Chapter 1
The Lump That Changed Everything
I've Found A Lump!
November 19th. A quiet moment under the covers with my husband turned into something else entirely.
“What’s that?” he asked softly, his hand resting on my left breast.
I felt it too - a hard lump, like a plum tomato had wedged itself under my skin. I sat bolt upright. Yep, still there. Unmistakable.
I hadn’t been checking my breasts regularly - something I’m not proud to admit. My bra had been uncomfortable lately, but I’d just adjusted things and moved on. Turns out, the lump was right under my breast where the underwire sat. I might have been “shuftying” that lump for weeks without knowing.
The weekend that followed was agony. My brain spiralled with “what ifs.” I kept telling myself not to worry - but deep down, I knew something wasn’t right.
The Breast Clinic
Monday couldn’t come fast enough. By 11am, I was in my GP's office. She reassured me - it was likely a cyst. Smooth, separate from the nipple, not knobbly like the two breast cancer cases she’d seen before.
Still, she referred me to the Breast Clinic, and the wait began.
Cue the knot in my stomach that wouldn’t loosen. I told a few close friends and family. Everyone said, “It’ll be fine. Probably just a cyst.” But deep down, I had a gut feeling. And when I get those, I’m usually right.
Sixteen long days later, I was at North Manchester Hospital. My husband came with me. The waiting room was a sea of pink waist-length gowns. You get called in, examined, sent back out, then in again. The letter said the appointment could take up to four hours. Now I understood why.
The consultant confirmed there was something that needed more investigation. Mammogram. Ultrasound. Biopsy. Each stage, another layer of vulnerability.
Mammogram & Ultrasound
Mammogram first. My husband wasn’t allowed in. My left breast was lifted, positioned, and compressed. Discomfort - not pain - but very clinical. Hold your breath. Click. Repeat.
Then the ultrasound. This time, I lay back again - fifth person to see my boobs that day! Warm gel, a scanning device, familiar routine. She checked my armpit lymph nodes - clear. Relief.
Then she found a cyst and aspirated it - needle in, fluid out. It vanished before my eyes. But the lump? That needed a biopsy. Five samples taken, followed by the insertion of a tiny metal marker. If I needed surgery, they’d use it to find the exact spot.
Suspicious
We returned to the consultant.
“It’s suspicious,” she said.
That word. It stuck to my ribs.
She explained it would go to a multidisciplinary team. Treatment would be planned. She was going on leave, so I asked if someone else could call with the results - waiting until after Christmas felt unbearable.
Before we left, I asked: “How suspicious is suspicious?”
She didn’t confirm anything, but when the nurse told us it had been graded a 5 out of 5 on the concern scale, we knew. “Shit,” I said to my hubby. “I’m so sorry to do this to us.” Guilt washed over me like a wave.
Diagnosis
15th December. I couldn’t make the appointment time work, so I asked for a phone call instead. The consultant hesitated - this isn’t standard - but I insisted.
“It’s breast cancer,” she said.
Stage 2. Grade 3. Invasive Ductal Carcinoma. Estrogen positive. Progesterone positive. HER2 negative. KI67 80%. (I explain what all this means in Chapter 3 when I have the full diagnosis after surgery)
I asked a million questions. I needed facts first, feelings later.
She told me it was treatable - treatable! - and outlined the plan: surgery, chemo, and radiotherapy. A second biopsy would be taken of the aspirated cyst, just to be safe.
When the call ended, my husband looked at me. He already knew.
Christmas, Cancer & Clarity
Our kids were 13 and 15. It was just before Christmas. We decided to wait until we had a surgery date before telling them. We told our closest family and friends and clung to the idea of having the best Christmas we could.
One last biopsy - same pink gown, same sonographer. She remembered me. The cyst site was now a “void,” but they took a sample anyway. More gel. Another pinch. Another needle. And done.
And then came the waiting.
For You, If You Are Starting This Journey
To anyone just starting this journey: it will be the fight of your life.
But your body? It’s more powerful than you know. It will surprise you.
The people around you - family, friends, staff, strangers - will lift you up in ways that bring tears to your eyes.
You'll learn what matters and what doesn’t. You’ll hug tighter, appreciate more, and realise that stuff is just stuff.
People matter.