Back in the summer of 2025, I was doing everything at once. I was working as a qualified health advisor, going to the gym, moving house, attending dance classes, and doing lots of socialising. I was active and following a very healthy lifestyle. Then I started feeling tired. At first, I thought it was simply the result of doing too much, so I ignored it and carried on. Soon after, I developed pain in my left shoulder, which I assumed was a gym injury. The pain became worse when I lay down, making it difficult to sleep. I had a telephone appointment with my GP, who prescribed strong painkillers to help me sleep. After the first day of taking the prescribed painkillers, I woke up during the night and then fainted. That was when I realised something was seriously wrong.
I stopped taking the painkillers and took a few days off work, but my symptoms continued. I was waking up at night with heart palpitations and could only take quick, shallow breaths. The pain spread into my chest and felt like constant pressure. A few days later, I went to work, but that morning my left arm had become swollen and blue in colour. After two hours, I could not cope any longer, so I left and went to A&E. Unlike many people, my clinician told me they suspected they knew what I had the same day. A chest X-ray showed a white mass, followed by a CT scan. I still remember the consultant telling me, “I’m going to be honest with you, we have a strong suspicion that this is lymphoma.” My response was, “But no, because lymphoma is a cancer,” as if it was impossible.
I was admitted to hospital for about eight days because the tumour in my chest was causing cardiac effects and there was fluid around the heart. I was put on prednisolone (a steroid) while waiting for my biopsy and PET scan results. Around two weeks later, I received the full diagnosis: stage four diffuse large B-cell lymphoma. Four days later, I began my first R-CHOP chemotherapy session, followed by five more over the next few months. Because I was 27, my body was considered strong enough to cope with treatment every two weeks instead of every three, making the regime even more intense than it already was.
Physically, some of the most difficult moments were the ongoing fatigue, constant nausea, metallic taste, loss of appetite, and loss of enjoyment in food. My periods stopped, my hair fell out, and I became immunocompromised, which led to several hospital admissions with fevers and infections. Even now, I still experience neuropathy in my arms at night when I am asleep and it wakes me up.
Mentally, it was just as hard. When I was first diagnosed, I was in complete denial. I felt anger, shock, and a deep sense of unfairness. I was convinced there had been a mistake and believed someone would eventually tell me they were wrong. It was not until my first chemotherapy session that I truly realised this was happening. My first thoughts were about losing my hair, and I held onto the hope that somehow I would be the exception. I was not.
As treatment continued, life felt as though it had been paused. Time moved slowly, and everything around me carried on while I stood still. I lost my sense of identity. It felt like watching my own life from the outside, with no control over what was happening. One of the hardest parts was being placed into a “cancer patient” box, as though I no longer had a personality, or a life outside my illness. People would say, “You’re so brave,” or “I could never do that,” but the truth is we are simply surviving something we never chose.
During this time, my best friend Amira became my hero. She was there every single day, whether for a walk, a visit, or simply knowing what to do or say when there were no words. She accompanied me to every chemo session and every hospital admission even when I was admitted in a different city, helped with practical things, distracted me when I needed normality, and reminded me that I was still myself. I also found great comfort in the books and resources from Lymphoma Action, which my specialist nurses gave me. Those materials accompanied me throughout treatment. I felt heard and understood by the people who created them, as they saw the person behind the patient. I would read one personal story on Lymphoma Action’s website every night to find others going through the same thing.
Now, five months post chemotherapy, I am getting my energy back. One month after treatment ended, I rejoined the gym and gradually began socialising again, although it felt overwhelming at first. I am still monitored regularly, because after cancer, things are rarely black and white. I still experience some symptoms of PTSD such as hyper-vigilance physically and emotionally, fear of recurrence, difficulty relaxing and occasional flashbacks. These symptoms were more intense during the first couple of months post-chemo.
I am deeply thankful for my nurses, consultant and all of the NHS staff who cared for me. It often felt like a nightmare I could not wake up from and, looking back now, everything feels unreal, from the day of my diagnosis to the final day of chemotherapy. But if anything, this experience has taught me one thing: that even the worst times do pass.
If I could leave any message for others, it would be this: never ignore or normalise pain and always seek advice from healthcare professionals. If it is bad news, then find your own way to process what you are going through. For me, I needed a lot of alone time without actually sharing a lot of what was on my mind to be able to get through it. You do not have to be positive all the time, and you do not have to be a “fighter” every day. You are allowed to be tired, angry, scared, or quiet. Ask for all the support you need, whether from your nurses or organisations like Lymphoma Action and Maggie's. Most importantly, prioritise yourself without guilt and do what helps you heal.