting, constipation, nausea and general crapiness is a memory that never leaves. But I did it. I got through it and came out the other side stronger.

I didn’t need any ongoing medication which at the time I thought was great. I didn’t realise it was because there wasn’t any that would help, leaving me to rely on luck and regular testing. There were a couple of scares along the way, one of which left me with an unfortunately positioned scar that made me rethink what clothes I could wear but still better than the alternative.

But that naivety served me well. I grew my hair back with some extra wave, lost the steroid weight, got kittens, met a man, got married, got an awesome stepson. Life was good. Very good. Until it wasn’t.

15 years later cancer decided to rear its ugly head again. I am again grateful to private health cover that allows me annual testing because otherwise, I wouldn’t have had any reason to get checked. I have had a benign lump since I can remember. It has been checked previously but to me, nothing had changed. Same size, same position. Same. The mammogram once again showed nothing. Still dense. But on the ultrasound, the lump had changed. It was a different colour which could mean lots of things including a build-up of fluid. But I knew better. I knew in my gut it was back.

This time, the tumour was oestrogen positive and in the other breast. Matching scars, yay! A different journey, but equally as harrowing. I needed two operations, the first removing the lump. The second for node removal thanks to a couple of tiny cells that had escaped into the biopsy margin. I was so sick following that operation I thought I was going to die.

The radiotherapy burnt so bad my skin peeled off and even now that breast is a different colour and size. But no chemo for which I am grateful.

To get cancer once is everyone’s nightmare. To get it twice is just shit. Did I do something bad in a previous life? Karma biting me in the arse? Words fail me. It’s really screwed with my mind. I am anxious about everything. Things that previously wouldn’t have bothered me at all. The stuff I did worry about… Well that has taken on a life of its own. Generalised Anxiety Disorder with elements of PTSD is the official diagnosis. Intolerance of Uncertainty is my biggest challenge.

I am no longer naïve but fully aware. I can no longer trust my body, which is frightening. A cancer diagnosis doesn’t end with removal of the tumour. It goes on. The gift that keeps on giving. I’m left with lymphodema in one arm and on the other side, in the wrist and breast. The hormone blockers make me feel old, my joints hurt, and I know have arthritis. It’s like I can feel the calcium being drained from my body.

But I am alive and I am here. Once again, Cancer was defeated. I still have battles to win and I fear it may be a long war, but I will always keep fighting. There is simply no alternative.

I am Survivor. I am a Warrior.

March

It was just before Summer Solstice 2017 that I attended my first mammogram invitation. I had recently moved so I needed to travel three hours for the appointment. I was in two minds. As if there should be two minds as to whether or not to have a mammogram!

I figured that it would take a while to get onto the system where I lived now, I was 52 years old and hey, it was a chance to catch up with one of my besties, Colette!

Fast forward to my results. I was called back in as they wanted to discuss what the images had shown. I had no idea what they had found. I had checked my boobs regularly and I had not felt anything, and everything seemed okay.

Colette came with me for support. We looked at the images of my R breast and could see these little flecks on the upper R side of my breast. It was Ductile Carcenoma In Situ (DCIS): the C word! Colette lightened the air with, "It looks like a star constellation!" She was right; it did and it made me smile as I love stars and star gazing! The titanium clip was removed - Titanium by David Guetta feat Sia became my theme tune for the following months!

I was told not to worry, as I would have a titanium clip put in place to act as a marker to monitor the DCIS for any sinister changes. Also, a biopsy would be taken. I joked that I would now be a titanium-titted Sparrow! (it's my surname). However, the biopsy showed cancer cells and surgery was discussed. I needed a partial mastectomy, removing a third of my breast - the breast unit I am under is pioneering, which saved my breast being removed.

The op was straightforward but to be honest it was all a bit of a haze looking back on it. I asked for distant healing and prayers from my spiritual family and community - they were a great support.

A few days before I had the dressings removed, I had a nightmare that my nipple came away in the dressing! I woke with a start and touched my chest and realised I had dreamt it. As you can imagine I was anxious before my next appointment. All was good and my surgeon and Macmillan nurse (they are amazing and so supportive - I recently did a skydive to raise funds, to give something back!) were amazed at how well I had healed and did not need another dressing.

But that was not all they had found an invasive piece of cancer! So much went through my head! What if I had not attended the mammogram invitation? Well, it would have been a different story. I am so glad I did, and I do encourage others to take the opportunity to have them. Some find a little discomfort, but it is for a fraction of a time and surely catching something early is worth it.

