Salima Saxton, Hempstead

I was diagnosed with stage 3 bowel cancer in August 2025 at the age of 48.

I’m an actress, writer and podcaster, and a mum of two teen daughters. I’m a talker, and I love connecting with people. I’ve had a really varied life and career, with so many experiences I’m so grateful for and proud of.

Multiple hospital visits

My story begins with a lady vomiting in the street. I’d been walking past and ended up helping her. Around two days later, I started having stomach issues: diarrhoea and vomiting. I was poorly for about 10 days and put it down to ‘Good Samaritan-itis.’

I’d been to the GP, who agreed it was likely just a virus. But then a few days later, I was struck with a whole new level of sickness and I was doubled over in pain.

I went to A&E and they gave me a CT scan. They thought I had diverticulitis. I was hospitalised for a few days, pumped with antibiotics and I eventually felt well enough to go home.

A few weeks later, however, I was back in hospital again. This time, I was in for 10 days, while they tested and treated me for a Clostridioides difficile (C. diff) infection.

I just wasn’t getting any better. Eventually, I was told I would need surgery to drain the infection, and would likely need a temporary stoma fitted. I found that incredibly hard to accept.

But I was put under, and they performed a colonoscopy as well as the ileostomy. I woke up, and my husband was there. I asked him how the surgery had gone, and all he said was: “Let’s wait for the doctor to talk to you.”

When the doctor arrived, he said the words that really just split my world in half: “We think you have cancer.”

I had no symptoms I’d recognise as cancer. I was really proud of how healthy I was. I thought cancer happened to other people, but definitely not me.

I’d woken up with a stoma and now a cancer diagnosis. I couldn’t get my head straight. I kept just saying, “No, that can’t be. I have children. It’s not possible.”

In my head, I remember myself running away. Which doesn’t really make a lot of sense, because I was hooked up to several machines. But that’s how I remember the moment.

I had never felt fear like it in my life. I felt utterly frozen and hopeless.

Getting through treatment

After another CT scan confirmed the cancer hadn’t spread beyond my bowel, doctors decided on a plan of action. The tumour was very intertwined in my organs, so I would have six rounds of chemotherapy, then surgery to remove my uterus, ovaries and the tumour itself, followed by another six rounds of chemotherapy. And so that’s what we did.

I vowed to keep my head down and just focus on getting better. Despite this, I had a few early upsets – not least when my stoma became blocked just a few days before I could start chemotherapy. Having to get a nasogastric tube inserted while awake was honestly one of the most traumatic experiences of my whole cancer journey. But I ploughed on.

While going through my first lot of chemo and on a lot of steroids, I began writing a book called Bad Patient. Writing, for me, has always been a way to process my experiences and emotions. I felt like by getting all my thoughts down on a page, I was able to really understand what had actually happened to me, and separate the irrational, scary thoughts from my reality.

I found solace in my community, and I found community wherever I could. I spent a lot of time with friends. I got to know the other people in the treatment room while having chemotherapy. I would bring gifts to the nurses who took care of me. And I tried to be as honest about the way I was feeling as I possibly could be.

Where I am now

I’m approaching the end of my journey now, 14 months on from my diagnosis. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I do hope that I’m a better person because of it.

I've just had my stoma reversed and it’s a great example of how much has changed. I was absolutely beside myself about the idea of having a stoma when it was first brought up. But eventually, these things become bearable. I did what needed to be done.

I don’t think the Salima of 14 months ago would recognise me.