Katie L’s story

What Katie Did Next: The $#*!ty Stuff

I never expected to be writing this. One minute I was juggling yoga classes, Zumba sessions, school runs, clinical placements, and full-time study as a Midwifery student, and the next… I was hearing the words ‘you have bowel cancer.’

I was 45 years old when I was diagnosed – not what anyone considers ‘typical’ for bowel cancer. At the time, I was raising three kids, aged 13, 11, and 6, balancing study and parenting and life. I was fit, active, and busy. But cancer doesn’t care. It doesn’t care how healthy you look on the outside or how many green smoothies you’ve downed. It just shows up—quietly, persistently, and far too often ignored.

My story actually started months before my diagnosis. I’d had ongoing digestive changes I chalked up to stress, diet, my usual sensitive gut, and the general chaos of parenting while studying full-time. I went to my GP in September, and again in October, because something just wasn’t right. Blood tests showed I was anaemic, but a stool test came back negative. The GP referred me to a colorectal specialist—only I didn’t call for an appointment for another six weeks. A classic ‘put everyone else first’ move.

By January, the symptoms had ramped up. I had pain after eating, worsening toilet habits, and extreme low energy. Even keeping up with Uni and placement felt like climbing a mountain. Somewhere in there, I started to really feel that something was wrong—especially when I noticed a lump in my lower belly during yoga. Still, I tried to ignore it.

Finally, on February 22, I had my first colonoscopy. That’s when I was diagnosed with bowel cancer. The kind of news that knocks the air out of your lungs. I’d never forget the day—it was surreal, frightening, and oddly clarifying.

The whirlwind began. There were delays, more tests, and then surgery finally booked for April 6. I was terrified but relieved to be taking action. The operation was long but successful. I woke up with a temporary ileostomy (yep, a stoma bag), a Stage 3 diagnosis, and a crash course in Lynch syndrome—a hereditary cancer condition I’d never heard of until it became part of my life. It added a whole new layer of concern for my family, especially my kids.

Because of Lynch syndrome, my treatment journey didn’t stop with my bowel surgery. To reduce my risk of developing gynaecological cancers, I had a prophylactic hysterectomy and oophorectomy—removing my uterus, ovaries and fallopian tubes. It was a massive, last-minute decision made just before my bowel surgery. The pathology came back clear, but the procedure sent me straight into surgical menopause. That’s a whole extra rollercoaster I wasn’t expecting—but one I accepted as a life-saving choice.

My diagnosis also brought back a lot of memories of my Dad, who was diagnosed with bowel cancer in 2010 when he was in his late 70s. His cancer eventually became terminal, and we lost him around 7 years ago. At the time, no one suspected a hereditary condition, and testing later showed his tumour wasn’t Lynch-related. So, this came as a completely separate and unexpected shock. It’s hard not to feel the echoes of his experience while navigating my own.

Then came chemo, starting May 9—six rounds over three months. And while I tried to show up with humour, strength, and a hospital selfie or two, the universe had other plans.

After my very first round, I was back in emergency twice—first for a DVT (deep vein thrombosis) in the arm where my PICC line had been placed, then again for a small bowel obstruction. More complications, more pain, more needles (because clearly, I’d missed them since surgery). I started daily blood thinner injections, had to remove the PICC, and carry on.

I completed chemo in July, but the effects didn’t stop there. Like many people who go through chemotherapy, I was left with peripheral neuropathy in my feet—a constant tingling and numbness that still lingers. It’s a daily reminder of what my body’s been through. Most days it’s manageable, others it’s incredibly frustrating. But like everything else in this journey, I just keep going.

By September, I had the ileostomy reversed. Recovery had its quirks (don’t get me started on the modified diet), but I got there.

And now? As of May 2025, my CT scan is all clear. I’m not naïve—I know surveillance is my new normal. Annual colonoscopies, blood tests, and the occasional moment of fear will be part of the deal. But I’m here. I’m living. I’m dancing again—back to Zumba even with my pins and needles feet!

If you take one thing from my story, let it be this: Don’t ignore the signs. I nearly did. I thought I was too young, too healthy, too busy. I downplayed the changes and delayed getting help. Please—don’t do that. If something doesn’t feel right, get checked. Early detection truly does save lives.

Bowel cancer came into my life and was a literal ‘$#*!show’, but it didn’t break me. It taught me I’m stronger than I ever knew, laughter and support are essential, and that we all need to listen more carefully to our bodies.

Because the truth is, you’re never too young for bowel cancer. #Never2Young

My one piece of advice:

Listen to your body and get things checked!