A cancer diagnosis carries a stigma that I’d like to help change; it’s no longer the death sentence it used to be, it just needs to be caught early.

My story written by my fabulous friend:-

I don’t think I’ve ever known anyone stronger than my friend and colleague Lucy!! When I think about everything she’s been through over the past couple of years, it honestly leaves me speechless. She’s the kind of person who doesn’t just survive—she finds a way to fight, to keep going, even when the odds seem impossible.

It all started in January 2022. She’d gone for a routine smear test, and the nurse casually asked if she was “breast aware.” That night, lying in the bath, she decided to check. That’s when she found it. A lump in her right breast. She felt it, and even though she tried to tell herself it was nothing, deep down, she knew.

But instead of going to the doctor, she did what so many of us would do, she talked herself out of it. She was scared. Scared of being told it was nothing and feeling silly, scared of wasting anyone’s time. For months, she carried that fear quietly, all the while running her best half marathon in May, hitting a PB of 1 hour 51, the fittest she’d ever been.

Then, in June, she felt it again. This time, she told her husband, Martin, and asked him to check. He felt it too. That was the moment she knew she couldn’t ignore it anymore. She booked an appointment, and within weeks, she was at the breast clinic for scans, ultrasounds, and a biopsy.

I can still hear her telling me about the day she got the call back. July 13th, 2022—she sat across from the consultant and heard the words no one ever wants to hear: “It’s cancer.” Stage 2, ER-positive, HER-negative. She knew in her gut before he said it, but hearing it out loud felt like her world stopped.

The days that followed were a blur. She had to decide between a lumpectomy or mastectomy, knowing she’d definitely need radiotherapy and hormone therapy for 10 years, and possibly chemo. She walked back to the car with Martin that day and didn’t cry—not because she wasn’t scared, but because she didn’t know how to. How do you process something like that? How do you tell your mum, your children? She dreaded making those calls more than the diagnosis itself.

She and Martin decided not to tell the children unless chemo became necessary. Sophie was 9, Jack was just 5. At their age, cancer was a word they only associated with loss, and she couldn’t bear to put that fear into their little hearts and minds. So she carried it quietly. She put her head down and got on with it, all the while fighting the thoughts that crept in late at night—the fear of dying, of not being there to watch her children grow up, of leaving Martin to raise them alone.

Her lumpectomy was booked for August 12th—Jack’s 6th birthday. While most parents would be planning parties, she was heading into surgery to remove the lump and two lymph nodes. That morning, she broke down in front of the anesthetist, admitting just how scared she was. She came home that night, sore and exhausted, and binged Bridgerton as if it might be the one thing to keep her sane.

And then, in true Lucy style, just 4 weeks after her operation, she ran the Great North Run. Who does that!!Thirteen. Point. One. Miles. Most people would still be recovering, but not her. She needed to prove to herself that cancer hadn’t won, to take back some control and do something she loves. It was reckless, and she knew it, but it was also her therapy. It left her so ill she could barely move for a week, but she says she’d do it all over again and it was totally worth it.

Radiotherapy started in November. Two weeks of daily treatments that left her drained, but she powered through, leaning on cancer support services and the quiet therapy of those who showed up for her when she truly needed them. When she rang the bell to mark the end of her treatment, it was bittersweet. She was grateful, yes, but also haunted by what she’d endured.

It wasn’t until months later that the weight of it all hit her like tonne of bricks . She’d held it together for so long—for Martin, for the kids, for herself—but eventually, it became too much. Her mental health crumbled. She was exhausted in every way possible. Somehow, bit by bit , day by day she found her way back. Daily walks on the beach, staring out at the sea, became her salvation. She let the waves carry her fears for a while, and slowly, she began to heal.

Now, two years on, she’s turning everything she’s been through into something exciting and bigger than herself. For her 40th birthday this year, she wanted to do something extraordinary. She applied for the Coppafeel Trek, five days of trekking across the Isle of Skye with Giovanna Fletcher, raising awareness for breast cancer and showing the world what survival looks like. Out of thousands of applicants, she was chosen.

She’ll tell you she’s “lucky,” that others have it worse, but I see her for what she really is , a warrior. Someone who faced the darkest parts of life and came out the other side fighting.

KFM.

* Coppafeel was founded by Kris Hallenga. She was 23 when she was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer. She decided to set up the charity to raise awareness of breast cancer primarily in young adults and they go around universities, festivals etc doing so. After a 10 year battle Kris sadly passed away last year. Her story is moving, heart breaking but powerful and inspiring. She was one hell of a woman! You can watch ‘Living Every Second: The Kris Hallenga Story’ on bbc iplayer.

CoppaFeel! are the UK’s only youth focused breast cancer awareness charity, and we’re on a mission to get every 18-24 year old checking their chest.

We educate people on the signs and symptoms of breast cancer and encourage them to check their chests regularly, so that if they notice something unusual they are empowered to contact their GP and advocate for themselves. We do this because when diagnosed early and accurately, breast cancer treatments are more effective and survival rates are higher. Early detection truly can save lives.