Stretching out in bed one Saturday morning, I felt relaxed. With myself, my husband Paul, 47, and daughters Ella, then nine, and Hannah, seven, heading to Florida in a couple days during Easter 2017, I was making the most of the peace before a week at Disney World.
But itching my right breast, I froze – there was a lump.
What on earth is that? I thought, prodding it.
‘I’ve found a lump,’ I told Paul straight away. ‘I don’t think it’s anything to worry about, but I’m going to the walk-in clinic.’
I wasn’t concerned, but I thought I should get a medical opinion.
But they didn’t provide any answers and I decided to book another appointment when I got home.
In the meantime, I pushed my worries to…
