You have Breast Cancer.

I was first diagnosed back in 2015. I'd found a small lump that kept niggling at me. It took a while, but eventually I went to the hospital for a mammogram.

An ultrasound and a biopsy later, I was pulled into a room with a Breast Surgeon and a Breast Cancer nurse.

You have Breast Cancer. The words no one wants to hear.

I was on my own. No support.

The surgeon wasn't my kind of surgeon. He started by showing me photos of women he'd operated on. How good his mastectomy results were. How proud he was.

That was my introduction to Breast Cancer. A large tumour. A mastectomy.

I needed a CT scan to understand more. Instead of waiting two weeks, I asked for a private scan a few days later.

A friend picked me up from the hospital. I was in bits. Shock. Grief. Fear.

Later that day, my dad told me to get a referral to the Royal Marsden, a specialist cancer hospital in London. I had no idea I could choose where I was treated.

A few phone calls later, I had a referral to see a Breast Surgeon there.

The CT scan confirmed a large mass in my right breast. I did need a mastectomy. But it looked like DCIS, meaning it hadn't spread. I was incredibly lucky.

It's hard to explain what I was feeling. I was 40. Single. Fit. I felt good. I felt young.

Cancer didn't feel real. I couldn't get my head around it, so I focused on what was in front of me. The mastectomy.

The outcome mattered to me. I was a fit, young(ish) woman.

The new surgeon was matter-of-fact. And very good. After lots of appointments with the plastics team, I chose a double mastectomy and reconstruction.

The first lesson I learnt : you get to direct your own treatment.

I believe the best outcomes come from that. Trusting your own judgement. Listening to your gut.

The surgery went well. I started to recover.

Two weeks later, the biopsy results came in. My tumour was a whopping 15cm. Over half of it was invasive.

MRIs followed. It didn't look like it had spread. But the size and type of tumour changed my treatment. The chance of it coming back was high.

So, chemotherapy and radiation. Nearly a year of treatment.

Cold caps. Nausea. Recovery.

You get through it. You come back to yourself.

You don't let yourself think about it coming back. You have to believe it won't.

Hormone therapy begins.

A new normal ensues.