I wasn’t expecting to hear the word cancer. Not at 36.
When the consultant said, “It’s high-grade DCIS,” I nodded as if I understood. Inside, my mind was scrambling. I’d never even heard of it. Ductal Carcinoma In Situ. Stage 0. Non-invasive.
“It hasn’t spread,” he explained gently.
But all I heard was: cancer.
I held it together. I asked the right questions. I walked myself down to the imaging department for a mammogram. And then, standing there alone, it hit me. I broke down in tears.
Just weeks earlier, I had lost a baby.
How could this be happening too?
“where it all started”
In November 2024, I felt a dull ache in my left breast. I mentioned it to my GP and was told it was likely hormonal. “Nothing to worry about.” I was advised to try evening primrose. It helped, and I carried on with life.
In June 2025, while on a family holiday, I noticed spontaneous nipple discharge. That felt different. I went to my GP and was referred to the breast clinic under the two-week pathway.
In July, I had an ultrasound. The diagnosis: duct ectasia — a benign condition. I was reassured it wasn’t anything to be concerned about and told to remain “breast aware.”
I wanted to believe that was the end of it.
“When it became impossible to ignore”
By September, everything escalated.
The discharge returned. My breast became inflamed. I developed a high temperature. I was told it was an infection and prescribed antibiotics.
Within 48 hours, instead of improving, my breast was the size of a watermelon. Red. Swollen. Painful. The infection was spreading into my back."I managed to get a same-day GP appointment with the Nurse Practitioner who had seen me earlier. She obtained a second opinion from a GP, who confirmed I needed to go to hospital. My heart sank.
The Breast clinic wouldnt accept me as they do not take day cases , so I ended up in A&E with a letter from the Nurse Practitioner . Luckily this letter allowed the triage team to refer me directly to the day surgery unit. Blood tests were taken in minutes and once I was seen by the doctor they attempted to drain what was thought to be an abscess- but it wasn't one.
I was admitted immediately for IV antibiotics. They diagnosed non-lactational mastitis which had progressed to cellulitis. I was later told that if I hadn’t come in that day, it could have become sepsis.
That word stayed with me..
Sepsis.
I was seen by the Breast Clinic the next morning by the same people who gave me reassurance in July. Even then, I was reassured it was caused by duct ectasia. I asked about a mammogram or biopsy once the infection settled. I was told there was no need. They Couldn't guarantee it wouldn't happen again - but it was ‘ nothing to be concerned about’
I didn’t fit the age statistics for anything more serious. This is how their responses felt
The experience left me anxious. Every twinge felt amplified, and when I returned to the GP in October with another infection , I was given antibiotics again - this time largely because of my history - but no referral back to the Breast clinic.
The discharge stopped. The infections settled
But the anxiety never really did.
“Some Positive News”
In early November, we found out we were expecting our second child. We had been 50/50 about growing our family but seeing the positive test filled us with excitement.It felt like a new chapter.
But this pregnancy felt different. I had almost no symptoms. At eight weeks, I experienced light bleeding, it wasn't heavy - but your mind goes straight to the worst.
I had already attended my first midwife appointment , answering all the routine questions while quietly carrying fear. The following week , I went to the early pregnancy unit and for some reason went alone.
It was December 23rd
The room was silent as the scan began, “We’ll need to do an internal scan” the sonographer said gently
Silence again.
The words no one wanted to hear
“I’m really sorry, but there is no heartbeat.”
My world collapsed.
The hardest part wasn't just losing the baby. It was walking into a ward full of smiling expectant parents while I felt completely broken.The team were kind and moved me to a side room, I called my partner, sobbing and he arrived within fifteen minutes.
Making the decision about next steps at any point would have been difficult but so close to Christmas felt unbearable. But I chose to manage it naturally at home. I wanted to be present for our 4 year old daughter and wanted Christmas to still feel magical for her.
It took three weeks. Three weeks of physical pain, emotional exhaustion, and repeated hospital visits. Three weeks of reliving the moment and one of the hardest things I have ever endured
That loss will stay with me forever.
“When the symptoms came back”
After the miscarriage, the nipple discharge returned. This time it was brown — almost blood-like.
I knew something wasn’t right. I was told it was probably hormonal, which made sense after everything my body had been through recently. But then the familiar signs appeared: inflammation, pain, the warning signals I couldn’t ignore.
