WOMAN - UK|August 03, 2020
Whenever I look at this photo, taken just after I finished a Race for Life in summer last year, I know there’s not just a 10km medal hanging around my neck, but a death sentence, too. Yet, I can also see the fire in my eyes, and feel the determination that got me over that finish line. And, most importantly, I see the baby girl in my arms – my reason for living, for fighting so doggedly to stay alive, my daughter, Joey.
Joey was just six months old in November 2018 when I discovered a 6cm tumour in my right breast.
After I was given the breast-cancer diagnosis days later, I held her so tightly, whispering how sorry I was that her mummy was poorly. Joey blinked back up at me, flashing her trademark toothless grin, and my heart felt like it’d burst with love, sorrow and guilt all at once.
A week later, there was even more bad news when the doctor told me and my fiancé, Tim, 31, that it was stage 4 cancer, and had already spread to my liver.
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August 03, 2020