Thankfully, when I had my sentinel lymph node removed it showed that it had not spread. I was now adjusting to two different boobs. I called them my M n M's - Maiden and Mother boobs! I have struggled with body image for a lot of my life but felt grateful that all was well. I was able to have my L breast reduced a year and a half after radiotherapy, so now have matching boobies!

My journey with Ca has been difficult for many reasons, but in a way it has been a gift. It has enabled me to look at life differently, and reassess a lot; it has made me stronger, finally able to let go of what no longer serves me and love life even more! So, make sure you check your boobs regularly and go to your mammogram appointments!

April

Where do I start? Aged 32 and after experiencing what can only be described as stabbing pains in the left side of my chest, after numerous scans and a lot of biopsies, there it was - the words you never want to hear... YOU have cancer, which has spread throughout the left breast. Big girl pants on, it was time to fight this with all I had. First was 6 rounds of chemotherapy to try and shrink the tumours followed by a reconstructive skin-sparing mastectomy and oh my, what a wonderful new boob I had... Final outcome: stage 3 and spread to 1 lymph node. No signs of any cancer after treatment.

Age 37, right-hand breast, I felt another lump, Same process as last time but this time surgery first. I again opted for a full mastectomy; the result of the first one was so amazing and now I would have the perfect matching boobs. This was followed by another 6 sessions of chemotherapy. Final outcome - stage 2 and no lymph node involvement. No signs of any cancer after treatment. However, the results of the scan told a different story.

Age 42, this was the big one...I never in a million years thought I would ever have to deal with what was about to hit me and it hit me like a bus. A routine CT scan just to check everything. There were no concerns from my consultant as I was fit and healthy with no signs of any illness.

You have secondary liver cancer, stage 4 cancer the worst it can be, most likely spread from the first cancer. The surgeon said the outlook was not good for me and there was no cure. I remember crying the whole way home from the hospital - I wasn’t ready to die - now was not my time, I had too much to do yet. I wasn’t stupid, we all know the outlook for this is not great, but I was determined to beat this and I would do whatever it takes.

From what they could see there was only 1 tumour, so surgery was scheduled. If there were more tumours, surgery would not have been an option. The plan was to remove 1/8th of my liver and hope they didn’t find anything else. Surgery was a success and no other surprises were found so after a long recovery, more chemotherapy was scheduled - probably the hardest and most intense sessions I have had.

I am in full remission and no further signs of reoccurrence. For now, I am scanned every 6 months, alternate CT and MRI. In between all of that, I also took the genetic test and tested positive for the braca 2 gene, so to decrease any further occurrence I also had my ovaries removed.

So I am extremely thankful and blessed to be here every single day, I may not have boobs that look like everyone else’s, I don’t have any nipples, I am covered in scars, but I love who I am and I love me. These are battle scars and scars and I am very proud. It’s a constant reminder not to take anything for granted. I truly believe my positive mental attitude is what got me through all of this and of course my amazing husband, family and friends. Yes, people thought I was in denial, but I simply was just getting on with it in the best way I could and that’s with a positive mindset, but absolutely there were some very dark moments.

I’ve done some pretty crazy things since the 3rd cancer - skydiving, a 53km snowshoeing trek in the Arctic, an assault course… the list goes on. My loves are hiking, paddle boarding, being in nature, and experiencing new things. This year I am turning 50, and my husband and I have decided to take some timeout from the hamster wheel and go and enjoy ourselves, so we have sold our house and bought a motorhome and will spend the next few years travelling to… who knows where!

So, I stand up to cancer every single day... I hope I can be a glimmer of hope that cancer does not automatically mean a death sentence. Keep smiling, keep positive and most of all - live your life to the full. Don’t live with regrets - we are only here once and our lives are not a dress rehearsal.

Take the time to check yourself quickly in the shower. If you have any concerns, no matter how small a lump may feel, see you’re GP. You soon get to know what feels normal and what doesn’t. Cancer does not discriminate against age.

May

I married for the second time when I was 53 - we'd been living together for 3 years, feeling like teenagers! But a month after we married I found a small pea like lump at the bottom of my breast. My husband checked it too and we both realized what it might be. I had the consultation with my GP, then a referral for a mammogram. (They were only offered to women 60+ at the time). I had the mammogram, and a lump was found so samples were taken. It was cancer and I was booked in for surgery for December, when I had the mastectomy as well as them taking my lymph nodes out. Luckily the cancer hadn't spread any further.

There were a couple of complications and I had to go back to have skin taken away because of infection, which left a hole! Bless them, the district nurses came in daily (I was at home) to fill it with a seaweed-based dressing. It took 3 months to heal but thankfully I am alive. We're still happily married and it's coming up to16 years in October!

