following week for the MRI.
‘The cancer is grade three,’ the consultant explained. ‘That means it’s fierce. The lump is the size of a golf ball, but it’s quite contained at the top of the breast.’
They didn’t think it had spread, so I was booked in for an operation to remove just the lump.
On 13 March I had a lumpectomy, and some of my lymph glands were removed as a precaution.
‘If there’s any risk of you not getting it all, just take my breasts,’ I instructed the surgeon first.
But when I woke up I still had both of my breasts, and because the surgeon had gone in through the nipple to remove the lump, my breast looked OK.
To make sure there were no microscopic cancer cells still lurking, on 28 April I began a course of chemotherapy.
Each session left me poorly and bedridden, unable to look after the girls.
Mum, Perry, my auntie and Perry’s mum Fiona were brilliant. But the girls needed their mum.
It broke my heart that I couldn’t bathe my Evelyn and put her to bed, but it also made me more determined to beat breast cancer.
I wore a cold cap for the chemo, which meant I only lost about 60 per cent of my hair.
I’ve recently finished radiotherapy and I’ve just started hormone drugs, which together will mean the chance of the cancer returning is only about 20 per cent.
And in November, my doctors are talking about me starting ovarian suppression.
It’s a treatment that stops the production of oestrogen, which stimulates some breast cancers to grow.
I’m scared, but trying to be positive, too.
In the future I’m hoping to start my own campaign to raise awareness for breast cancer in younger women.
I want to encourage women of all ages, young and old, to check their breasts.
Being diagnosed with a deadly cancer while pregnant has made me value my life with the girls, and appreciate the little things...
Whether it’s watching Evelyn as she learns to roll over and grab things, or singing and dancing along to songs with Macie.
I’m determined to make the most of every single second!