My Cancer Journey – From Diagnosis to Faith and Healing

I was newly married in April 2013 when, just two months later, my husband felt a lump in my breast. Initially unalarmed—my mother had benign cysts—I went for a check. But after a mammogram and biopsy, the consultant delivered the words that changed everything: “It’s Cancer.” My legs went weak, and I burst into tears. Everything after that moment became a blur.

At 42, my first thought was whether I could still have children. My husband already had a child, but we both wanted more. I was given a month to explore fertility options. But NHS guidelines denied me IVF due to my age and my husband’s existing child. Within weeks, I could feel the lump growing. My husband encouraged me to prioritise treatment, but it wasn’t easy.

I was warned it could trigger early menopause. What I didn’t anticipate was how harsh it would be—sudden hot flushes, night sweats, extreme fatigue. On top of chemo’s side effects, it was overwhelming.

I worked in the pharmaceutical industry, so I researched everything. I asked to start chemotherapy before surgery, a less common path, but one of my consultant agreed to. I hoped it might shrink the tumour enough to avoid surgery altogether. Private healthcare gave me more flexibility and made me feel heard.

Hair loss hit hard. I cut my hair short and tried the cold cap—it was unbearable. With small veins, I had a Portacath inserted. The procedure, done under local anaesthetic, had a moment where my arm jerked involuntarily from a hit nerve, but it was successful in the end.

During my six months of chemo, I’d often escape to my mother’s in Yorkshire to recover. Living in an annex with my in-laws meant constant visitors—none of whom knew I was ill. I craved peace, my mum’s comfort, her food. Regular PET scans showed the tumour shrinking. It gave me hope.

Cancer didn’t just change my body; it changed my soul. I asked, “Why me?” There was no family history. But in time, I saw it as a wake-up call from Allah (SWT), a reminder to return to Him. During Ramadan, after losing my hair, my husband suggested I wear the hijab. What started as a practical solution became a symbol of faith. I began praying regularly. The hijab became part of who I am.

By the final scan, the cancer had nearly gone. But scans aren’t perfect, and I was advised that surgery would ensure complete removal. As I was small-breasted, a lumpectomy wasn’t feasible—I would need a mastectomy. After reflection, I agreed. I declined reconstruction; I couldn’t see the sense in removing a foreign growth only to insert a synthetic replacement. I accepted my new body. I wear a prosthesis for symmetry, but I am at peace with my scar.

In early 2024, shortly after my surgery, both my mother and mother-in-law were diagnosed with cancer. My employer underwent a restructure, and I took voluntary redundancy to care for my family. I helped my mum through her treatment and supported my frail mother-in-law until her passing six months later. It was a challenging time, but I felt better equipped after my own journey.

I’d promised myself that I would go for Umrah when I recovered. In June 2024, my husband and I fulfilled that promise. It marked the spiritual culmination of my cancer journey—a reminder that all things begin and end with Allah (SWT).

Alhamdulillah, over ten years on, I’m still under routine monitoring. But the greatest outcome has been my strengthened faith. Illness, I’ve learned, is a means through which Allah draws us closer. Our trials are handpicked by the One who knows us best.

For years, I stayed silent about my experience. But I’ve witnessed how stigma in Muslim communities delays diagnosis and worsens outcomes. In Ramadan 2023, I discovered Safeena through The Date Project. I now serve as a volunteer NED.

I believe deeply in Safeena’s mission. For nearly 4 million Muslims in the UK, culturally sensitive cancer support has been lacking. Mainstream charities do important work, but they can’t always address our unique needs. Safeena fills that gap. May Safeena’s work be a sadaqah jariyah for its founders.

I hope my story encourages others to seek help early, trust Allah’s plan, and support each other through hardship.