I’m Nikki, a mum of two with a big age gap between my children—my son is 7 and my daughter is in her 20s. I’m also a teacher, a job I truly love. Outside of work, my life revolves around the outdoors. I enjoy walking, exploring the countryside, gardening, cooking, and reading. I live in Norfolk, which is beautiful, and I try to make the most of it.
My story began in 2016 while I was breastfeeding my son, a child I had waited a decade for after being told I couldn’t have children. He felt like a miracle. When he wasn’t putting on weight, I went to the doctor for help with breastfeeding. Instead of just addressing that, she reviewed my medical history and noticed years of bowel complaints and IBS symptoms. She asked to investigate further. That decision saved my life. They discovered a stage 3 neuroendocrine tumor in my lymph nodes and small bowel—a rare cancer often mistaken for IBS. It had likely been there for years. In a strange way, my son saved me because without him, the investigation may never have happened. I had keyhole surgery, and by 2017 I was cancer-free, with yearly check-ups since.
You would think that experience would make me more alert, but in August 2022, I started feeling pain in my right breast, mainly around the nipple. I ignored it because I had always been told cancer doesn’t hurt. Despite a family history of breast cancer, I convinced myself it was something harmless—menopause, hormones, even an ill-fitting bra. I made excuses for months. By late November, I woke up to find my nipple completely inverted, and panic set in. I went to the doctor, who didn’t find a lump and reassured me it was likely not cancer, but referred me urgently because I was worried.
Within two weeks, I was at the hospital for a full day of tests. My cancer turned out to be inflammatory breast cancer, which often presents without a lump but with pain. I didn’t have the typical rash, just pain and the inverted nipple. A mammogram didn’t detect it, so I had a CT scan and a biopsy. During the biopsy, the doctor gently told me he believed it was cancer. Hearing those words made my world collapse. I had already suspected it and knew how aggressive it could be. I felt intense fear and guilt for ignoring the symptoms, worrying I might have put my life at risk and left my family behind.
Thankfully, scans showed it hadn’t spread. When the diagnosis was confirmed—hormone-positive inflammatory breast cancer in my lymph nodes—I was given a treatment plan. Because the cancer is diffuse and aggressive, they needed to shrink it before surgery. I underwent seven rounds of chemotherapy. The first type was manageable, but the second was much harder. After chemotherapy, I’ll have a single mastectomy, followed by radiotherapy and long-term hormone therapy. The goal now is not just to treat it but to prevent it from coming back.
The side effects have been overwhelming at times. I lost my hair early on, which was difficult because I took pride in it. Eventually, I shaved it, which gave me a sense of control. I experienced nausea, fatigue, painful blisters on my hands and feet, bone pain, and constant pins and needles. There were days I couldn’t walk more than a short distance. Early menopause brought hot flashes and disrupted sleep. I also dealt with a metallic taste in my mouth, mouth sores, and extreme tiredness. Managing these symptoms became part of daily life—creams, medication, small routines, and learning to listen to my body.
This journey has also affected my relationship with my husband. He has been incredible, but it’s been hard for both of us. I used to be very independent and full of energy, and now I rely on him much more. He carries a heavy load—working full time while caring for me and our son. Illness doesn’t always bring couples closer; sometimes it tests everything. We’ve struggled, but we’re holding on because we love each other deeply. I’ve also realized that partners need more support, as people often forget to check in on them.
Telling people about my diagnosis was one of the hardest parts. I didn’t want to manage other people’s emotions while dealing with my own. With my young son, we explained it simply, calling it “a bubble in mummy’s boob” that would make me tired and cause my hair to fall out. He handled it well, and we worked closely with his school to support him.
I’ve learned the importance of advocating for myself. My cancer is rare, and sometimes even professionals don’t immediately recognize it. I’ve had to question delays, push for faster treatment, and research my condition. Support groups, especially online communities, have been incredibly helpful. Hearing from others going through the same thing gave me confidence to speak up and ask for what I need.
Looking back, I regret ignoring my symptoms, but it taught me a powerful lesson: we need to listen to our bodies. Cancer doesn’t always follow the rules we’re told, like “no pain” or “there must be a lump.” Changes like pain, nipple inversion, or even slight differences in appearance should be taken seriously. We also need better awareness of rare cancers because someone has to be that rare case.
Throughout treatment, I’ve tried to hold onto normal life as much as possible. I kept working because it helped me stay mentally strong. I’ve learned that what works for one person may not work for another, and it’s important to find your own way through it.
Scan anxiety is real, and while it’s hard not to Google, I’ve learned to rely on trusted sources and remember how much treatment has advanced in recent years. As I approach surgery, I know it will be another emotional challenge, and I’ve decided to seek counseling to help process it.
Through everything, I try to find small moments of joy every day. Whether it’s resting in a hammock in the garden, listening to birds, doing crafts or baking with my son, or laughing with friends, those moments matter. They remind me that I am more than my illness. Even in the middle of something so difficult, there is still space for life, laughter, and meaning.