PS. I had to take Tamoxifen for 5 years but didn't have to have chemotherapy, because I'd caught it before it had spread. So Please always check your breasts!!

June

Excerpts from my diary over 10 years…

*I had the 2nd chemo session yesterday which left me a bit more tired and ill-tempered than the first time -3 weeks ago. Despite having cut my hair very short in the past week, the daily shower has become "much more interesting" as it has become a constant struggle against clogging the bathtub! I never realized until today that I had so much hair. Anyway, I'm already equipped with a wig (blonde!) - which I haven't worn yet - and scarves and hats.

*Here I am again after yesterday having the 4th chemo session. For those who do not know, a new mixture of medicines was used (with the beautiful name of Docetaxel). Once again, everything went well – only two more treatments to go, and if all goes well, I finish this phase in the week of Carnival.

I'm still a little bald.

*This week was the first in which things did not go “as good” as before. My daughter had flu last weekend and has passed it on to me. I started to feel bone pain (the effect of this 2nd phase of chemo) and my immune system was low so I had to have an antibiotic treatment that started right there, “directly into the vein”.

*Yesterday I had the last chemotherapy session. It went well. I already know that the next few days will be a little uncomfortable but as the surgeon said, “It's one step at a time.” I have had stomach problems as the chemo causes a lot of fluid retention and is very bloating (I am therefore gigantic). I was in pain and looked like a pregnant woman in the ninth month - I even had to sleep sitting up. Next month I will start 5 weeks of radiotherapy.

* I look like an army recruit, because my hair has already started to grow...

*Today I am going to have my 7th radiotherapy session. On the first day, I got some tattoos to line up on the machine and so I have a few more dots to add to the numerous signs. For now, I'm holding up well and my skin is still not too red or sore, just a little hot. Remember that this treatment is like a microwave which burns from the inside out! My hair continues to grow; there is an inch already and it has grown dark.

* I can't wait for the day when I'm no longer clinging to the schedule of treatments and consultations and exams. I haven’t seen my family since last April. I don’t read while I wait for the treatment because bonds are created with the people who are also waiting there. Every day, there are some that end their radiotherapy, others that start - we talk about everything, and we wait. We wait a lot… for a lot of things.

*I have finished my 25 radiotherapy treatments. I ended up with a “beautiful” scald on the right side and my skin is extremely sensitive. Clothing is uncomfortable in this area. I still need to go to the hospital to have my catheter cleaned and for the monthly injection of the anti-hormone drug. My new hair is causing "envy" in the waiting room because I already have an inch of hair and most of the others still exhibit the “billiard ball” style.

*I am having to go to hospital every day because I have open wounds in my armpit. I don't know what to wear anymore, because everything bothers me. I have to rest a little, swallowing the frustration that I’m not able to do things that I used to.

*I am having some difficulties in entering this new phase of my life. Hearing about my illness, the operation phase, then the chemo, then the radio, then the burn phase. I overcame everything and now? Now it is just waiting for years for periodic routine consultations. Every month – yes or no. In early June I discovered a small lump under the scar, in the same breast that I no longer have. Try to imagine what crossed my mind. More waiting, more biopsies. Luckily the results were negative.

*To control my anxiety, I continue with the usual anxiolytics and antidepressants. I have got used to living in a kind of limbo.

*So, the medications I took to alleviate the side effects of the other medications mean that, for the second consecutive year, I have to have an operation in September – this time on my eyes as I have a cataract.

*I have never lived far from the sea, but this year, due to radiation therapy, I cannot go to the shore. For me, there can be no sun, sand, refreshing bath or a game with my family on the beach, exploring rocks and puddles. Send me news, but I can't be here for a long time now because my eyes get tired.

*This week, I went to the routine appointment and the doctor thinks everything is OK. I will continue hormone therapy and I have weekly appointments for the next few months because we already know that these strong medications have side effects that need to be controlled. My Pap smear is fine, but the ultrasound scans of the uterus indicate changes that my gynaecologist thinks are sufficient to justify an examination and biopsy that is done under general anaesthesia. So some stress again.

*It has been 2 years since my operation and forward is the way.

*My hair is now unruly and curly!

*2 years ago I finished chemo, it is strange when all this is counted in years. And the doctor has already started talking about breast reconstruction. So March will be a month of big decisions.

* I am waiting for the plastic surgery appointment because I don't really get along with the external prosthesis: it makes me crazy and itches a lot. I am on the waiting list, but have been told by the doctor that I need to lose weight.

*Tomorrow I will have a new 'shelf', that is, I will have the breast reconstruction and close this cycle.

