I was 36 weeks pregnant, and it should have been a joyful time. Instead, I faced a life-or-death battle. By Andrea Lambrou, 39
As my husband Nicos and I counted down, I twisted the cannon and a shower of blue confetti flew into the air.
‘It’s a boy!’ we said, throwing our arms around each other.
As it was the pandemic, only my stepdaughter Skye could be there, so we recorded our gender reveal and sent the video to family and friends.
I’d already chosen the name Leo and as the months passed, we started work on our nursery.
Thankfully, my pregnancy was smooth and sickness-free.
At 31 weeks, I was shaving my legs in the bath, when I nicked the top of a large freckle.
It had a spot on top, and it started to bleed.
That’s weird, I thought.
I wasn’t too concerned but when I mentioned it to my husband, he said: ‘Maybe you should get that checked out.’
Around a month later, I called my doctor about it, and she asked me to send her a photo.
She rang back straight away and said she was going to refer me to a dermatologist.
A week later, I arrived at the hospital for my appointment.
A young doctor peered at the freckle and said: ‘I’m going to get a second opinion.’
Her colleague came into the room, and after examining it, he turned to me and said: ‘I think we should take it off right away and send it for testing.’
Now? I thought, shocked, but assumed they were doing everything by the book.
Under local anaesthetic, they removed the freckle, leaving a deep hole in my calf.
'We need to get your baby out now'
A week later, my mum Anne came with me for the results, but had to wait in the canteen because of Covid restrictions.
As the consultant sat me down, I didn’t have an inkling about what was coming next.
‘I’m sorry to tell you it’s not good news,’ he began. ‘You’ve tested positive for melanoma, so we need to get your baby out now.’
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
At just 36 — and four weeks away from welcoming my first child — I was being told I had skin cancer.
It was terrifying and I struggled to take it in.
My first thought was for my unborn son.
Would he be OK?
‘Your Mum can come in and be with you,’ the doctor said.
As soon as she walked in and I told her about my diagnosis, she said: ‘I knew something was wrong.’
The doctor explained the melanoma was 4mm thick, and they were worried some of the cancer cells might have travelled to my lymph nodes.
‘You need to have surgery, including a wider incision on your leg and a lymph node biopsy, so that’s why your baby has to be induced as soon as possible,’ he said.
As Mum and I sat on a bench outside, we were both in shock.
Pale-skinned with red hair and freckles, I’d never been a sun worshipper, and on holidays, I’d use factor-30 sun cream, but sometimes I’d forget to top it up.
‘I need to tell Nicos,’ I said, pulling out my phone.
He was travelling for work but rushed straight home to Glasgow.
There, we hugged, both of us in tears.
‘Everything is going to be fine,’ I said, going into survival mode.
To help take my mind off what was happening, friends and family organised a baby shower over Zoom.
A few of them even did a drive-past in a car adorned with balloons, beeping their horns as they arrived in my street.
Just six days later, I went back to the hospital to be induced.
But after an exhausting 17-hour labour and no sign of the baby, the doctor said: ‘We need to do a C-section.’
I was shattered, but as soon as I saw baby Leo, I fell in love.
After he was checked over and I’d had a chance to rest, the nurse laid him on my chest.
He had a little yellow woolly hat on and looked tiny, but weighed a healthy 7lb 2oz.
‘Hello, I can’t believe you’re here,’ I whispered.
For a moment, I forgot everything that was to come.
But, just hours later, I was wheeled off for a CT scan.
I was scared, still paralysed from a double epidural and needed matchsticks to keep my eyes open.
The next week was a whirlwind as I had more scans and Leo was treated for severe jaundice.
He also had to have an ultrasound to check the cancer hadn’t spread to him.
‘Don’t worry, it’s very rare for that to happen,’ the doctor said.
But even so, I was extremely anxious.
'It's lucky I never had a birth plan'
Thankfully, he was given a clean bill of health, but suddenly, everything hit me and I broke down.
‘Please can Nicos stay with me?’ I asked.
Seeing how distressed I was, the doctors bent the rules so he could be with me. I was so grateful.
Just a couple of weeks after giving birth, I went under the knife again to have further surgery to check if the cancer had spread.
‘It’s lucky I never had a birth plan!’ I said to Nicos afterwards.
I hoped this would be the end of it and I could finally start enjoying being a new mum.
But when the doctor came into the room, the atmosphere turned tense.
‘I’m afraid the cancer has developed in your lymph node,’ he said, explaining that even though it was microscopic, I’d need treatment.
Frightened, I imagined I’d have chemo, lose my hair and be too sick to look after my son. However, he said I could have immunotherapy, which would be less taxing on my body.
But after two sessions, things took a terrifying turn yet again.
Just days before Christmas, I found a lump the size of a marble close to my groin scar. It turned out to be a thicker melanoma in one of my four remaining nodes.
This is it, I’m going to die, I thought.
My medical team decided there was only one option — another operation to remove all the remaining lymph nodes.
After the surgery, I was left with my fourth battle scar, lifelong swelling and numbness. But I was alive.
Three months later, I was finally given some good news — my latest scan was clear.
But with a long road ahead and the constant threat of the cancer coming back, I decided I wanted to raise awareness and signed up to Cancer Research’s Race for Life.
I was still in the dark as to why this had happened, if my pregnancy had accelerated things or if there was more I could have done.
You never think it will happen to you, but I learnt that two women a day get melanoma in and around pregnancy.
So please don't hesitate to get anything unusual on your skin checked early, avoid sunbeds and, if you're fair like me, slather yourself in factor 50 — your life could depend on it.
It feels so unfair that this had to happen at a time that was supposed to be the happiest of my life.
I’ve been told it may be too dangerous for me to get pregnant again because it lowers the immune system, increasing the risk of the cancer returning.
But while that’s heartbreaking, I’m determined not to dwell on it, and to focus on Leo, who is growing into a happy, funny little boy.
I couldn't have done this without him.
And someday, when he's older, I'll be able to tell him that just by being born, he saved my life.