Real Life: What I’ve learnt about living with cancer

Last year, Jessica Pryce-Jones, 57, was given a devastating diagnosis. She and her husband David share their story

The diagnosis

On Monday, 31 July 2017, at 2pm, I went for a routine mammogram screening. I’d scooted to the clinic on my moped and couldn’t find anywhere to park.

A couple of minutes later, I ran up four flights of stairs. Breathless, I introduced myself to the receptionist and was immediately shown in.

The radiographer carefully positioned me on the machine, took the images and, telling me I would have to wait at least 20 minutes, she led me back to the waiting room. But before I’d even found my phone at the bottom of my bag, she’d come back. ‘You need an ultrasound straight away,’ she said, before leading me into a different darkened room.

My head was pounding. My limbs felt heavy. Opposite the door were large screens with both mammograms on them. Even my unqualified eye could see the tumour.

Last time I’d had a scan was when I was pregnant, decades before. Then it was exciting, but now I was sweating and absolutely terrified.

The radiologist efficiently squeezed gel over my right breast and told me that the tumour was about 12mm big, and that its shape was not good news. Then I had a biopsy. She inserted an unbelievably long needle into my right breast twice. It felt and sounded like I was being stapled.

Then it was back to the consultant, who explained that he thought the tumour was aggressive – that’s what the biopsy results would show. He said that I should come back on Friday for the full results.

Dazed, I walked out and called my husband, David. I could tell he was choosing his words carefully, wanting to support me. Then I called my mother on holiday in Wales. She immediately asked if she should come to London. After that I sat for another 45 minutes, just shaking.

Back at home I phoned my children. I called Kitty, 23, first. She burst into tears and said she’d come over at once. I called Harry, 26, who lives in New York. He said he’d get on the first plane. Then I called Jack, 28, travelling in Albania. He said he was driving back straight away.

The first weekend

With all my family around me, telling me how well I was doing, I was overwhelmed. Because in fact I wasn’t doing well. I couldn’t breathe. I sobbed on my bed and couldn’t stop. My family came in one at a time to try and console me. Then Kitty did for me what I’ve always done for her. She ran me a bath.

I discovered that I like voice messages, short visits and small gifts. The best help was my mother who started to cook non-stop. Many people asked