*Yesterday I left hospital with new boobs, lots of dressings and stitches and a cold. Everything went well! Contrary to what I thought, the recovery from a breast reconstruction is much longer than a mastectomy... There are many more stitches and more pain. There are certain movements that are difficult and many things I already did and I am unable to do again. My right arm weighs tons, my posture is different and I am learning to deal with a body that is mine, but strange.

*It is now 10 years since I went to hospital and made the first step to fight the disease that was diagnosed 10 days earlier. The first step was TO ACCEPT.

*10 years later, I AM GRATEFUL, and here I still am. Because if 10 years ago something was taken from me, much more was added. 10 years ago I finished chemo and today I finished oral chemo. About 3650 pills… Bye, Tamoxifen.

*Raise your glasses, drink and celebrate with me. Today, after almost 11 years of treatment, I was discharged by the oncological hospital (meaning I had all the BIG exams done and everything is as it is supposed to be) and so I will be followed by the normal Health Care Service the same as other women without cancer) and I am alive!

July

My name is Vanessa, and this is my Breast Cancer story. In May 2017 I was invited for my first breast screening and had a mammogram in the mobile unit situated in the car park of our local hospice - little did I know then that I would be a regular visitor to the hospice. When I received the letter to attend Luton Hospital, I didn’t think too much of it as they had told me that 1 in 10 get recalled for various reasons and it would probably be nothing to worry about. My husband offered to come with me to the appointment, but I said, “It’s not worth both of us wasting a morning, I’m sure it’s all fine.”

The waiting room was packed when I arrived and I thought, “I’m going to be here for hours,” but I was called straight in. As soon as I walked into the room, I knew something was up - there were 3 people in there, 1 of whom was a Macmillan nurse. The image of my breasts was on the computer screen and the doctor took me through what she could see. My eyes were drawn to a pure white dot in my right breast that shone like a star - it was really weird - and then they just said, “It is cancer.” The rollercoaster had begun: straight up on the couch, biopsies taken and a talk with the breast care nurse telling me what would happen.

I walked back to my car and just sat, totally stunned. I have never felt so alone.

I turned the ignition on and the radio was playing The Proclaimers - Sunshine on Leigh. I will never forget that moment and the lyrics “My heart was broken, sorrow sorrow.” I blubbed like a baby I must admit. The surgeon confirmed that it was a grade 2 IDC (Invasive Ductal Carcinoma), luckily small, but very deep and I would never have felt it until it was very advanced. Surgery was booked for two weeks’ time: wire-guided wide local excision and sentinel node biopsy. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to arrange all my treatment in one hospital so I ended up in 3 hospitals in 2 days. Monday, Hemel Hempstead to get the dye injected to show the lymph nodes, then 7.30am on Tuesday at St Albans to have a wire inserted into the tumour (bloody hell that hurt; being driven home in my husband’s pick-up truck was not funny with a piece of wire sticking out of me and my tit bouncing along).

Watford was where I then went for the surgery and got the sexy support stockings and gown on ready to go. The anaesthetists were having an argument when I got there which didn’t bode well, they then let a trainee put the mask on me to put me under and he clamped it on my face so hard I thought I was dying, I was trying to punch him and the lead anaesthetist shouted, "It's ok, I’m putting you under now," and injected me. I went out.

Luckily, I only had to stay in overnight as I couldn’t wait to get out of there. My follow-up appointment with the surgeon confirmed that the cancer hadn’t spread. Phew, what a relief. I had to have 3 weeks of radiotherapy and was started on the drug treatment which I will have to take for 5 years: oh the joy of night sweats, hot flushes and everything else that goes with it. I had a lot of support from the hospice - they helped me to deal with the feelings that everyone goes through after a cancer diagnosis. Being diagnosed with something that has killed so many wonderful women, you wonder “Why did I get away with it?”. Survivor guilt is very common apparently. They may have removed the cancer, but it never leaves your mind. There is always the dread, “Will it come back?”. Annual mammogram time is difficult, but I am one of the lucky ones. I am now 3 years clear. I have unfortunately got a lot of damaged tissue from the radiotherapy and mild lymphedema, but life goes on, and it’s better than the alternative. Please, if you are offered the opportunity to have a mammogram, take it and remember to check yourselves regularly.

August

MY JOURNEY TO BECOMING A ONE TIT WONDER

I was always curious as to why they described a cancer diagnosis as a journey, and now I understand. Each case is individual and unique. It changes your life; well, it has mine. It’s an emotional and physical rollercoaster of a ride and how each person deals with it, matters. I believe, for me, positivity was key to coping and living with this horrendous, life-threatening disease, and a sense of humour was definitely required.

