Now, aged 55, she shares her story to support others.
In March 2018, I began to experience pain in my foot. From then on, I would get pain at night, twist my ankle regularly, and go over on it. This resulted in me falling a few times.
Soon after, I went to my GP and explained what was happening. I was told that it could be scar tissue from another injury, and was advised to return in a month if I was still experiencing pain.
On my second visit, my GP referred me for an x-ray, which came back as 'nothing to report.' I continued to experience a lot of pain, so I had an MRI scan. From this, it was recommended that I have another x-ray, which took place in March 2019. On the same day, my GP surgery contacted me to make an urgent appointment with them.
This is when alarm bells started ringing.
I was referred to the Royal Orthopaedic Hospital in Birmingham, and in July 2019, I received surgery for a benign growth in the cuboid bone in my foot. When I went to the orthopaedic hospital to have my stitches removed, my surgeon informed me he had received the histology results.
I was told they had found malignant cancerous cells, and that I had bone cancer. It felt like the rug had been pulled from underneath me.
I looked at my husband, and I watched the colour drain from his face. I had to stop myself from crying because I needed to concentrate on what the surgeon was telling me.
It felt like a rollercoaster experience up to this point. Initially I was told it probably was cancer, then I had a biopsy and was told that it wasn't, and then the news it was osteosarcoma.
It was elation, then worry. I felt incredibly frightened.
Family and friends rallied round. I was inundated with messages, cards, flowers, gifts and visits. In spite of that, I still felt so lonely with my cancer.
After the appointment where I was told I had cancer, things moved quickly. I was referred to an oncologist at Queen Elizabeth Hospital in Birmingham, where I became familiar with words like chemotherapy, PICC line, and amputation.
My oncologist and sarcoma clinical nurse specialist (CNS) explained the possible side effects of treatment. This included heart problems, weakened immune system, nausea, vomiting, constipation, hair loss, memory issues, blood clots, neuropathy...
I felt more stunned by that appointment than I did my diagnosis.
When I had my PICC line fitted, I met Kirsty, who was diagnosed with osteosarcoma on the same day I was. We started chemotherapy together, on the same regime of doxorubicin and cisplatin. Kirsty came over to me and asked 'what's your story?'
I had six cycles of chemotherapy as an inpatient. That was really scary, because on the TV you see people sitting in a chair in their local hospital, drinking tea and eating cake.
That couldn't be further from reality.
Hospital was a daunting experience, because it was huge and wasn't in my city. The chemotherapy itself was tiring, because we would have it in the night (it was an overnight process) and you couldn't sleep. The process was so long, taking eighteen hours on one occasion.
I'll never forget the sound of the drip stand alarm when there was a blockage on the line.
Despite it all, I did have an enjoyable experience. Kirsty and I would play cards, laugh, and go on nice walks around the hospital. I tried to make my stays more bearable by taking in all my nice skincare products and perfumes to pamper myself.
My Macmillan counsellor and I joked that it was like going on a spa break.
The side effects of chemotherapy kicked in a few days later when I was back home. After each cycle, the chemotherapy side effects would get cumulatively worse.
By the time I had my sixth and final cycle, I couldn't even be happy that I'd finished it, because I was so apprehensive about the side effects that would hit me.
I had further surgery in December 2019 to remove my cuboid bone, and doctors made a replacement out of donor bone.
Unfortunately, the wound opened up the same night, and I had a hole in my foot for ten months. The hospitals tried everything to encourage it to heal, including a mesh-like material infused with crabs eggs, silver dressings, and honey dressings.
The dressings were changed three times per week, and I completed my chemotherapy in February 2020... then Covid happened. I was forced to dress my own wounds on a video call, with the burns nurse for guidance.
The thought of going through treatment, contracting Covid, and being labelled as someone with underlying health conditions was terrifying — even more so than bone cancer.
My appointments with the hospital were given over the phone, and it wasn't until June 2020 before I was able to have x-rays to assess how my foot was doing.
In October 2020, I went into hospital for my third surgery. My consultant orthopaedic surgeon and a team of plastic surgeons were tasked with closing the wound and repairing my foot, which took twelve hours. They found a bone infection, had to take all the metal work out, and spent hours cleaning it and reconstructing my foot.
The surgeons replaced the metal work with bone from my other leg, and also did skin grafts to repair the damage.
Today, I continue to experience long-term effects of my treatment including fatigue, memory loss, neuropathy and mouth ulcers. I also experience bleeding lips and tinnitus in my ears. This all occurs alongside foot pain and anxiety.
Even though diagnosis, surgeries, gruelling treatments and recoveries were the most challenging experiences of my life, it wasn't all bad. It was fate that I met Kirsty in hospital.
She is the best gift that cancer has given me, and we will always have our special bond as cancer twins.
The cancer diagnosis narrowed my life, so I handed myself over to the NHS and they became my community. They saved my life, and to be on the receiving end of such compassion and care almost feels like a privilege.
My advice to others is to take your pain seriously, especially if it occurs during the night. It is so important to advocate for yourself and push for answers.
If you have a bone cancer diagnosis, don't hesitate to contact your clinical nurse specialist (CNS) and Macmillan nurses who are here to help you.
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