Eight months ago I was a normal married mum-of-two, juggling a rewarding full-time job as a journalist with the usual parent taxi duties.
I ate home-cooked meals, enjoyed a couple of glasses of red wine at the weekend and tried to get out for a run two or three times a week.
Healthy, fit, happy. Playing by the rules.
Then at the beginning of March, just before my 45th birthday, I found a lump in my right breast.
Within days – and after a mammogram, an ultrasound and a biopsy – medics warned me there was a “strong suspicion” of cancer.
A succession of very concerned-looking nurses and doctors told me to try not to worry ahead of the formal diagnosis. Aye right, OK.
That night – alone in a hotel room in Glasgow – I was a wreck. My mind was racing, thinking about loved ones I had lost to cancer, mentally composing letters to my kids, my husband; planning my funeral.
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Publish date : 2024-09-14 15:46:00
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