Aimee's story
My name is Aimee, and I was diagnosed with breast cancer in my left breast, with two lymph nodes involved. That was November 2024. It all started with a sore on my nipple back in August. I was training for a half-marathon at the time, so I just assumed I’d rubbed it. It healed, so I didn’t think much of it. But my training was awful. I’d run half marathons before, but this time I just couldn’t motivate myself. I was exhausted all the time. I kept telling myself I was maybe a bit depressed or just run down.
Then after the half-marathon in October, the sore came back — same place, same feeling — and I thought, that’s not right. So I went to the doctor. She examined me and told me my boobs were too big to examine properly, which I thought was a bit cheeky. I said, “I’ve never had that complaint before.” She thought it might be an infection and gave me antibiotics, but she did refer me to the breast clinic.
From there it was a whirlwind. At the clinic, a nurse drew on me with a biro — which felt a bit odd — and then I was sent off for a mammogram and scans. I could see on the screen that something didn’t look right. Everyone kept saying, “It could be anything, don’t worry,” but I knew. They took a biopsy straight away. I’m glad they did, but looking back, I don’t think I ever actually gave consent. I was lying down and suddenly they were doing it. Everything else in this process needed a signature, but not that. Still, it got me the answers I needed.
It was breast cancer. Chemo was the worst part for me. It made me incredibly ill. I was allergic to docetaxel — had an allergic reaction the first time, and then again the second time. I only ended up having four chemos out of the planned six because I just couldn’t get well enough. Sometimes there were six or seven weeks between treatments. I felt so poorly. It was such a sad, frightening time.
But the hardest thing wasn’t the sickness — it was what chemo did to my mind. I’m a really visual, imaginative person. I dream vividly. I picture things. And during chemo, I couldn’t dream. I couldn’t imagine anything. I couldn’t visualise myself finishing anything. It scared me so much. I thought I’d lost that part of myself forever. When I finally started dreaming again after chemo, I cried with relief.
After three chemos, I had an MRI and got a complete radiological response. Best news of my life. The results didn’t get through before my next chemo, so I still had one more and ended up hospitalised again. A different oncologist on the ward looked up my results and said, “If you were my patient, with this response and how ill you are, we’d stop chemo.” Thankfully, my own oncologist agreed.
By April I was in surgery. I’ve got no nipples now, but honestly, I don’t care. Then came radiotherapy — nine sessions. It felt easy at the time, but afterwards I was so sore. I’ve got hard, lumpy scar tissue now. I’m still having targeted therapy until the end of March — two more to go. I’m counting down.
My whole life has been turned upside down. I don’t feel like myself yet, and I’m scared I might never fully feel like me again. I went back to work straight after radiotherapy, which was probably a mistake, but they’ve been brilliant with me. And my husband… I couldn’t have done any of this without him. From clearing up sick to holding my hand and crying with me — he’s been amazing. He loves me, he looks after me, and I’m so grateful.
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