I have incurable breast cancer but this is how I stay happy

After finding a lump in her breast, Laura Middleton-Hughes, 36, from Norwich, didn’t think it could be breast cancer, but she soon faced a life-changing diagnosis. Here, she explains how she created a 'living list' to help her make the most of every moment in life.

As my brown locks tumbled to the hairdresser’s floor with my friends, family and boyfriend Brad looking on, I felt myself growing stronger. At just 25 years old, I’d started chemotherapy for breast cancer. I knew I was going to lose my hair, and eventually my breasts, too.

But instead of waiting for cancer to take my crowning glory and having to watch it fall out piece by piece, I’d decided to take control. The moment the first strands had fallen out, I’d gathered a group of friends at the salon where I worked as a hairdresser and asked a colleague to shave it all off.

They cheered me on, and even took it in turns on my hair with the clippers. As well as being a big support, it also meant I wouldn’t have to reveal my new, unfamiliar scalp to everyone later on. This way, they became part of my journey.

It was a big step towards embracing my future with all the positivity I could – an attitude I try to maintain even now, when I’m living with the secondary cancer that will one day end my life. I might live each day on a knife edge, but that doesn’t mean I can’t grab every opportunity for joy and happiness along the way.

A shock diagnosis

Brad and I were in the middle of a five-week trip to Australia when I found a lump in my left breast. I didn’t think much of it – I was young, and the lump was only the size of a pea, so it seemed unlikely that it could be cancer.

Back in the UK, Brad encouraged me to see my GP, who wasn’t overly concerned. But she referred me to a specialist just to be sure, and I met with a consultant, who did an ultrasound and a mammogram, followed by a biopsy. Then just two weeks later, with Brad tightly holding my hand, I was given the terrible news: I had stage-three breast cancer.

The tumour in my breast was visible, and had grown over five centimetres since I’d found it eight weeks earlier. The cancer had also spread to my lymph nodes, so I needed chemotherapy. I’d also need a full mastectomy of my left breast, which wouldn’t be reconstructed until over a year after the operation.

Hearing the news was a complete, devastating shock. I’d never had surgery before, and I knew absolutely nothing about chemotherapy. I loved my career as a hairdresser, and had been excited about a busy summer ahead. But now instead, I faced months of pain and trips to hospital.

Having surgery

Thirteen days after starting chemotherapy, my hair started falling out, so I faced that challenge head-on by having it shaved off the very next evening. By the time I came to have my mastectomy six months after my diagnosis, I’d come to terms with the fact that my breast was trying to kill me, so I felt ready for that surgery, too.

But coming round from the operation to see my breast missing, one side of my chest completely flat, hugely knocked my confidence. I went from enjoying wearing figure-hugging dresses like any other young woman, to wearing baggy, high-necked tops to cover my body.

Yet through everything, Brad still made me feel beautiful. He was by my side the whole time, even though he found it hard to watch me go through something so tough. "It’s my job to look after you, but I don’t know how to make you better," he told me.

Devastating news

Over the next year, I had to return to hospital for treatment every three weeks, so when May 2015 rolled around and I was finally on the road to recovery, I threw a party to celebrate. Cancer was behind me, and after a gruelling 18 months, I could look forward to the future. I returned to the job I was passionate about, and Brad and I discussed starting a family.

A year after celebrating my recovery, my shoulder began to hurt. Because it had started when I was at the gym, my GP assumed it was a pulled muscle. I was prescribed painkillers and a course of physiotherapy, and convinced everyone, including myself, that it was a gym injury. I’d had a clear bone scan recently, so surely it couldn’t be cancer?

But it wasn’t long before I received more devastating news. After a CT scan, I was called to see my oncologist. I knew it couldn’t be good news, so Brad was by my side once more when I was told the cancer had spread to my bones. It was so advanced that my arm was broken – but I’d been so determined to regain the life I loved, I’d pushed aside the pain.

A full body scan revealed the cancer had also reached my spine and pelvis. It was at stage four, and incurable. I needed a shoulder replacement, which meant I’d never work as a hairdresser again. Even more devastatingly, I was told that the lifelong medication I’d need to keep me well meant I’d never be able to have children.

In the space of just 15 minutes I’d lost my future, my career and the dreams of being a mother I’d always cherished. It was like being dropped into a black hole, and I was convinced I’d be dead within a couple of weeks.

Creating a ‘living list’

Although being plunged back into the unknown was terrifying, I never gave up hope. Because the future was such a scary place, I lived my life day by day, and tried not to let my mind jump too far ahead.

I underwent excruciating surgery to repair the damage to my arm, then endured yet more chemotherapy. I was put on a host of medications that doctors hoped would extend my life – even if only by an extra 18 months.

Yet somehow, eight years later, I’m still here – and still having all the adventures I can, even if my life is very different to the one I pictured for myself before my diagnosis.

Hearing friends are pregnant and having conversations with Brad about what will happen when I’m no longer here is so hard. I get emotional very easily and struggle with knowing that my future is so uncertain. I dream of having a single day of normality.

But I also decided early on that if I can’t have children, Brad and I should do as many other things we enjoy together as possible. To help us do that, I created my 'living list'– like a bucket list, but focusing on life rather than death.

It’s designed to help me mend all the little holes that have been left by everything I’ve lost, and is filled with things to look forward to through the hard times. It includes things like painting lessons and holidays, as well as ideas suggested by my friends – like the walk with alpacas I’d never have considered before, but really enjoyed.

I got a little cocker spaniel puppy called Tilly, which took my attention away from cancer, and gave Brad and I the chance to be parents, albeit in a different way. Five years ago, Brad and I also got married, which became my favourite day of all time.

Helping others

In 2019, along with my friend Nicky Newman, I created an online support group called Secondary Sisters, for women like us living with secondary cancer. After my diagnoses, I needed a group where I could be open about things like death and the side effects of the drugs I’m on.

Although Nicky sadly passed away last year, I’ve continued the group. I’m helping to educate people – for example, what to say to someone with cancer and how to support them – and it’s amazing to see the community that’s grown from it. We can talk about anything, including the dark stuff, and offer each other advice. But we also share the fun parts of life and have a laugh along the way.

Perhaps surprisingly, we have lots of followers who haven’t got cancer. Seeing what we’re living through encourages them not to worry about the small stuff. There are even some who follow me on my Instagram page, Bald, Boobless and Beautiful, who’ve made their own living lists.

My message is that you don’t have to wait to have cancer to start living life to the full. It’s drummed into us to buy a house with the biggest mortgage you can afford, and to save all your money into a pension. But what’s the point if you’re not enjoying yourself right now?

If you’re thinking, 'I’ll go on that holiday when the kids have left home,' I’d urge you not to put off the things you really want to do. I don’t know what my future holds, but I’m still determined to squeeze every drop out of life while I can – and you can do the same.

If you’re living with breast cancer, you can find support and information at Momentsthatcount.co.uk.

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