My journey began on 11^th December 2018, when I was called back to Clatterbridge Breast Centre, some 10 days after a routine mammogram. As I couldn’t feel or see anything wrong with my boobs, and none of the symptoms they advise you to look out for, such as dimpling, changes in size or change in nipples were present, I arrived at my appointment pretty nonchalant, thinking they had messed up the initial mammogram and just wanted to repeat it. So, when the radiographer informed me that the doctor had called me back as he wanted to do further tests, this came as a massive shock! “What, there’s something there?” I asked. “Yes”, she replied. “What, like a lump or something?” I then asked. “Yes”, she replied. I was pretty quiet through the rest of the mammogram, as a million thoughts were running through my head, it was like a smack in the face.

A couple of minutes after the mammogram, I was called through to see the consultant, who showed me the results of the mammogram, where there was a very clear small lump in my right breast: the size of a pea. 5mm to be precise. Then he compared it with the results from previous mammograms when I was aged 48 and 50 years, which were both clear. He wouldn’t confirm whether it was cancerous or not, but performed an ultrasound biopsy and placed a marker, then advised I have a chat with the Macmillan Nurse, which I refused as I was in denial. She wouldn’t have been able to confirm anything anyway.

I left the Breast Centre after being told to come back on the 19^th December 2018 for the results. I was in a daze, trying to absorb what had just happened. The words ‘Macmillan Nurse’ kept popping into my head. They think it's cancer!

After what felt like the longest week of my life, and cancelling my flights to Florida (I was supposed to go to Mum’s for Christmas), I attended my next appointment with my brother Jason for support. It was confirmed that I had Grade 3 Triple Negative, invasive ductal carcinoma. The words hit hard, and my first thoughts were: how am I going to cope? I’m self-employed, I no longer have staff, I have big financial commitments; and finally, am I going to die! I felt like I couldn’t breathe, there were so many thoughts firing through my head.

The consultant and the Macmillan nurse put my mind at ease regarding my tumour, reassuring me that it was treatable as it had been caught early. They were reasonably confident that my lymph nodes were clear, but they would remove some for testing when they operated. They said that if it had been left another year, my story would be very different. I was then sent immediately for a CT Biopsy, as there were calcium patches in the same breast, so it could be determined whether they were pre-cancerous or not. This was needed before a decision could be made as regards lumpectomy or full mastectomy. That procedure involved being clamped into a machine while it dug around for an hour taking chunks out of my killer boob.

Christmas was somewhat of a daze for me, but my two sons were brilliant: so supportive and they made it a very special Christmas.

A week later, on 28^th December 2018, the consultant confirmed that I would need a full mastectomy as my boob was now considered a bad boob, due to the calcium patches being pre-cancerous. So I requested that he take both of my breasts off, as I’d rather have none than one, and wanted to reduce the risk of cancer appearing in the other one, as this was turning my life upside down. However, my consultant refused as it was a good boob apparently!! I personally had reached a point where I just hated my boobs and wanted both off, as they were threatening my life. So, I had to go through a psychiatric assessment before they would agree to remove the other breast, (this was booked for November 2019). Surgery was booked for 15^th January 2019, and I couldn’t wait, the 15^th couldn’t come soon enough lol.

It was around the 28^th December that I made the decision, despite my brain foggy with shock, that it was time to try and get back to my positive self; and that a step towards that was to go public on Facebook. The scary part of finding that you have cancer is that it’s so sneaky, and I had no symptoms. A key to surviving this disease is catching it early, so it was important that I raise awareness. Once I went public on Facebook, I was inundated with messages from friends and acquaintances, thanking me, saying that they hadn’t bothered attending their routine mammogram and were going to make an appointment that day!!

1:2 people now get cancer and 1:7 women get breast cancer, and that’s not including the men that get breast cancer, albeit they're rare. Since my diagnosis, I have had 3 friends diagnosed with breast cancer, 2 friends diagnosed with recurring ovarian cancer, another friend diagnosed with a sarcoma wrapped around her kidney, and one friend lost to ovarian cancer. The statistics are frightening and it affects everyone, whether through diagnosis or knowing someone who has it.

Surgery was the easy bit, and gave me huge relief in that the cancer had been removed, and my lymph nodes were confirmed clear. The only thing I would advise is don’t kneel on the drain as I did, as it pulls it out, so the fluid collects under the wound instead of draining away. This was the only ouchy bit of the surgery. My mum came to look after me (she lives in Florida). I had to wait 6 weeks to heal from the surgery before I had to face the chemotherapy, which is done as a mop up, in case any stray cells have sprayed during removal. I was also given a prosthetic breast.

