Two years ago, I started day one of five sessions of radiotherapy following my diagnosis of Stage 2 breast cancer in May 2024, which had been picked up during a routine mammogram.
The physical side of treatment was manageable, but what made radiotherapy incredibly difficult for me was the emotional side. This was day one:
Today was far tougher than I ever imagined it would be.
For a short time, I experienced first-hand what my daughter endured during her thirty-two days of radiotherapy.
I went to my appointment and sat in the same area where Charlotte and I had sat together eleven years ago. I looked across at changing room number one. It was still there, next to the toilets I had so readily run to once Charlotte's treatment sessions had begun.
Nothing had changed.
Then it was my turn.
I climbed onto the treatment table and looked up at the ceiling. There was the image of the sky above me, the same one Charlotte had so often talked about.
I looked at that sky, and I cried.
Not for me.
For Charlotte.
In that moment, I realised even more deeply how terrified she must have been. What thoughts must have raced through her mind as she lay there as a teenager, facing an incurable brain tumour and knowing there was a very real possibility that her life would be cut short?
I had always known Charlotte was brave. But how she managed to cope with everything she endured is beyond me.
The photograph was taken on 23 November 2013, the day after Charlotte completed her radiotherapy.
Charlotte received radiotherapy to both her brain and spine.
18 February 1997 – 24 February 2016
Her story, her courage and her legacy will never be forgotten.
Fortunately, I had a scan in February of this year, on what would have been Charlotte's 29th birthday, and thankfully, it showed all clear
Please RT with thanks If you would like to support a small, self-funding brain tumour charity where 100% of your donation goes directly to research in Charlotte's Lab at King's College Hospital, London, we would be incredibly grateful. No salaries. No overheads. No advertising. No merchandise.
https://t.co/5req1VtgX7
Imagine for one second that your child was gone.
No more phone calls. No more texts. No more cooking their favorite meals, washing their clothes, or picking them up.
No more excitement watching them as they move from school to college, to university, to first love, to marriage, to children etc
Welcome to my world.
Brain cancer took Charlotte at just 19 years and 5 days she never stood a chance.
We’re fighting to change that for others.
If you can donate, we would be so grateful. But even a simple RT helps more than you know. Thank you.
18.2.97 -24.2.16
https://t.co/Ox60Th4rfn
I will never stop raising awareness. I haven’t got a massive following and I’m not a celebrity I’m just a mother who lost her only daughter to brain cancer 7 years ago 2 many that’s so long ago 2 me it’s yesterday glioblastoma a RT would b appreciated TY
Hard to believe it’s the 7th Christmas without u I promise I will continue 2 raise awareness of brain tumours especially grade 4 glioblastoma which took u aged 19 yrs 5 days on 24.2.16 a long time ago 4 some 4 me Charlotte’s mother it feels like yesterday please RT TY
Of the many baffling things to understand during this pandemic, the most incomprehensible is the anti-mask agenda. It’s such a minor inconvenience and the evidence is clear that it reduces your chances of catching Covid and more importantly reduces your chances of passing it on.
If you’re lucky enough to get a ticket for the final, please, please don’t boo the Italian anthem. A/ It’s an absolute belter and worth listening to. B/ It’s bloody rude, disrespectful and utterly classless.