I already knew that this was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
Over the next few weeks Graham and I saw each other at every opportunity. It all felt too good to be true – I was falling for him in a big way, and quickly. At that time I was due to go on holiday with my family to celebrate my dad’s 60th birthday but the thought of spending time away from Graham was almost too much to bear.
One morning I was taking a bath when I found a strange lump in my right breast. It was the size of a pea, and definitely not something I had felt before. I had undergone breast reduction surgery three years previously and was at first quite certain that it was related – perhaps a stitch that had not dissolved properly, or a lump of scar tissue. On closer inspection, though, I realised that the lump was in an area that hadn’t been stitched. In that moment, and without any idea why, I was very concerned.
I made a mental note to call the doctor as soon as the surgery opened on Monday morning. The lump played on my mind all day though so, when I got home that evening, I texted Graham in the hopes of offloading some of my worry. His auntie had died of breast cancer and he had previously been involved with a girl who had sadly died from ovarian cancer, so he quite rightly insisted that I get everything checked out just to be safe.
As soon as I could, I made myself a doctor’s appointment and headed to the surgery with trepidation. My GP was a lovely man, and, although he was endlessly reassuring, he took the lump seriously, advising me to monitor it for a week in case it was connected to my monthly cycle or other hormonal changes. If it was still there the following week I was to return without delay and I’d be referred for further tests.
Later that week I was due to fly to Goa for my dad’s birthday trip. While I knew I was going to miss Graham terribly, I knew it would be good to have a distraction from my worry. I hadn’t told anyone else about the lump – it seemed unnecessary to worry them in the run up to our holiday.
The first day of our holiday arrived. The thought of leaving Graham was gut-wrenching – we had been together just seven weeks, but our feet hadn’t yet had time to touch the ground. We were falling head over heels in love with each other at breakneck speed.
With my dad’s celebrations and thoughts of Graham whizzing through my mind I reluctantly boarded the plane. During the holiday Graham and I kept in constant contact with each other, but it was hard not having him there with me – especially as he was the only one who knew about my lump. I eventually confided in my mum and her friend, and they did their best to reassure me despite their concern. Mum’s best friend’s son was battling cancer at the time and, aged just 40, the prognosis didn’t look good at all for him. It was so hard to see someone we cared about facing such a terrible illness.
That week couldn’t go quickly enough, and I was beside myself with excitement as we headed home. I couldn’t wait to touch down in Gatwick, and rang Graham as soon as we landed. We promised that we would never spend a moment away from each other again – it was all very dramatic, but felt so right. Bright and early the next day, I headed for Graham’s – he had just moved and I couldn’t wait to be his first houseguest. Seeing him again was fantastic and I realised there and then that I never wanted to be away from this man again. He looked more gorgeous than ever and we couldn’t stop holding each other.
That afternoon we headed into town. Graham had some errands to run and we decided to enjoy lunch together while we were out. I remember that afternoon as though it were yesterday; we walked through Exeter’s main shopping centre, holding hands and chatting, until suddenly Graham stopped.
‘I need to go in there,’ he said, pointing in the direction of a jewellers’ shop on the High Street. I asked him what he needed to go in there for and he began to look nervous.
‘A ring.’ My mind started racing.
‘A ring? What sort of ring?’
‘An engagement ring.’ It took a moment for Graham’s words to sink in, yet nothing before had ever felt so right. So we went into the jewellers, hand in hand, and chose a beautiful engagement ring. In that moment I couldn’t have been happier – we were on cloud nine, and I finally felt as if my life was heading in the right direction.
Two days after Graham had proposed, we decided to go and have a look around a few wedding dress shops; I just couldn’t help myself! We wanted to get married as soon as possible and, although I am a traditionalist in many ways, I’ve always believed that the groom’s opinion is important when choosing a wedding dress. After all, it was Graham that I was trying to impress! As we browsed a rack of beautiful dresses there was a small piece of fabric that seemed to stand out from the gowns around it. Although there can’t have been more than five inches of material on show, Graham and I had both reached for the same dress. I already knew that this was The One. Trying the dress on only confirmed my suspicions; it fitted perfectly and looked absolutely stunning.
Despite all our excitement, I still had the lump in my right breast. I was due to go and see the specialist the next day and didn’t feel like we could really celebrate our engagement until we knew that it was nothing.
The day of my appointment came. I remember sitting in the waiting room with Graham and being surprised by just how many young people were there with me. You think of cancer being an old person’s disease, or something that strikes those who lead unhealthy lives, yet here we all were.
I was called into the room, and instinctively told Graham to wait outside, but the nurse was very insistent that he come in with me, and it was then that the nerves really began to creep in. We waited for the specialist to enter, becoming more and more anxious as the minutes ticked by. He was a lovely gentleman and gave me time to explain what had been going on and what I had discovered in my breast. As I sat on the couch being poked and prodded the room went eerily silent, and I couldn’t help but worry. After what seemed liked ages, the specialist explained that he wanted to take a biopsy, and I agreed; at that point I was willing to undergo any test to try and relieve the worry.
Preparing me for the biopsy, the specialist described the process in detail; usually, when a needle is inserted into a cyst, it will draw fluid. If no fluid is present, the lump could be something more sinister. It was painful as the thick needle went in, and the sound of the machine collecting its sample was like a staple gun. Graham and I held our breaths as the needle was retracted; there was no fluid.
The specialist explained that, while things weren’t looking good, he would send off the needle and biopsy sample to be completely sure. We were now faced with an agonising, week-long wait for the results. Even then, as we left the specialist’s office, I don’t think I expected the lump to be anything serious, despite having had a lifelong belief that I would one day be diagnosed with breast cancer. There was no reason for that overwhelming fear, yet it had always been there. Even so, I didn’t believe that the time was now.
The week dragged, until finally we found ourselves in that waiting room again. This time I studied the faces of those around me, absorbing their fear.
We were called into the specialist’s office and, with little time to pause for breath, he said, ‘You have HER2 positive breast cancer.’ I had no idea what that meant, and the words swam around my head. Graham and I were then ushered into another room to discuss the plan of action. At this stage the doctors didn’t know anything about my cancer – simply that I had it.
We left the room with a wealth of information to take away and digest, and a plan to return