I started chemotherapy in late February. I had to have 12 weekly sessions of Paclitaxel, followed by 4 fortnightly sessions of EC chemotherapy (Epirubicin and Cyclophosphamide. Triple Negative Breast Cancer is an aggressive cancer: I was lucky they caught it early, but it also meant that they had to treat it aggressively. Most of the time while I was on chemotherapy, I wouldn’t feel like seeing or speaking to anyone as I felt so poorly, and sure there were moments, whereby I would think, I don’t think I’m going to make it, or I don’t want to continue with chemotherapy anymore. Then I’d quickly remind myself of friends who had gotten through it, and the support I received on my Facebook posts would inspire me to carry on. It’s tough but it’s definitely doable. My advice to anyone facing the challenge of chemotherapy, as daunting as it is, is: face it head on, and condition your brain that it’s a blip, it’s not forever, and on a positive note, you will get through it.

Following my diagnosis, I was advised by my consultant that I would be unable to work, so I had to apply for state benefits to live on during my treatment. It took months to receive any money at all because I was self-employed, and that’s when the effects of my diagnosis really began to take effect. I received an eviction notice from my landlord a few weeks after I started chemotherapy, for non-payment of rent. It was at this point that I broke. I literally sobbed for an hour!! I had been relying on my mum who lives off a pension to feed me, and had hoped and prayed that I would receive at least some housing benefit to help me with my rent, before it reached this stage, to no avail. I was going through chemotherapy and about to be rendered homeless!

The majority of my family live in the United States and Oman, so although they were aware of my cancer diagnosis, they weren’t aware of my financial situation. Because I’m usually fiercely independent, I find it hard to ask for help. However, once I received the eviction notice, my father contacted all my siblings, and they all started to help me out financially. I was able to get my rent back up to date and ease some of the stress.

Although I had a meltdown on receipt of the eviction notice, it became clear to me that perhaps moving house would be a fresh start, a new beginning even. Prior to my diagnosis, I had been working crazy hours, taken on too many financial commitments and and had some family problems. I was stressed to the hilt and hadn’t been feeling particularly well for a number of years with stress-related problems. The diagnosis had forced me to stop and take stock, and the eviction was perhaps a start of new beginnings. Everything began to come clear.

Moving house was tough, as I was literally useless; the chemotherapy had floored me, my hands weren’t working properly, my nails were lifting and catching, and I could barely walk. I managed to pack a box a day in the couple of months leading up to the move, so a lot of the packing was done, but I was unable to lift or carry, as I was well and truly zapped by the time move day came in May. My brother Jason and my friends literally moved me from one house to another, and I feel truly blessed with the support that I received. I don’t know what I would have done without them! My friends and my son even redecorated and cleaned my new home ready for me to move into!

I had my final chemotherapy treatment on 6^th August 2019, and I’m still recovering a year on. I have days where I can climb mountains, and yet still have days where I can barely walk up the stairs. Very frustrating, and there is no way I could hold down a full-time job yet. My hair started to grow back slowly 6 weeks post-chemo, and has come back very different; my ringlets appear to be extinct, and my eyebrows came back white!! Thank goodness for eyebrow dye and eyebrow microblading!.

The great news is that the psychologist has recommended that they take my left breast off, when they do reconstruction, (this was supposed to happen in August 2020), but Covid has delayed everything. Whilst I’m still unable to work, I have decided to re-invent myself, as the whole experience has forced me to take stock of what I want for my future. Travel is a massive on the agenda, so I am presently studying various TEFL courses, (Teaching English as a Foreign Language). I can travel with this job and even teach online from anywhere in the world, and I’m learning to speak Spanish.

As positive as I am, I don’t know how I would have survived this ordeal without the support of my family, friends and the nurses and doctors at Clatterbridge Hospital. Even acquaintances that I least expected came out of the woodwork and helped me in one way or another, and I don’t know how I’ll ever be able to thank them enough. I have been totally blown away by the kindness of so many.

September

I woke up one morning, at 28 years old, and my nipple was bleeding. That’s where the story begins. I was not yet of age for a routine mammogram, yet here I was. Now, four years later, I’ve had three surgeries to remove one mass and two lesions.

Healing from something such as this isn’t linear. It’s a messy, complex roller coaster of scans, biopsies and surgeries. It’s complications, it’s good news, and bad news. It’s also a threat to womanhood, to what makes us 'sexy'. To speak of it is going against the grain. We’re told to be silent yet we know that our words can save lives.

