Background

I was diagnosed with Breast Cancer in 2004 at age of 34. I found it by mistake whilst playing with my necklace. I went to the Doctor who told me it was a cist but I would have to get it checked out at the Hospital. Within two weeks I was laid out having a biopsy. At first they wanted to send me home as they couldn't find the lump but I knew my own body and persisted. Thank God I did. The mammogram showed nothing but my scan showed a big scary black mass. Another week or so later I was back in the Hospital, sort of knowing but hoping I was ok. I was told I had an aggressive grade 3 cancer, very rare in young women. My surgeon told me we are going to throw everything we have at it. But it is not going to be easy. My small lump was the only sign of this aggressive cancer.

"The trapped nerve overshadowed every-thing else because it was so painful".

The treatment was like a downhill roller coaster ride. Within two weeks of the diagnosis I went into St Mary's Paddington for the operation. In between finding the lump the diagnosis and the operation date, I'd trapped a nerve in my neck and I have never been in so much pain. Two days before the operation I had to go to St Mary's. There was literally nothing they could do. Even the pain killers didn't seem to work. I was going up the wall and couldn't move. The trapped nerve overshadowed every-thing else because it was so painful. On Friday I arrived for my surgical appointment at 7.30am. At 4pm in the afternoon I was in floods of tears. I'd been sitting in a reception room in a gown with my breast marked up in ink with nothing happening. They then tell me they can't do the operation as they have no staff.

The first surgeon was going to cut down and across the breast and he used the word "mutilate".

Another surgeon goes by sees me crying, comes in and says "I know what is going on and I can’t apologize to you enough. I will do the operation myself on Monday morning." This was wonderful news, even though I'd been in agony all day with my trapped nerve and I had nothing to drink or eat I'd actually got the best deal. The first surgeon was going to cut down and across the breast and he used the word "mutilate". One of the breast cancer nurses said "You just got the main man – he is the best there is", and instead of down and across he did it all from behind the nipple. Why do they have two choices as to how they do this operation? I don't know. Not only did I get a much better operation it was an amazing procedure. My lymph nodes had come out clear also.

"The metallic taste was also doing my head in!"

My first chemo wasn't so awful, although it did get progressively worse. I had this metallic taste after and my balance was affected. A cycle established itself with illness coming on day 2, all downhill from there until day 5. It improves then, until at the end of a fortnight you're feeling as close to normal as you are going to get, and then you go and have it all done to you again. That cycle went on, except the depths got deeper, but there was still the recovery time although you didn't go quite up as high, so that occurred all the way through the treatment, for about five and a half months. Initially I was given steroids to help stop the sickness. I'm quite an energetic person and the steroids made me howling mad; manic, eating all the time. I put on a bit of weight too. Well a stone and a half actually. The metallic taste was also doing my head in; ice cream, ribena and any food that contained sugar was really good to take it away. I made a decision to stop the steroids, which was a smart move because I finally got some sleep. For a couple of months after the chemo, and even now, certain signature smells and words make me retch.

"On the good days, I would go out and have fun".

Chemo is a huge stress on the body and on the brain. I just didn't sleep and was a bit of a mentalist through out it all. On bad days I lay in bed watching TV suffering from something that resembles sea sickness with visual distortions – mild hallucinations – reaching for walls to steady myself only to find the wall would lurch away. On the good days, I would go out and have fun. One of the occasions which sums up my madness at that time was, I decided I wanted to join my dad, who’s a keen fisherman, on a trip to Scotland. For two days whilst still on chemotherapy with my boob strapped up with tape because it wound was still healing, I waded out into the middle of this freezing cold River Tweed with a 17 ft fishing rod. I didn't want to get out of the water. I was determined to catch a salmon. Nobody had caught a salmon for about a month on this part of the river but it wasn't going to stop me. At the end of the second day I was nearly dead. I kept forgetting I was ill ha. I would never let my illness get in the way.

