Chantelle’s story
I was diagnosed on the 7th of November 2024 with triple-positive breast cancer. The tumour was about nine centimetres — huge, really — and the minute I stepped through the door, they told me I needed chemotherapy. No easing me in, no gentle buildup. Just: you need chemo. I did eight rounds. Eight rounds of chemo, eight rounds of chemo brain, eight rounds of trying to hold myself together.
After that came the surgery. They wanted to do a single mastectomy, but I pushed back. I said, take them both. Because you told me I was fine, and I wasn’t fine. You told me there was no higher risk, but you can’t promise me that. And for my own sanity, for my own peace of mind, I needed both gone. So I had a bilateral mastectomy in July, with tissue expanders put in. The actual implants won’t be done until next July. A whole year of waiting to feel like my body is my own again.
Then came 15 rounds of radiotherapy. And now they want me on hormone treatment — tamoxifen or anastrozole, one tablet every day for five to ten years. At first I said no. They told me I had two choices: quality of life or quantity of life. Take your pick. And I remember thinking, where’s the middle? Where’s the bit where I get to be alive and also still myself?
I’m a mum of five. Three of my own, two stepdaughters. Sixteen, fourteen, eleven, nine, and my baby — he’s two now. I was diagnosed two days before his first birthday. I’d planned a party for him, and I had to get through that whole day pretending everything was normal. I broke down in the middle of it. My sister pulled me into the toilet and said, “Something’s wrong. This isn’t like you.” And I had to say the words out loud: I’ve got cancer. I’ll never forget that moment.
My family’s in Sheffield, so I’m not from Nottingham originally. My husband’s family is supportive, but it still feels isolating. Every chemo appointment, every surgery, every waiting room — I haven’t met anyone who looks like me. Not my age, not my background. I keep thinking, where do I fit? Where are the women like me? I still haven’t found them.
So I’ve started trying to find some purpose in all this. I’ve started a TikTok, just to see where it goes, just to push myself out of my comfort zone. Maybe someone out there will hear me and feel less alone.
If everything goes to plan, I finish treatment in April. I still have injections every three weeks until then. And then the tablets for years. But honestly, every step of the way they’ve told me one thing and it’s turned out to be something completely different. They told me it wasn’t cancer. They told me it was fine. Then they asked if I wanted a biopsy — like it was optional. If I hadn’t said yes… with how aggressive my cancer was, with the size of it… I don’t know where I’d be. I don’t know if I’d be here. I think about my kids and I just… I count my lucky stars.
And all of this has happened in such a short time. In the same year I lost my grandad — his anniversary is tomorrow — and then my uncle, my great aunt, and then my dad. Grief on top of grief on top of fear. It’s been so much. Too much.
And the truth is, I don’t have an ending to this story yet. I’m still in it. I’m still trying to find my place, my purpose, my strength. I’m still trying to figure out who I am now. I’m still trying to breathe through the unknown. But I’m here. I’m still here. And for now, that’s enough.
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