So, I speak. This body has lived a million lifetimes. I even survived a pregnancy! I was able to breastfeed my daughter for two weeks. Talk about a miracle. There are more surgeries ahead of me; I’m only 7 weeks postpartum. But I don’t look ahead. I look at what the day brings. Just as I did the day my nipple began to bleed.

October

I was diagnosed with breast cancer at the age of 42 and I'm now 55, so I'm 13 years on. Treatment was a difficult struggle in a patriarchal health system which tells us what we should and will have done to us... rather than asking us what we would choose to happen.

I made myself unpopular when I refused chemo and dangerous drugs, based on my own knowledge and research (I was in the middle of a nursing degree) and my gut instinct. I was accused of refusing chemo because I was being precious about losing my hair!

Rather than taking toxic drugs, I chose to have my ovaries removed to stop me from producing oestrogen.

The result was immediate menopause and rapid weight gain. It has taken the ensuing years and a lot of work on myself to accept my body for the beautiful thing it is: to love it and nurture it, despite its many lumps and scars.

November

The night I found the lump, lying in bed with my son, is forever etched in my memory. As is the moment they told me it was cancer. Words I never imagined hearing. I had always been in exceptional health and there is no history of breast cancer in my family. so I had foolishly never checked my breasts.

I had a mastectomy three weeks later and an immediate reconstruction using my belly fat. I had numerous drains dangling from my huge wounds, was unable to move much or get comfy without assistance, couldn't stand up straight for weeks and was unable to eat as I was so nauseous and horrendously constipated.

I had the lymph nodes removed from the affected armpit a few weeks later and was left with a grapefruit-sized swelling under my arm for months. I embraced an integrative holistic healing programme, and the diagnosis and reminder of my own mortality was a major wake-up call. I felt gratitude for my blessings in a way I’d never actually felt before. It’s strange to think about your life in terms of how many years you have left, but this is how they speak to you with the five- and 10-year goalposts. I knew I had to get my kids to adulthood so I needed to make 10 years at least. Getting older became an achievement to aim for rather than something to fear and resist.

I also realised how much time I've wasted body shaming myself - losing one of my beautiful breasts helped me to realise what a wonder my body is. Remember to check your breasts - the tumour in my breast was six centimetres. I also missed another important sign - my left nipple had started to become inverted. I had no idea it was a symptom of breast cancer so I would like to draw attention to this as something for other women to be aware of.

December

My journey began four years ago, when I had to undergo a major brain operation called a foramen magnum decompression. This operation was to help alleviate symptoms from two related conditions, Arnold Chiari (also known as a hindbrain hernia) and syringomyelia, where a cyst in my spine was putting pressure on my spinal cord. Without this operation, I could’ve ended up being paralysed. Whilst the op itself went well, I had complications which resulted in five further procedures. I’m now left with a meningocele in my brain and a shunt to keep the pressure under control.

As this wasn’t enough to cope with, I was diagnosed with two types of breast cancer in March 2017 (whilst I was in the middle of my brain operations); ductal carcinoma in situ and triple-negative breast cancer, the most aggressive type of breast cancer. Mastectomy, chemotherapy and radiotherapy then followed. I was fortunate to be able to have breast reconstruction surgery last September, two years after diagnosis. In total, I’ve had 11 operations in the past 4 years.

It’s certainly been challenging, but, being a positive person, I’ve tried to always push on with a smile on my face! My standard retort, when people asked me how I was doing and how well I looked, considering, was, "Well it’s amazing what a bit of blusher can do!"

It’s a bit of a cliché but when something like this happens - when you’re potentially staring death in the face - you certainly re-evaluate life, what and who are important to you. And oh, the simple joys, like walking barefoot in the grass, feeling sunshine on your face, summer rain on your skin. I don’t think that will ever leave me. There is nothing more important than your health; it enables you to live life to its fullest and sadly too many take it for granted.

So why am I getting involved in this project? Well first and foremost, of course, it’s to raise awareness. Ladies, check your boobies regularly!!! I had previously had a couple of lumps which turned out to be nothing; I had lumpy breasts apparently! So when my cancerous lump appeared, I wasn’t concerned for about a month. I thought I’d see what happened... but it grew quickly and then I noticed the puckering too and by that time, the cancer was too large to warrant a lumpectomy, so the whole breast had to come off...and oh! Did I forget to mention that it had spread to my lymph nodes too?! So they were all removed...leaving me with lymphoedema.