"It was quite a shock that people could be so cruel".

Losing my hair, now that was a novelty. When I first went bald I thought I’d brave it out and went into a pub. Everyone stared and was whispering. I heard some people make unkind comments. It was quite a shock that people could be so cruel. A few weeks later I went for Sunday lunch only to be accosted by a gang of boys shouting ‘you are a lesbian, why don’t you fuck off baldy’. Unbelievable comments! I even got happy slapped when out shopping with my Mum. I shouted I’ve got Cancer you bastards and they ended up apologizing. I don’t think they will do it again. Losing your hair is so much more than just personal vanity. It is how other people perceive and treat you.
Feeling well enough I wanted to do something positive at this time. The nurses at St Mary’s were keen to raise money to re-equip the brand new chemo ward with special comfortable chairs for the patients that really struggled. The NHS budget only stretched so far. So I raised the funds to buy these chairs. I asked a few celeb mates and they each bought a chair. So you can ask to sit on Paul Weller or Davina McCall whilst having chemo now.

"Closer magazine has been the most brilliant symbiotic relationship and incredibly supportive to me".

Closer magazine approached me after I did The Trisha show and The Wright Stuff to write a diary piece which changed my life.The moment I took my wig off in public it reached people. People thought that it was incredibly brave but it was just a way to let others know there is nothing to be ashamed off. I was overwhelmed by the response I got from my column. Closer magazine has been the most brilliant symbiotic relationship and incredibly supportive to me. It gave me something to do while I was lying in bed not wanting to go out. It was very therapeutic to write down all my feelings and it made me want to go out there and live. When I started writing Monkey’s column, it was initially the heavier sort of stuff. E-mails started coming through, one or two at first, then 20s then 40s then hundreds. It was quite a struggle to keep up. I was trying to deal with the see-saw emotions of my own treatment, then, also having to deal with people writing to say ‘the cancer has returned and I have only got 3 months to live’. Or ‘my mother, my sister and my auntie have all died’. It was hard because it made me realize I could die and that never really entered my head before. But overall it did me an enormous amount of good and Closer has been brilliant – amazingly supportive.

"I don’t think I had much left to give at that moment".

When my mum was diagnosed with cancer just as I finished my last Chemo, I shed the most tears. It broke my heart. It finished me, I couldn’t believe it. I don’t think I had much left to give at that moment. Also when you finish the treatment you often go down. The drugs can have that effect and I think there was a bit of a dip. My mum had the same type of cancer as me. Did my Cancer spur my mum on to check herself and find it earlier? Or did the stress of my diagnosis trigger it off? Who knows but it just didn’t seem possible that we had both got it. Thank God they got it very early and she is fighting fit now. It put a huge strain on my family but we are closer today than we ever were. The strange thing was I ended up experiencing what it’s like to be a cancer carer. What the bloody hell do you say and what do you do?  You offer as much support as you can. I was able to tell my mum exactly what would happen when she had her first radiotherapy. She started more or less at the same time as me.
I ended up guiding my mum through it and took away the fear of the unknown. People need knowledge. That is why my column did well as I tried to raise awareness but in a very down to earth way. I didn’t blind them with science I just told the truth.

"My campaign will help people individually".

Breast cancer charities seem to be awash with money. There doesn’t seem to be any shortage of it compared to other cancers. My campaign will help people individually. I will be able to see where the money I raise goes. Helping people with cancer is not just about finding cures and funding research; it is about caring for the people who go through it. It is the fundamentals.
Every woman without exception who goes through chemotherapy needs help and advice on wigs, make up and diet etc…My master classes will cater for all you need at this time. When you look in the mirror and see a bald, fat alien looking back you feel terrible. I want women to look in the mirror and look just as good if not better than before treatment. A well cut wig can make such a difference. Having eyelashes and eyebrows transforms you from looking ill to looking normal. Having been there myself I know all these things can make such a difference.