Shikha Sharma, Southampton

I was diagnosed with bowel cancer in November 2023 aged 28. These are my thoughts in the run up to my surgery.

In August 2023, as I was driving up to the Cotswolds for my best friend's wedding, I received the results from a routine blood test. My iron levels were significantly low, and the GP suggested I start taking iron tablets. However, I was conscious this may just be putting a plaster over the wound rather than fixing it. 

I spoke to my older sister about this issue. She’s training to be a GP, so she's my in-house doctor! She suggested I ask my GP for a FIT (faecal immunochemical test) which would mean that a stool sample was sent off for investigation. My sister said this would confirm whether I had any unknown bleeding.

After sending off the sample, I didn’t give it a second thought. A couple of weeks later however, a nurse called and explained the test was positive and that I’d been referred to the colorectal department.

After a few days, a lovely nurse called to arrange a colonoscopy and a week later, I arrived at the hospital. I hadn't thought I was nervous until I reached the waiting room, where my mum dropped me off and gave me a massive hug. As I waited, I noticed I must have been the youngest person in the room. I looked around at everyone exchanging sympathetic smiles, and assumed this experience was a one-off and I was too young to be there.

After what felt like forever, I was called through. Although I was sedated, I remember looking at the screen and seeing a lot of black. I didn’t know what that meant or if I was hallucinating, but my gut feeling was telling me something was wrong.

After the procedure, I was taken into the recovery room. As the sedation wore off, I noticed the nurses were going around to other patients. I overheard, "You'll be free to go in the next ten minutes," and, "Good news, the procedure went well". None of these comments were aimed at me however.

I was told the consultant wanted to speak to me and was led into a side room where my mum and the consultant were waiting. They said they had found a tumour in my colon. It was “probably” malignant and “probably” cancer.

My mum and I left the room in silence. We were in the lift and a stranger walked in and noticed the hospital bands on my wrists. She smiled, pointing at my wrists, and said, “You’re managing to escape”. I smiled, but thought to myself it’s all only just starting.

After an urgent referral for a CT scan, a nurse phoned to let me know the next steps. I’d be having an MRI scan in a few days, and meeting my consultant for our first appointment to discuss surgery. The nurse asked if I had any other questions, and I did. It was a big question too. I said that so far, I’ve been told I “probably” have cancer and asked if she could confirm if I did or not. After a short pause, the nurse responded, “Are you sure you want to be told over the phone?”. This answered my question. I said I did, and she confirmed that I have bowel cancer. 

Having now met my consultant, I’m due to have surgery where I’ll be having a right hemicolectomy. My tumour is in the right-side of my colon (the hepatic flexure) and so the procedure will remove that portion of my colon.

I don’t know what the next few months are going to involve. I hope I’ll be on the other side of this soon, and sharing a story of success and positivity. Family and friends have rallied around me, and I couldn’t be more grateful. But when I find myself alone, I ask, “What’s going on?”. I’ve been naïvely ignorant to terms such as ‘tumour’, ‘cancer’, and ‘chemo’, yet, they’ve become part of my daily vocabulary over the course of a few weeks.

I’m not sure how I feel at the moment. The only way I can describe it is it’s as if I’m on a rollercoaster which hasn’t stopped for weeks, and has so many highs and lows that I constantly feel nauseous!

Someone recently said to me, “It’s not your problem that you have cancer. The amazing medical staff will fix that problem, you just go and live your life how you want to”. I keep reminding myself that I need to focus on what I can control. I can still run, eat, laugh, and live my life exactly how I want to for now, so that’s exactly what I’m going to do. I’m going to laugh with my sisters, dance with my best friends and hug my parents (and my dog, Caesar) extra tight!

Update, January 2024:

I'd be lying if I didn't admit how hard it was waking up and facing reality after my surgery. The shock of all the various wires, drips, and the overall pain hit me hard. But, with the support of my family, friends, and the amazing nurses, I was eventually out of bed and shuffling around the ward! I'm now back home and focusing on recovery. I can't wait to go on a run again soon!

I’m so happy to share the news that I'll not require any further treatment. My consultant confirmed that the surgery all went well, they removed 27 lymph nodes but there is no sign suggesting further treatment is required. I'm so so grateful and thankful to the NHS. The fact that this was caught and removed all in the space of less than two months is phenomenal.

I appreciate that everyone has different experiences with cancer, and that I'm extremely lucky. Please listen to your body and don't ignore anything that doesn't feel right to you.

I read a quote recently that I resonated so much with. It said: "When you get cancer, you learn two things: you are stronger than you imagine, and you are loved more than you know".