To start with, losing my breast was a relief, just to get rid of the cancer, but after living with being flat on one side and after coping with a constantly moving prosthesis, I started to feel like a freak. I lost my femininity, my confidence, at least on the inside, on the outside, the blusher was doing its job still ;-). I was soooo bloody thankful to have reconstruction, with a new boob made from my belly, of which I had plenty to spare, thanks to 2 big babies and 2 caesareans! I LOVE my belly boob!

The icing on the cake was the chemo sending me into early, chemically-induced menopause! Which really sucks! My internal thermometer is well and truly knackered! I mean, I simply no longer have a temperature regulator... it’s no bloody fun I can tell you! Oh, and no libido! But that’s ok, cos I’m permanently exhausted now anyway! BUT...I’m still here! (as my husband says, he just can’t get rid of me!). My body might not be pretty, but oh my god, does it tell a story! Every single scar is like a medal to me - I’m proud of them! They tell the story of my life, my fight, my survival.

Finally, I’ve got to tell you, I simply couldn’t have got through all this without my AMAZING family & friends. I have the world’s best husband and mother in law, who nursed me at my very lowest (yep, there were a few moments). I simply cannot put into words how much I’m grateful to my loved ones, for their care, their unwavering support, their faith in me that I’d pull through, and I did - I have - older and hopefully a bit wiser. I’m different, I can feel it and I’m learning to love this new me, although I’d quite like to lose some of my wobbly bits!
So... after all this rambling - we are all precious, unique, beautiful in our own way and so is life. Live it and be the best you.

Coppafeel!

Coppafeel! is a registered charity in England and Wales (1132366) and Scotland (SC045970

CoppaFeel! was founded in 2009 by Kris Hallenga and her twin sister Maren, after Kris was diagnosed with incurable (stage 4 / secondary) breast cancer at the age of 23.

Sadly, Kris died in 2024. However, CoppaFeel! are committed to honouring her legacy by continuing to spread their chest-checking message.

Coppafeel! say:
"We’re actively inclusive in our language and we ask people how they want to be described... the word ‘chest’ is inclusive of all bodies and genders. When we need to be clinically accurate we use the word ‘breast’. You might prefer to call your chest something else, and that’s ok!

People of all ages and genders can get breast cancer. If found early, breast cancer is very treatable and survival rates are higher. So, get to know what’s normal for you and check yourself every month."

Follow the link to watch their guide on how to check yourself and familiarise yourself with the cyclical changes that can occur in your breasts. That means you will know what's normal for you - and can act quickly when you feel something that isn't.

How to Check Your Chest

Wigs For Heroes

Kaz Foccette was diagnosed with Stage 2 Grade 3, HER2 positive Breast Cancer on 2nd May 2017 at the age of 31. After discovering she'd lose her hair as a result of chemotherapy, Kaz noticed there was a severe lack of support and financial services for wigs and wig care. She founded Wigs for Heroes in 2018, and today, as well as supporting people with wig grants, the charity distributes comforting pamper bags filled with beauty and hygiene products to bring smiles to people.

Find out more at: www.wigsforheroes.org

Registered Charity Number: 1177051

Read Kaz's story below.

Before treatment started, I was asked if I wanted to freeze embryos. On top of cancer, infertility was another worry. I froze 11 embryos in total and was happy that if I was left infertile after treatment, I’d at least have a backup if I ever wanted kids in future.

My treatment was brutal. It included chemotherapy, a lumpectomy, radiotherapy, then finishing off with 18 rounds of Herceptin. I lost count of my hospital admissions. Those were mentally the worst moments of it all. where I’d feel as though I was losing; the hair loss didn’t even affect me as much as those admissions did.

About 6 months after completing treatment, in the midst of moving on and getting my life back on track, the cancer came back. I couldn’t believe it. I was devastated.

It was a local recurrence, meaning it hadn’t spread and it was deemed treatable. But I had to have a full mastectomy this time. Surgery that would leave me with hip-to-hip scars and breast scars too.

To hear those words ‘it’s treatable’ changed everything. I felt lucky. I felt like I had been given a second chance despite the circumstances. But to be told I had to do it all over again... that was hard.

I was in a very dark place for what felt like a long time. But still, I got through it and I’m still here to keep telling the tale and raising awareness.

When it came to it, I just had to trust the process and keep on. As hard as it is, finding the will was and is the most important thing

Breast Cancer: What to Look For When You Check Your Chest

The guide below is courtesy of Coppafeel!, who say:

"Many of the signs of breast cancer are changes you would only notice by seeing how your chest looks. We recommend coppin’ a feel AND taking a look during your checks.

The area that can be affected by breast cancer reaches all the way up to your collarbones and underneath your armpits. Check this whole area each time. This is the same for all genders."