Mel O'Neill, a mum-of-two from Penketh, has been living with breast cancer for more than a decade.

Here she shares her latest blog with us

Today Monday, November, is my 4th infusion of this dynamic combination of chemotherapy and an anti-cancer drug specifically designed for the receptors of my cancer called Herceptin.

On its own, I once had to pay for this drug but as it’s combined with a new chemotherapy, it’s available to me free of charge on the NHS. It’s called Enhertu.

Although I have to stay on this inevitably, my oncologist confidently told me before I started the regime, that I’d be in remission within three months. But my faith in him wavered as a few weeks ago I had an almighty scare when my breast and chest turned bright red and I was convinced the treatment wasn’t working for me.

I’ve also joined a support group for people on the same treatment and have since discovered it doesn’t work for everybody.

My mind went into overdrive and the tears were unstoppable for many hours that day as I convinced myself I had now come to the end of my journey not knowing how much longer I had left to stay alive.

I’d promised my daughter I’d take her to Paris for her 18th birthday, my other daughter New York in a few years’ time for her 21st.

I’d got tickets for the three of us to go and see my favourite group play next year in May and as I sobbed uncontrollably on my husband’s shoulder I struggled to tell him my fears of not being here to accomplish my wishes.

“Of course you will be Mel”, he assured me but my foggy brain could not comprehend any positivity and all I could think of was my worst fears.

I was in turmoil

I wrote to my oncologist’s secretary describing my skin and how eight years ago the same thing had happened and after a biopsy revealed it was cancer that had spread, so I was in turmoil and needed an appointment to figure out what could be done. She replied immediately and said she would forward my email to my doctor but he was unavailable for a few days.

As a precaution I reluctantly started to take antibiotics which I luckily had in the draw as a backup plan in case my lymphedema arm got an infection. Nothing changed for a few days and the soreness and the heat continued.

Then after two to three days the redness started to fade and the soreness vanished. The antibiotics were working and it was an infection after all. The following day my oncologist replied to my email suggesting it couldn’t possibly be cancer as my tumour markers in my blood and miraculously reduced by 50% after only three infusions so he assured me the antibiotics would soon begin to work as there was a high chance it was an infection, and they did as my skin had already started to clear up.

I must practise what I preach

PTSD of what had happened to me in the same situation many years before had obviously scarred me to the point of melt down where I would not believe it was anything other than cancer. Bearing in mind I’ve had bad news month after month, year after year for over 10 years and again now, where cancer is concerned, you can understand how and why I had a meltdown.

The moral of this story is to practise what I preach.

That most things we worry about don’t happen anyway and not to worry so much when nothing has been confirmed or until we know exactly what it is. (Saying that I believe this is when we worry the most. It’s the not knowing that sends our minds into overdrive) I do however believe everything happens for a reason.

I was meant to have this scare so that I would find out how my cancer markers have reduced. That it was a reminder of how not to worry and how in spite of my side effects of hair loss, fatigue, sickness, painful mouth ulcers, memory loss, depression, brain fog and deteriorating eyesight, it’s working. I’m one of the lucky ones and no doubt I’ll be in remission by the time I have my next scan (which is soon I hope) and my dose can be lowered so my side effects aren’t as severe.

An understanding from others is much needed and the love, support and kindness is always welcomed as I rarely advertise the physical, or mental pain these side effects bring as well as dealing with everything else that goes on in everyday life therefore reduction is always welcomed should the cancer be obliterated.

I crave normality. I crave the feeling I felt only a few months ago when I was flying high and loving life believing I’d be cancer free forever after a 13 year slog. I want to be there again only this time I may have to adjust my boundaries and know I can and I will get there again albeit with cancer in tow.