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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.