If someone had told me just six months' ago that I'd be facing the biggest battle of my life, I'd be forgiven for thinking they'd lost the plot. I was seriously ill and things were about to be taken out of my hand. The fibroid which I'd been nurturing for a couple of years had now grown to the size of a six month old fetus and having lost a load of weight, I wasn't amused at regressing over twenty years to look pregnant!

Years of gynae problems and a severe lack of any kind of normal life finally landed me in hospital at the end of February 2014 and the beginning of my journey into the world of oncology....

Feeling so lousy I couldn't stand, severely anaemic and totally exhausted, I was admitted one evening with the expectation of hopefully finally being sorted out before being discharged home. I should have know that things don't always go to plan. Septicaemia had raged through my body and although I knew I was ill, I had no idea just how bad until we were told after that if I hadn't come in that night, I would have died. Hm, that one made me stop and think. The fibroid had rotted internally and had been slowly poisoning me. The next few days were a blur of extremely high temperatures, drips and morphine as the staff tried to stablise me before I could have a TAH with BSO (total abdominal hysterectomy with bi-lateral salpingo-oopherectomy - nice!) So, I went down to theatre at 10.30 am with a bump and came to with a huge stapled scar that resembled a train track! Famous last words from my surgeon "We're 99% sure it won't be cancerous but it'll be sent to the lab anyway".

Well, that was just asking for trouble, wasn't it?