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I was 36 when my life changed in a way I never imagined.
For weeks, I had been feeling more and more exhausted. Exercise became painful, climbing the stairs was a struggle, and I found myself sleeping far more than usual. Even something as simple as having a drink made me sick. My skin colour started to change too. At first, I told myself it must be a virus—I even waited three to four weeks before doing anything about it.
One Sunday morning, I finally drove myself to A&E. Looking back now, my doctors later told me they couldn’t believe I’d managed it, given how dangerously low my blood and platelet levels were. After blood tests, I was called into a room where two haematologists were waiting. The moment I saw them, I knew it wasn’t going to be good news.
They told me they were 99% sure I had leukaemia. Tests would begin immediately to confirm the exact type. My mind scrambled for questions and I remember only asking two: “Can I go home to grab a bag and kiss my kids?” and “Will I still be able to travel to Germany next month for the Euros?” The answer was yes to the first, and a kind but firm no to the second—because the next six months of my life would be completely focused on treatment.
Calling home to tell my partner and mum was the hardest phone call I’ve ever made. Hearing the word “leukaemia” in that hospital room didn’t hit me the same way as saying it out loud. That was the moment it became real—not just for me, but for everyone I loved. When I got home and saw my two boys, aged five and seven, the reality hit hardest. I broke down with thoughts racing about what I might miss in their lives. We had to explain that Daddy was ill, that I’d be in hospital a lot, but that I’d be okay and they could visit me.
A few days later, I began tests and biopsies. My mindset was clear: tackle this head on, stay positive, and be grateful we had answers. I didn’t google AML, I didn’t go searching for grim statistics. I told myself I was going to survive this, and that attitude kept me strong. When my haematologist confirmed I had acute myeloid leukaemia (AML) but that, at my age, it was treatable, I felt strangely reassured. Chemotherapy would begin in four days.
Nothing could have prepared me for the idea of spending weeks in hospital. Before this, I’d hardly ever seen a GP. Yet here I was, hooked up to drips and PICC lines, counting off chemo cycles. The staff at Bath RUH and the Dyson Cancer Centre were incredible—compassionate, encouraging, and even able to make such a daunting experience feel bearable.
My first cycle was 35 nights in hospital. I survived it by staying busy—walking the ward whenever I could, reading, gaming, Facetiming my friends, even doing bits of work when I felt up to it. I refused to let cancer take away all the normal things I loved. Later cycles became a little easier, sometimes only 9–15 nights in hospital. Each time, I went in believing this treatment was curing me, and that positivity carried me through.
Physically, I tolerated chemo better than I expected. I didn’t suffer with sickness, just flu-like symptoms, though each cycle left me neutropenic and vulnerable to infections. Mentally, I leaned on exercise whenever I could—whether walking the ward, running when I was home, or cycling. Movement gave me freedom and helped me feel like myself again.
The hardest part hasn’t been the treatment itself, but the impact on my family. My partner and kids have had to make so many sacrifices—cancelled holidays, missed birthdays, times when I was simply too weak to get out of bed. I’ve often felt it was harder on them than it was on me, watching from the outside and feeling powerless.
Now, I’ve completed all four cycles. I was in remission after cycle two, and I’m waiting for my next bone marrow biopsy to confirm that remains the case. Even then, I’ll have blood tests and biopsies every three months for the next two years. It’s a reminder that AML may always be part of my life, but it won’t define it.
Through this experience, I’ve learned to appreciate the small things more than ever—school runs, dinners with friends, a walk outside with my partner. I’ve also gone back to work remotely, which has given me some normality. Most importantly, I’m planning for the future: holidays, new hobbies, and memories with my boys that cancer tried to rob us of.
Looking back, I know that early diagnosis is crucial. That’s why campaigns like Spot Leukaemia matter so much. I ignored my symptoms for weeks, assuming it was nothing serious. I want people to know that if you’re unusually tired, struggling with exercise, or noticing changes in your body—don’t dismiss it. It could save your life.