Diagnosis

I thought the hospital looked like a spaceship. I didn’t realise I was about to be launched into medical chaos. Hindsight says: you don’t get express service at A&E for nothing.

Everything blurred – time, words, reality. Ben tensed, Mum nodded, and I drifted somewhere else. This wasn’t happening. But it was.

The diagnosis was clear. The future? Not so much. But in that hospital room, wrapped in my dad’s arms, I finally understood just how serious this was.

I was 23, terrified, and making decisions that could save or shorten my life. Science was suddenly everything – statistics, trials, survival rates. And I was just trying to keep my head above water.

A single sentence shattered the picture I’d always carried in my heart: I might never be a mum. And suddenly, the life I’d imagined had an asterisk beside it.

It’s a bit like dating, really – you can clock the bad vibes early on, but to truly know what you’re dealing with, you’ve got to dig a little deeper. Unfortunately, in this case, “digging deeper” means a giant needle to the hip bone.

It’s strange, the things you learn when life falls apart. One of the biggest lessons? You find out who really shows up - not just for the easy stuff, but for the terrifying, messy, unfixable bits.

They say everything happens for a reason. Sometimes, that reason arrives quietly – in the form of a person who changes everything. For me, that person was Liz.

It started with strands. Then clumps. Then silence. I sat in the shower, my mother’s eyes fixed on the floor, as my hair slipped away with the soapy water. This was the moment cancer stopped being invisible. Now, the world could see it too.

They couldn’t fix it. Couldn’t take it away. But my family – loud, loyal, and a little mad – made sure we never felt alone. Even if it meant my face ended up on every fundraising bucket in Ballymena.

They weren’t just nurses - they were lifelines. They held me through the worst nights and never flinched. They knew my veins better than I did. They timed my anti-sickness meds like magic. And they still made me laugh… even mid-sick bowl.

Some dates stay with you forever. June 30, 2009: the day a waterslide collision led to my first kiss with the boy who'd become my husband. Ten years later, cancer had rewritten everything - but it didn’t stop me planning the day we’d been dreaming of all along.

I planned most of our wedding before I even got sick. At the time, it felt like madness. Later, it felt like fate. Because when the chaos hit, it gave me something to focus on. A promise to myself: there’s more life after this.

Everyone else had This Is Me. I had Hugh Jackman belting From Now On while I lay in a bubble bath trying to forget about chemo. Not the soundtrack of survival anyone expected, but it worked for me.

I swore I’d never get a wig… until I found myself in a tiny boutique full of colour and character. An hour later, I walked out with hair, a grin, and a new mission: fix Scotland’s ginger wig shortage.

Cancer didn’t just change my body – it rewired who I was. The rigors, the PICC line scars, the nights I wasn’t sure I’d make it till morning – they’re still with me. But what defined me wasn’t the pain, it was the clarity: the love, resilience, and perspective that carried me through.

From the outside, it looked like closure: remission, family reunions, milestones waiting to be marked. But the shadow of cancer doesn’t just vanish on command – it lingers.

I became a model patient. The poster girl for Keep calm and carry on. Everyone thought it was strength. But it wasn’t. It was a lie I told myself to survive.

Dorothy was right, you know. There really is no place like home. For me, that meant Northern Ireland in autumn - cosy jumpers, hot chocolate, and the smell of peat fires in the air. But no matter how safe it looked from the outside, the shadow of cancer was still there, tucked into every thought and ache.

At 24, I finally learned to drive – with Dad’s temper, Mum as referee, and a car I’d bought before even passing the test. One year on from diagnosis, the road finally felt wide open.