Kavita, United Kingdom

My Cancer Journey: Strength, Loss, and Hope

For years, I have worked in film production, bringing stories to life on the big screen. I love the industry—the long hours, the hard work, the fun, and the magic of creating something meaningful. In early 2023, I was working on my fourth film, Bleeding Poverty, an independent project in Derby about young girls campaigning for free period products in schools. It was a female-led production with an incredible cast and crew.

One night after a long shoot, I was resting in my hotel room when I woke up at 3:00 a.m. to find my bed wet. Confused, I went to the bathroom and realized that water was leaking from my breast. Alarm bells rang in my head. The next day, I could barely focus on set—I just wanted to get home and see a doctor.

The Diagnosis That Changed Everything

After my GP visit, I was referred for a scan. I could sense something was wrong when the nurse took longer than expected, clicking away at the screen. She told me, “If there’s nothing concerning, you can go home.” But instead, she asked me to wait for a doctor. Sitting alone in that hospital room, time stretched endlessly. When the doctor finally arrived, he confirmed they had found something—but further tests were needed.

Life, however, does not pause for bad news. I had a trip planned to Austria for my fiancé’s sister’s wedding, and despite my anxiety, I went ahead with it. We danced, we celebrated—but all the while, a storm brewed inside me. Then the call came. The doctor told me the results were in, and I needed to return to the UK immediately. My heart sank. I begged them to tell me over the phone. That’s when I heard the words that shattered my world: “You have inflammatory breast cancer.”

I had no lump, no obvious symptoms—just water leaking from my breast. If I had ignored it, I might not be here today. I want every woman to hear this: if something doesn’t feel right, get it checked.

A Battle I Never Asked For

From that moment, my life became a whirlwind of scans, biopsies, and consultations. I was introduced to my oncologist, who outlined my aggressive treatment plan—chemotherapy followed by radiation. At the same time, I was told I would likely lose my fertility. My fiancé and I had been trying for a baby for two years, and I was devastated. I explored egg freezing, but the NHS deemed me “too old.” Private treatment would have taken too long—I had no choice but to start chemo immediately.

I moved in with my mother for support, but nothing could prepare me for what was coming. Chemotherapy began in August 2023, and my body rejected it violently. Each session left me battling sepsis as my immune system collapsed. I developed a severe skin condition called Nodular Prurigo, which caused painful lesions across my body. My hair started falling out in clumps, my nails turned black, and neuropathy made walking unbearable.

The hardest part? Watching my family return to their normal lives once chemo was over, as if the battle had ended. But for me, it was just the beginning.

Endurance, Isolation, and Survival

Radiation therapy followed—21 days of driving myself to the hospital, exhausted and broken. The financial strain was immense; the emotional toll even greater. I felt abandoned. The Indian community, I realized, had little understanding of what a cancer journey truly entails. The support faded, and I was left alone.

That’s when cancer charities became my lifeline. They supported me through the darkest moments, reminding me I wasn’t truly alone.

After radiation, I faced another terrifying milestone—my mastectomy. Waking up from surgery felt like an amputation. I grieved for my body, for what I had lost, and for the future I had once envisioned. The draining of seromas post-surgery was another brutal chapter—six separate appointments, each one testing my fear of needles and my emotional strength.

I thought the worst was over, but cancer is not a journey with a clear finish line. The medication I now take has relentless side effects, forcing me into early menopause, altering my body, my emotions, my identity. I have finally been given a date for my DIEP flap reconstruction, but instead of relief, I feel fear. Every step forward seems to pull me ten steps back.

Raising Awareness and Giving Back

Through it all, I have found purpose in raising awareness. Cancer is a lonely journey, but it doesn’t have to be. The Indian community, in particular, needs more education on what cancer patients endure—the struggle, the resilience, the need for long-term support.

To give back, I signed up for the Birmingham Cancer Research 5K Night Walk. It poured with rain the entire time, but I pushed through, every step a reminder of how far I had come. It was one of the hardest walks of my life, but I finished it—and I have a video to prove it.

Looking Ahead

Now, as I continue to heal, I hold onto hope. I dream of a future where I no longer have to fight my body every day. A future where cancer doesn’t dictate my story. By summer, I hope to finally take a deep breath and move forward—stronger, wiser, and ready for whatever comes next.

To anyone going through this: You are not alone. Keep fighting.