‘Keep your heart open,’ she told me one day when we were practising walking in a mirrored room. ‘People will surprise you with their kindness. And you’ll surprise yourself, too, when you realise how strong you are.’
I took this advice to heart.
A week later, the day of my new scan came. My mum drove me to the hospital and we were both silent on the way. We had already gone over every possible option a dozen times over. This was the crucial moment – the final piece of the puzzle that would determine whether I needed more treatment or whether I could focus on rebuilding my body.
Liora was with my aunt, who had come in for a few days to help. In the waiting room, I could feel the walls narrowing. The smell of antiseptic stung my nose and the cars around me seemed louder than usual. I went back to my mum and said: ‘I’m not ready for more chemotherapy. I don’t know if my body can take another one.’
She squeezed my hand and whispered softly: ‘No matter what happens, we will overcome everything together.’
Finally, I was called in. The screening went quickly, but waiting for the results seemed like an eternity. Dr Armitage walked in with a folder. His facial expression was uninterpretable. I tried to prepare myself for the worst.
‘Good news,’ he said, and I thought I caught my breath. ‘The mass is stable, and it appears to be benign. We’ll continue to monitor it, but so far it doesn’t look like the cancer has spread.’
I didn’t know whether to cry or laugh. I chose mixed feelings – tears streamed down my face and my lips stretched into a nervous smile. Mum hugged me so tightly that I felt as if she would never let go. My whole body trembled, but relief enveloped me like a warm cawdra on a cold night.
In the weeks that followed, I focused on regaining strength for both myself and Liora. My new prosthesis was challenging, but every step was like getting a part of my life back. I got up early for light stretches, which helped with the phantom pain. I found that massaging the kuksa before bed reduced nighttime discomfort, and as I became more confident, I finally felt strong enough to hold Liora in my arms while standing up – I hadn’t done so since the day of surgery.
The more I practised, the more I realised that I wasn’t just recovering physically. My spirit was becoming lighter. That dark cloud of constant anxiety began to dissipate. Yes, I may still have a few scans and exams to go through. But this was my new reality – living with the knowledge that the cancer could always come back, but keep moving forward.
One morning, as I walked gingerly through the living room with Liora in my arms, she laughed and touched my cheek with her little hand. And I realised that she didn’t care about my scars or my prosthesis, didn’t care that I got up faster than I used to. She wanted me.
We had a little party to celebrate this new chapter – a mini victory celebration. Mum made a vanilla cake with bright pink icing. A few close friends from childhood came with flowers and airy layers, and my physiotherapist and Saorsha also showed up. We raised our glasses (mostly with lemonade) to survival, to resilience, and to the simple blessings we often take for granted.
That night, as I tucked Liora into her cot, I looked at her peaceful face and thought about how far we had come in just six months. The walls of the nursery, once decorated with drawings of pastel elephants and rainbows, now epitomised our entire journey. Life has turned me over more than once, but I’m still here – standing, literally and figuratively, with my daughter in my arms.
Sometimes we can’t choose which battles to fight. We can’t press pause when things go wrong. But we can choose how to react to it. There were days when I wanted to hide under a rug and cry until I couldn’t breathe anymore. But every time I looked at Liora’s face, I found a reason to keep going.
If there’s one lesson I want everyone to learn from this story, it’s that life can change in an instant. No one is immune to problems. But even when you lose a part of yourself – whether it’s a leg, your health, or your peace of mind – you can still find a way forward. Sometimes that path is through the support of family, or a stranger who becomes a friend, or even the unfailing love in your child’s eyes.
Never underestimate the power of determination and don’t let circumstances define who you are. We are all more resilient than we think. If you face a health threat, loss, or any major hardship, know that you have the strength to keep going. You may surprise yourself with what you can overcome.
Thank you for reading my story. If it touched your heart, please share it with someone who may need a little hope. And if it made you believe in your own strength, please put a like and spread this story. Life can be unpredictable, but together we can remind each other that there is always a reason for hope and that love is stronger than any obstacle.