My sisters and I had always had a tight bond. But something terrifying was about to bring us even closer together. By Cheryle Brandon, 51
The deep blue sea shimmered in the sunlight and I gasped at the sight.
‘Wow, that’s stunning,’ I said.
My younger sister Kelly had spun her phone around to show us her incredible view.
‘You’ll have to visit soon,’ she said.
I was on a video call with Kelly and my older sister Chelsea.
Since Kelly had moved to Australia and Chelsea lived in Devon, it was the best way to keep in touch.
We loved a good chinwag.
But, a few weeks later, we were chatting, and I felt a burning bubble of acid reflux rising in my chest.
In the days that followed, the discomfort continued and I visited my GP.
I was prescribed indigestion medication, and the heartburn calmed down.
But before long, it returned with a vengeance, and I started struggling to swallow.
It happened when I ate red meat so, I cut that from my diet.
Then, I started choking during meals, and ended up eating only soft foods, such as milky Weetabix, yogurts and ice cream.
I started to lose weight, and my GP referred me for an endoscopy.
I assumed it was nothing more than a cyst in my throat.
So, I went to the appointment alone.
After the procedure, I sat in a waiting room.
I watched as other patients were called for their results.
They were greeted by a nurse in a blue uniform, before they went into one of the side rooms, and came out smiling.
When my name was finally called, a nurse in a burgundy coloured uniform appeared, alongside a doctor.
I thought, Something isn’t right here.
In the room, my hands felt clammy with anxiety.
‘I’m afraid we found something in your oesophagus,’ the doctor said. ‘We believe it’s cancer.’
My heart sank. Cancer hadn’t crossed my mind.
‘Am I going to be OK?’ I asked.
The doctor explained that oesophageal cancer was one of the most difficult to treat.
I’d need tests to find out what stage the cancer was at.
On the bus on the way home, I felt numb.
It wasn’t until I walked through my front door that the reality of the situation hit me.
I needed to speak to Kelly and Chelsea.
Over video call, I told them, ‘I’ve got some bad news.’
As I explained the situation, they looked devastated, but they tried to comfort me.
‘You can beat this,’ Chelsea said.
‘You’re so strong,’ Kelly told me.
Later, tests revealed that my tumour was 6cm long. It was aggressive, stage four cancer.
‘Am I going to die?’ I asked.
‘We have to attack the tumour hard,’ the consultant said.
It was too risky to operate, as the tumour was located close to my heart.
The only way to try to save my life was through high-dose chemotherapy, followed by radiotherapy.
I was told that without treatment, I could only have months to live.
When I spoke to my family, I told them, ‘This tumour, she’s like a squatter and I have to get rid.’
‘Kick her out!’ they said.
I called the tumour Geraldine – giving it a name made it more personal to fight.
I knew treatment would be tough.
So, a few days before my chemotherapy was due to start, I hosted a party to shave my head.
I knew I might lose my hair during the treatment and it was my way of taking back some control from Geraldine.
More than 50 friends and family arrived, and Chelsea travelled up from Devon to my home in Surrey.
It was overwhelming.
Then, a familiar face walked into the room.
‘Kelly!’ I shouted.
‘Surprise!’ she said as we both burst into tears.
I had a feeling she might be coming, as I hadn’t been able to get hold of her.
But it was still a huge surprise.
With Kelly and Chelsea by my side, I tied my hair into little chunks and invited people to cut one each, as a symbol of their support.
After my hair was cut, my sisters and a friend grabbed a razor and ran it across my head until every strand was gone.
As I looked in the mirror, I thought, You can do this.
Surrounded by family and friends, I felt so loved and supported.
Doctors had warned me to ‘prepare for the worst’ and get my affairs in order.
I put on a brave face but I knew the party might be my last chance to get everyone I loved together.
I hugged and squeezed them all tightly.
‘Thank you for coming,’ I said.
The next day, Chelsea, Kelly and I planned to spend time together.
For years, we’d talked about getting a tattoo – three love hearts to represent three sisters.
But we’d never got round to it.
‘What’s a better time than now?’ Kelly said.
At the tattoo studio, I lay back in the chair, and my sisters held my hands, as the needle pierced my skin.
Later, we held out our arms to admire our tattoos, and we had to bite back tears.
‘I love you two,’ I told my sisters.
‘We love you too,’ came the reply.
The following day, I arrived at hospital to start chemotherapy.
Kelly was there again to hold my hand.
But after a couple of weeks, she had to return to Australia to be with her daughter.
The side effects of the treatment were horrendous.
I suffered nausea and couldn’t control my body temperature.
I felt fatigued and spent most of my days in bed, sleeping.
In the months since the symptoms of my tumour had started, my weight had plummeted.
I’d dropped from a size 16 to a size 10, and had a feeding tube fitted.
Chelsea travelled back and forth to be by my side.
My family were there for me every step of the way.
‘I hate this, I hate Geraldine,’ I said.
But they kept me strong.
‘I’m so proud of you,’ Chelsea said.
Kelly tried to reassure me.
‘You’re going to beat this,’ she said.
But after the chemotherapy came to an end, the radiotherapy knocked me for six.
My throat was in so much pain, I even struggled to swallow water.
I suffered dehydration, urine retention and low blood pressure, and felt incredibly weak.
Kelly flew over to visit, bringing my niece which gave me a boost.
Then, after a scan, a doctor from the oncology team told me, ‘There’s no trace of the disease.’
‘Are you being serious?’ I asked.
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing, and questioned whether she was looking at the right file.
But she reassured me that the result was correct.
She laughed and said, ‘Miracles do happen.’
I phoned Chelsea and Kelly to tell them I was cancer free, and we all broke down in tears of overwhelming relief.
‘This is the best news!’ they said.
It took over a year after radiotherapy to feel a new version of normal.
But cancer has taught me to be more humble and appreciative of life.
Now, I undergo six-monthly check-ups.
My sisters and I have always been close, but this experience has only brought us closer.
I’ve started raising money for Guts UK, a charity that funds research into the digestive system and supports those affected by digestive conditions, and I raised more than £1400 through a ‘Great Gutsby’ themed fundraiser.
I want to raise awareness of oesophageal cancer. If my story makes just one person recognise the symptoms, then it’ll be worth it.