I’ve tasted remission, but that feeling in my gut was right…my cancer is back – and it’s inoperable

I KNEW it.

I had this feeling in my gut, an intense gnawing, grinding away telling me this time, I wouldn't be OK.

9

I haven't made any summer holiday plans and I have shied away from saying I'm cancer free.

Every time someone congratulated me, uttering the words "you've beaten cancer", I freaked, immediately telling them it would be back.

It upset people, but it was true. It is back.

I have always known my chances of staying "cancer free" are slim to none.

9

I have stage 4 bowel cancer, and once it has spread to the lymphatic system and other organs it becomes even more of a challenge to eradicate and cure.

That's why survival rates are so low - just eight per cent for people like me - and early diagnosis is so damn important.

'Scanxiety bites again'

I just had my six-weekly scan, and off I trotted to The Royal Marsden to get my results.

9

Scanxiety is real. So real.

Just a few days earlier I had a massive panic attack IN the scanner.

Two amazing nurses rushed in, shut down the scan and comforted me until I could carry on.

Looking back, maybe it was my sixth sense telling me it was going to be bad news.

I burst into hysterical tears, shaking, screaming: "I just hate I have to do this, why can't I be a normal 36-year-old?'."

I want to be free of cancer, I want to wake up and not have to worry that today will be the day I'm told my cancer is incurable.

I live with a dark shadow over my shoulder.

It's not because I'm overly dramatic or unreasonably anxious. It's a very real fear, it's my reality, what I have to face every single day.

'I've tasted life in remission, and it tastes good'

9

I am so grateful to have lived even just a few months in remission.

Four months ago, I heard the words every cancer patient dreams of..."you are cancer free".

But, while it was amazing to hear, I lived on a knife edge, waiting for the carpet to be whipped from underneath me.

It was a case of when, not if.

'My heart just sank'

Sitting in the waiting room, I sensed it was bad when the nurse asked if I was having trouble breathing...cue me hyperventilating.

I was convinced it was back in my lungs, as expected.

I've already had seven tumours, so expected another one to rear its ugly head.

But turns out I was wrong.

9

Through my hysteria, my oncologist managed to get a word in, revealing they'd found a growth near my liver. And yes, it looked cancerous.

A few more scans later, and he told me this growth is wrapped around an artery and inoperable.

Once it's close to an artery tumours are often deemed incurable.

My head went into overdrive, funeral planning and mentally writing out last letters to loved ones.

And my heart just sank, I knew I shouldn't have run that 10k the week before. Every time I manage a 10k I get bad news afterwards.

First I was told my cancer had spread to my lungs, now it's back.

'I just want options'

9

It's hard not to sob when you're told your cancer is back.

My doctor bore the brunt, me telling him I want options, all I want is options.

And pleading with him to not use words like "terminal" and "incurable".

When the time comes, I want him to tell me I've got a month to live, until then I don't want to know.

Having options when you have cancer is good.

With options, there's hope.

I'm way past the point of googling the chances of being cured, I now know I won't like what I find.

I just want to know we have a plan of action to keep going at this cancer as long as possible.

'I never liked Friday 13th'

9

As with everything cancer-related, discovering it's back is a rollercoaster.

I went from hysterical tears, to acknowledging it's back, to thinking I'm about to be told I've got weeks to live.

Typically I got the news on Friday 13th, I've never liked it, it's always scared me.

Knowing deep down the news was coming, I ran the 10km to The Royal Marsden to get my results, in pure defiance - just to prove I'm not dead yet.

If I was going to be told it was game over, I might has well run there and them I don't give in that easily, I told myself.

'This cancer is mean and strong'

9

Yes, it's back. Right now it's just in one place, a real b*tch of a place where it can't just be cut out.

It's grown quickly, and I'm scared it's growing more and more, as I type.

I hate the fact I have no control over my cancer.

I'm doing  all the right things, exercising every day, drinking green smoothies, eating a healthy diet - I'm still a bloody veggie for crying out loud.

And yet, I'm starting to accept this cancer is mean and strong.

It laughs in the face of any turmeric supplement thrown its way.

I can't control my cancer, my oncologist admits the same, I just have to hold on to the hope that new advances will offer up an answer.

'Now all I have is a glimmer of hope'

9

I've been numb for the last five days.

Everyone has been telling me they are ";sorry", which reminds me just how bad this is.

Yet, I'm OK...well I'm getting there.

Because I do have options, I've been given small glimmers of hope.

I've been approved for cutting-edge Cyber Knife treatment (pun intended) to blitz the tumour.

And we're looking at new drugs to try and put this cancer back in its place, for a very long time.

I don’t want to be travelling this road again - nobody does.

MORE THINGS CANCER MADE ME SAY

INSPIRATIONAL

A look at the life of the late Deborah James

HER ROCK

Find out about Deborah James' husband Sebastien Bowen

MUM’S PRIDE

Dame Deborah James' mum defied her advice & read final emotional book chapters

MUM'S GRIEF

Heartbreaking moment Deborah told me she loved me and had no regrets, says mum

I don’t want to be back living from chemo treatment to chemo treatment, shattered and with a barrage of side effects.

I’m gutted I got hardly any time to experience life without cancer again, and I’m angry that every time it keeps popping up in my body, it's a reminder that I may not see my babies grow up.

But as all cancer warriors do, we grit our teeth, roll up our sleeves and get on with it.

I'm getting on with trying to live while stopping myself from dying.

I'm getting on with smiling through the pain of a life that sometimes feels downright unfair.

But, at least I have the chance to live for today, and for that I'm grateful.

Come join the I’d love to hear from you about #thethingscancermademesay.

Tell me your journey, show off your scars, share what keeps you smiling, or how you are giving two fat fingers to cancer (or anything else for that matter!)

To contact me email [email protected] and you can also follow me on and