Hi, I’m Susie.
I’m 40 years old, and this is my cancer story — the whole truth, not the tidy version people expect.

When I was 38, my smear test came back abnormal. Then the next one did. And the one after that. After the third result, I got the phone call no one ever wants:

“We need you to come in… and bring someone with you.”

I knew.
My body knew.
My mind still tried to deny it — because the alternative was too terrifying to face.

I’d been married for 18 years. We’d had some good times, and my kids were my world. Back then, my husband Paul felt like my rock. He came with me to appointments. He let me fall apart when I couldn’t keep myself together. The doctors talked, and all I heard was one word:

Cancer.
And to me, that meant death sentence.

I was diagnosed with cervical cancer. I had a hysterectomy — they took what they needed to take: my womb, both ovaries, everything. I started chemo. Then chemo was stopped again, and I was told the cancer had gone.

I let myself believe that chapter was over.
Check-ups became my new normal, and I convinced myself I could finally breathe again.

But this year, now at 40, things changed.
I’d been struggling with bowel issues. I have IBS, but this was different — a deeper pain, a wrongness I couldn’t ignore. I spoke to my doctor, and because I’d been losing weight, I was actually listened to.

Blood tests.
More appointments.
Bad news.

It was back.
It had spread to my bowel.
And just like that, I was thrown right back into the world I thought I’d escaped.

And while all of this was happening, my life outside the hospital wasn’t neat or admirable either.

I was going through personal things I’m not proud of.
I’d split from my boyfriend, Stefan. We’d been seeing each other since December 2024 — secretly, because he was married with two small children. What started as sex became something deeper. We fell for each other. He was miserable in his marriage, and so was I.

And while all of this was happening, I was carrying a secret of my own.

My husband had been physically hurting me.
I hid it from everyone — family, friends, even myself, in a way — until the day he did it in front of my kids. That was the moment something in me snapped awake. I rang the police. I told them everything. Then I told work, because I’d been hurt so badly I couldn’t even go in.

My husband was cheating on me too, but by then I didn’t care.
What made everything worse was that he had an inkling I was seeing someone, and even though I denied it, the violence got worse. So I packed up my kids and went to my mum’s. That was the beginning of the end.

I started divorce proceedings.
I had money saved in a trust from before I was married — money he suddenly wanted. My solicitor protected it for me. In the end, I gave him £10,000 just to be done. I didn’t want anything from him. I left his pension. All I wanted was my share of the house, which I got.

And with that, I bought a cosy terraced house — perfect for me and the kids.
It’s not fancy, but it’s ours, and it’s peaceful.

I quit work after coming into some winnings that my Aunt Brenda would call “bingo winnings” (if you know, you know). And honestly, it gave me breathing room — space to focus on healing instead of just surviving.

This is my journey through all of it — the cancer, the heartbreak, the violence, the mistakes, the rebuilding.
And I can only apologise if any of this feels heavy.

It’s raw. Because I’m still living it.