And our world caves in .......

What I think is a visit to my consultant for a hysterectomy wound check is quickly quashed ... I leave Kev downstairs to grab a coffee and wait for me, as he usually does when I have appointments. As soon as I get into the consultation room and see (a) no consultant I recognise (b)a nurse (c) an extra doctor (just in case one wasn't enough), I guess I know something isn't quite right.

A total hard-hitter, the consultant asks me straight away "Do you know why you're here?" to which I reply, of course, for my wound check. (does he think I lost my brain as well as my womb??) No such luck. He then informs me that the biopsies have come back and have shown a large rare sarcoma in the fibroid, known as a leiomyosarcoma. Because it's so rare, I've been referred to the Royal Marsden, one of the best cancer hospitals in the world, which specialises in rare sarcomas. CT and PET scans are arranged before the nurse asks if I am alone.

True to form, Kev has turned his mobile off so we have to go down and locate him. He knows as soon as he sees me that things aren't right and hugs me tight but we go through things with the nurse before heading home with the horrifing task of telling the family the news. That opened the floodgates - how on earth can we go and tell our three wonderful children that I have cancer, after all I've gone through over the last couple of years? I'm numb.

Telling them isn't quite as traumatic as it could have been. Each of our children takes it on board in their own way but it's heartbreaking for me as a mum to watch. Telling my parents is another ordeal and watching my mum's face crumple as she fights to stay calm will stay with me forever.

But we are in this together, as a family and as a family we will take each day as it comes.

Day 10 and onwards .....

So, staples removed and finally able to get a little more comfortable. Still tired and spaced out and resting for the majority of the day. Have strict instructions not to do anything, so I'm doing as I was told (for once). I came home with a carrier bag full of meds, which had to be sorted out each day - that was left to Kev as my brain couldn't cope! All my concoctions are decanted lovingly into shot glasses - minus the alcohol! Not even allowed into the kitchen to cook - now this I definitely could get used to!

If someone had told me just six months' ago that I'd be facing the biggest battle of my life, I'd be forgiven for thinking they'd lost the plot. I was seriously ill and things were about to be taken out of my hand. The fibroid which I'd been nurturing for a couple of years had now grown to the size of a six month old fetus and having lost a load of weight, I wasn't amused at regressing over twenty years to look pregnant!

Years of gynae problems and a severe lack of any kind of normal life finally landed me in hospital at the end of February 2014 and the beginning of my journey into the world of oncology....

Feeling so lousy I couldn't stand, severely anaemic and totally exhausted, I was admitted one evening with the expectation of hopefully finally being sorted out before being discharged home. I should have know that things don't always go to plan. Septicaemia had raged through my body and although I knew I was ill, I had no idea just how bad until we were told after that if I hadn't come in that night, I would have died. Hm, that one made me stop and think. The fibroid had rotted internally and had been slowly poisoning me. The next few days were a blur of extremely high temperatures, drips and morphine as the staff tried to stablise me before I could have a TAH with BSO (total abdominal hysterectomy with bi-lateral salpingo-oopherectomy - nice!) So, I went down to theatre at 10.30 am with a bump and came to with a huge stapled scar that resembled a train track! Famous last words from my surgeon "We're 99% sure it won't be cancerous but it'll be sent to the lab anyway".

Well, that was just asking for trouble, wasn't it?