My cancer story...
In July 2020 while I was 36 weeks pregnant with my first child and Scotland was in the thick of the Covid-19 pandemic, I was given the terrifying news that I had skin cancer.
After a smooth sickness-free pregnancy I was dealt the cruel blow just three weeks before I was due to welcome my baby boy into the world.
I’d called my doctor after noticing a lump on a large, dark freckle on my right leg which had grown in size and was referred to Glasgow’s Queen Elizabeth University Hospital where it was cut out and sent for testing.
When doctors called me in they confirmed it was malignant melanoma.
I’ll never forget hearing those words, not,‘I’m sorry, you have skin cancer’but what came next,‘we have to get that baby out now’.
Within a week I was admitted to the maternity ward to be induced. I had no choice. It was just as well I didn’t have a birth plan as there was no time to get my head around anything.
What came next was a rollercoaster ride of trauma and tears as I navigated my way through the biggest health battle of my life – and all during a global pandemic.
As a journalist I’m used to writing about brave inspirational people battling life-threatening conditions, now I needed to be the brave one.
On July 24 our little hero Leo was born three weeks premature by emergency C-section, weighing 7lbs and 2oz.
The hardest pill to swallow at first was being robbed of a natural birth and the warm fuzzy time that comes after because I was wheeled off for a pre-op CT scan; scared, still paralysed from a double epidural.
Even more worrying, my placenta had to be sent away for testing and Leo had to undergo a liver ultrasound to make sure the cancer hadn’t spread to him. Thankfully Leo was given a clean bill of health. But with it now being dangerous for my immune system to be lowered in any way – as it increases the risk of the cancer coming back – there’s now a question mark over whether it’s safe enough to expand our family in the future.
This was heartbreaking to hear. It’s difficult to comprehend it might not be safe for me to ever fall pregnant again.
In those precious first months as a new mum, feelings of immense pride and joy for my beautiful new bundle were muted by fear, stress and anxiety as a dark cloud of uncertainty threatened my life.
Coming face to face with my own mortality isn’t something I thought I’d ever experience at 36 years of age.
For me it was like a switch in my brain flicked and the shock, disbelief and panic I initially felt quickly flipped and I went into survival mode.
Just a couple of weeks after giving birth I was set to go under the knife again to check for further spread.
A wide area of skin across my leg and knee was also removed and more tests showed the cancer had spread so I started a year-and-a-half targeted immunotherapy treatment to help my immune system attack the cancer.
I had two sessions at the Beatson before things took a terrifying turn yet again after finding a lump the size of a marble close to my groin scar just before Christmas.
It hit me like a ton of bricks. I genuinely thought this was it, I was going to die.
After getting through the nightmare that was 2020 I found myself back under the surgeon’s knife shortly after New Year for a complete lymph node dissection, leaving me with my fourth battle scar, lifelong swelling and numbness and poor mobility in my right leg.
So after three major surgeries in my first six months of motherhood, an emergency stay in hospital with a cellulitis infection, countless Covid tests and vaccinations, four months immobile, and a new fear of the sun, I was finally given some good news at Easter – my latest scan was clear and, now, nearly three years post-diagnosis I’m still cancer free.
But with a long road of scans and skin checks still ahead of me, and the constant threat of the cancer coming back before I reach the‘five-year all-clear’, I can’t stress enough the importance of early detection.
I’ll never know how, when or why this happened to me, if my pregnancy accelerated things, or if there’s more I could have done to avoid all this – like wearing a higher factor sunscreen.
You just never think it will happen to you. But cancer does, to one in two people.
And two women a day get melanoma in and around pregnancy.
Now I know exactly how high risk I am and the extra protection I need to take in the sun. So please don’t hesitate to get anything unusual on your skin checked, don’t use sunbeds and, if you’re fair like me, get the factor 50 on even in Scottish summertime –your life could depend on it.
I count myself lucky I was so far on in my pregnancy that Leo was delivered safe and healthy, that I was able to get the treatment I needed and wasn’t forced to make a life or death decision. I’ll be eternally grateful that as a new mum I was rushed through for every scan, test, surgery and treatment when our incredible NHS was stretched to the limit fighting Covid.
It feels so unfair this had to happen at a time that was supposed to be the happiest of my life; you feel like it’s been stolen from you.
But positivity just shines from our little Leo. I couldn’t have asked for a happier, funnier, more beautiful smiley wee boy.
I couldn’t have done this without him.
And someday, I hope, when he’s older I’ll be able to tell him that just by being born, he saved my life.
One day I’ll tell him that just by being born he saved my life