I was diagnosed with breast cancer at 26 – more women of colour need to talk about their bodies

But things went downhill after that. My treatment started with egg retrieval, as I knew I wanted a family. It was only after that surgery that I found out there was another option. My breast cancer nurse had asked me what I ‘chose’ – and I realised that I should have been offered a choice to do embryo retrieval or preservation, which has a higher success rate.

Maybe it was because they didn’t know I had a boyfriend or because I was young, but there are lots of women who decide they want to be mothers long before they’re 26. I was emotional from all the hormone injections, my body was changing… I feel robbed that I didn’t have that opportunity, but I was mentally preparing for the fight of my life. I didn’t have the strength then to advocate for myself. I was also running out of time – the tumour was growing and needed to start chemotherapy, so it was too late for embryo freezing, even if it could have been organised.

My first round was delivered intravenously. A nurse was poking around during one session, and I was becoming increasingly bruised. I told her it was hurting, but her reply shocked me. “Because your skin is dark, you don’t feel pain as much as this lady,” she said, pointing to a white woman a few beds down. Cancer is scary enough, and then to have someone who’s meant to be keeping you safe say you’re not in pain when you’re bleeding in front of them? I’d prepared myself for the needles, but not that kind of hurt.

My body didn’t respond well to my second round of chemotherapy, so some other nurses let my husband stay with me. It was a huge weight off me to know somebody who genuinely cared was there. Some of the nurses even stayed past their shift to take pictures with me and my husband when I finished chemotherapy and got to ring the bell. They did a lot to make me less scared of healthcare professionals. My reconstruction surgeon was also so thoughtful and conscientious – he gave me a say in everything, even if I didn’t need it.

I could feel the treatment working. The tumour was shrinking and I wanted to focus on my future. My now-husband had proposed, and we’d taken our engagement photos while I still had my hair. I could look forward to buying a house, I could focus on healing. During my reconstruction, they confirmed there was no more cancer in my breasts. I’m now at two and a half years with no evidence of disease and looking forward to saying I’m in remission, if I have another two and half years of clear scans.

If you’re unlucky enough to join the cancer club, listen when people say ‘don’t Google it.’ I’d be crying in the middle of the night reading survival statistics. But I did find some amazing charities and communities, like Lauren Mahon who runs Girl vs Cancer and Leanne Pero of support project Black Women Rising. Being able to see that there were young Black women who lived gave me hope. We need more representation like this to know it’s possible to survive.

I also found Breast Cancer Now – I used their guides every single day after my surgeries. Not only did they feature all different types of women, they offered practical tips on how to help my recovery. I’m proud to be wearing it pink this October with them because it might remind someone to check their breasts or get their mammogram. For such a serious disease, it’s nice to have a space for joy, celebration and empowerment.

Cancer is the most welcoming, kind and joyful club. It’s a sad community to be a part of, but once you’re here, there are so many people who care about you and want to look after you.

*Breast Cancer Now, April 2024. Research conducted by YouGov Plc. The total sample size was 510 Black and South Asian adult women. Fieldwork was undertaken between 17th – 22nd April 2024. The survey was carried out online.

**Regularly defined as checking at least once a week, once a month, or at least once every 6 weeks.