Even though all the doctors I had seen up to this point swore to me that there was no way the tumour was cancer, in the back of my mind I was still uneasy.

My worries were confirmed when I was admitted to the mater. Further scans showed that the tumour in my chest had grown and wrapped itself around my aorta. Things moved fairly fast at this point. I was told that there was no way this was a thymoma, for one thing it was in the wrong place and it was far too big. I was finally referred to an oncologist and his registrar came to see me. She told me that it was probably a little early for her be speaking to me as they hadn’t done a biopsy yet but they had looked at my scans and I probably had a lymphoma. I told her I didn’t believe her, after all I’d had countless doctors giving me countless diagnoses so why should she be any different. She sat down on my bed, held my hand and told me that there was no doubt that I had cancer. As they hadn’t done a biopsy yet they couldn’t be totally sure what type but it was most likely Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma and it was definitely aggressive. She went on to tell me that I would have chemotherapy, lose my hair, possibly become infertile and that I would get sicker before I got better. There were no guarantees but she had a good feeling about me. She sat with me for an hour and a half telling me about what was ahead for me and for the first time in weeks I felt relief. She assured me that it was not my fault and that I didn’t deserve this. I finally knew what was wrong and I wouldn’t have to have the horrific surgery they had planned for me. Chemotherapy sounded like a walk in the park compared to having my chest cut open, ribs removed and lungs dissected. Most of all I was just relieved to have a diagnosis.

The next step was a needle biopsy guided by CT scan. This involved lying on the scanning bed, fully conscious, while a large needle with a tweezer type instrument attached to the end was inserted through my ribs and into the tumour. I remember a surgeon with bad breath remarking that it was the consistency of cream cheese and it took seven excruciating attempts to get a suitable sample. After that came the lumbar puncture and bone marrow biopsy to see if the cancer had spread, fortunately it hadn’t and within twenty-four hours I was diagnosed with High Grade Non Hodgkin’s Lymphoma in the mediastinum. It was stage two and despite the size of the tumour, luckily, it hadn’t spread.

My family and friends were in shock. Flowers and cards came streaming into my room from people I hadn’t seen in years. People hear Cancer and assume you’re dying. My Mother found the news too much to cope with so soon after my father’s death and couldn’t bear to visit during most of my treatment. My sisters took it in their stride and my brother in law and older sister insisted I stay with them until I had recovered. They were my guardian angels and I don’t know how I would have gotten through it without them. Rumours spread that I was dying, that there was no hope for me. My friends had varied reactions. Some refused to believe that I was ill at all but I think most of them took their cue from my reaction. For all intents and purposes I appeared calm and positive but inside I was screaming. There were some very helpful comments like “I know at least three other people who died from what you’ve got” and “If you just tried some alternative therapies you wouldn’t need chemo at all!” People just don’t know how to react when a young person gets sick. It makes them think of their own mortality long before they should have to. What my illness did make me realise was how many true friends I have and for that I’m eternally grateful.