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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.

Coming home meant starting over with a new team of strangers in white coats - consultants, nurses, social workers - none of whom knew me or my quirks. Laurel House quickly became my safe place, a rhythm of bloods, tea breaks, and steady reassurance.