This time, I didn’t wait.
I went straight to my GP, accepted antibiotics, but also requested a private referral. I’m incredibly grateful for the NHS, but deep down, I knew further investigation was necessary. I felt like I wasn’t being taken seriously because I didn’t fit the typical age profile.
Five days later on 3rd February , my private referral came through.
I met my consultant on 9th February.
He listened to my story and examined both breasts and confirmed the discharge coming from my left breast was blood. I was sent immediately for an ultrasound. They suspected a Papilloma - a small benign growth or duct ectasia again but this time they took a biopsy.
Finally I felt heard.
“The Diagnosis”
A week later on the 16th February the results came back.
It wasn't duct ectasia
It wasn't a papilloma
It was a high-grade DCIS. - Ductal Carcinoma in situ
Stage 0 breast cancer.
Abnormal cells confined to the milk ducts , not yet invasive but cancer nonetheless
I kept myself composed for a mammogram and scheduled an MRI for two days later. It wasn’t until I reached the imaging department that I fell apart. The Sonographer has been asked to check on me because of how ‘Well’ I’d taken the news.
I hadn't taken it well.
I’d just gone numb
Telling my partner over the phone from the car was yet another difficult conversation I had to have , as only recently I had made the call telling him we lost our baby.
And yet through the shock , one though kept surfacing
If I hadn’t miscarried, my symptoms may not have returned. And if they hadn’t returned, would we have found this when we did?
As heartbreaking as losing a baby was, I will forever believe that sometimes in the most unimaginable way that tiny life helped save mine. I will forever hold our angel baby close and even closer for that reason.
“What do we do next”
The MRI confirmed it was localised to my left breast, a sigh of relief but only for a short moment as the path ahead was still unknown.
A lumpectomy was recommended followed by radiotherapy depending on the pathology results.
The day before surgery, I spent the day in the sunshine with my daughter. We laughed. We were silly. I soaked up every second and I will hold that day in my heart forever.
We stayed in a hotel the night before as it felt important to get as much sleep as I possibly could and surprisingly I slept well all considering.
The hospital team was incredible. My consultant marked my left side with arrows and asked me to confirm to ensure the right side was being signed. The Anesthetist was hilarious. I changed into my glamorous surgical gown and very sext compression stockings ensuring this moment was well documented with photos.
I walked myself to the theatre, pausing only to request a quick nervous wee, and remember chatting as the anaesthetic went in.
Then waking up in recovery.
Surreal.
I felt strangely well - well enough to request lunch which I promptly couldn't eat. Anti sickness medication , tea and biscuits saved the day
Later my consultantt confirmed surgery had gone well. A follow up was booked for 6th March, when we’d learn whether it was fully removed and what treatment would follow.
I went home that evening
Seeing my daughter’s face that evening was everything.
The hardest part now is not being able to do everything I do normally.I’m not a good patient. Rest doesn't come naturally to me but healing matters.
“Trust your instincts”
I’m incredibly grateful for the NHS but I also believe something needs to drastically change. Too many young people are being reassured instead of investigated because they don't fit the statistical norm.
Statistics are not diagnostics, age does not make you immune!!
If I hadn’t trusted my instincts and pushed for answers, my story could look very different.
High-grade DCIS is stage 0 , it hasn't spread . It was caught early . For that I am deeply thankful..
But it is still cancer.
My journey isn't over . There may be radiotherapy ahead. There are still results to receive.more surgery. There is still uncertainty.
But the experience has sharpened me.
It has taught me to speak up.
To question reassurance that doesn't sit right
To advocate for myself and for others
If something doesn’t feel right, please do not ignore it
Push.
Ask.
Go back.
Seek another opinion if you need to.
You know your body better than anyone.
And sometimes, that quiet voice inside you is the one that saves your life.
I’m deeply grateful for my family and friends, for their unwavering support through the hardest moments and for the ones still to come. My daughter, just four years old, is incredible — she makes me laugh even on the days when smiling feels impossible.
This story isn’t just for me. It’s for anyone who has been through this, is going through it, or knows someone affected by cancer. If sharing my journey helps even one person, then it has been worth it.
Thank you for taking the time to read.
Fran
