A Storm In a D Cup

Updated: Oct 24

One Woman's journey of living with Breast Cancer

My personal story of journeying with Breast Cancer. In this Blog, I've chronicled all the facets, the good, the bad, and the ugly, of my own personal experiences of living with #breastcancer. In good humour and grace, I share my fears and the challenges I've faced along the way. These include the harsh realities of the treatments on offer, what to expect from the surgical procedures and all the tools I've learned along the way that have helped me hold onto my sanity as I've navigated through the gift that keeps on giving. Breast Cancer.

If breast cancer were an image it would be this one!

But, before you freak out, it's also an invitation of ginormous proportions to take back your power.

The women who go through this harrowing journey are nothing short of #warriors.

This soul mission is not for the faint of heart and it is only given to those who somehow, someway have the grit and stomach to handle it. Remember one thing.

However, you feel right now, at this very moment as you read this. YOU, more than anyone else have got this!

Danielle ♡


Whether you are reading this because you have cancer, are waiting on a diagnosis, are about to have a surgical procedure, or are considering one, I would like you to know one thing. This is the story of my experience. My truth. The story of my innate thoughts, fears, and unique journey. Be willing to reserve any judgment because the Cancer journey is so very unique for all of those that travel its arduous path. It's a path of uncertainty, of bombardment, of navigating a void, one that makes you question the very fabric of your existence, of where you are, of who you are. It will take you & your life and all those in it with you and turn it inside out. Still, it bestows the individual with immense gifts, a brand new perspective of their life and the world. As a result of your mind's defence mechanisms kicking in (as in my case), you're anointed with a gritty, dark sense of humour. Because without being able to laugh at the absurdity and unceasing series of wtf moments you've been transported into, you, without a doubt, just wouldn't survive it. You'd almost definitely fold into a heap of wood like a rotten deckchair on Brighton beach.

A bit of background

I was initially diagnosed with #cancer on the 2nd of August 2010, after finding a small pea-sized lump in the upper right quadrant of my breast. I'll never forget that day. Thank god I took my Mum with me because all I could see was my Doctors mouth moving as my hearing had all but failed me. She rattled off in what seemed like seconds that I had cancer. She followed with a complete treatment protocol including #Surgery, Chemo, Radiotherapy, Chemical Menopause & Endocrine Therapy. I was bombarded with an array of treatments in a language tantamount to Chinese that I had no understanding of. Frozen in complete fear, I didn't actually hear one word. That was my introduction to the world of Cancer.

Prescribed the bog-standard protocol for Breast Cancer, which was Chemotherapy, Radiotherapy & Hormone Treatment. I was floored. Fortunately, there was a new test available called an '#Oncotype'' but it was expensive. It scored your tumour and if you were lucky to come back with a low score, it meant Chemo wouldn't be necessary. I did this test, and I scored 11, so I managed to wangle out of it by the skin of my teeth. I still underwent Radiotherapy, and that was horrendous. I lost 2 stones by the end of the treatment. When the effects accumulated, it hit me like a ton of bricks. Not a pleasant experience, I tell you.

Present Day

Fast forward 11 years, exactly one year after being told by my Oncologist that I no longer had to keep my yearly appointments. I had been relegated to the 10-year Survivors Club. Yes, it's actually called that! i.e., I had the same chance as any other person as getting cancer again. I was ecstatic! I celebrated with family & friends, but alas, not for long because on September 2nd 2020, I found another lump in the same breast. My old friend cancer was back again, only this time, devastatingly, it would mean completely removing my breast.

Pretty much the same treatment was offered to me again. My tumour was sent for the 'Oncotype'. This time, it scored 9, even lower! So I swerved the dreaded Chemo again. You can't do Radiotherapy more than once, so that was out. Still, they wanted me to have induced chemical menopause or ovary removal. Tamoxifen or Femara to halt the Oestrogen production in my body, as that's what was fuelling the Tumours. After joining many FB groups researching and listening to stories and the nitty-gritty of what happens to a woman. I Researched the long-term consequences to our bodies when we have a chemically induced menopause and remove our ovaries, combined with Endocrine Therapy. Which incidentally, my Oncologist wasn't transparent about! Shockingly there is a list of debilitating disease as long as your arm. I calculated the risk versus benefits and it was a big fat NO from me. I understood the fear around a reoccurrence, but for me, quality of life AKA (a sex life) and feeling 'normal', was far more important than quantity of life. Right or wrong, for me, that's just how it was.

I was offered three different types of procedures, all involving a mastectomy. They were expanders with implants, a Latissimus Dorsal Flap and the DIEP Flap. All pretty grim, all very brutal, all very scary. I weighed up all the options and went for the lesser of the evils, or so I thought; an expander with an implant. Which turned out to be the wrong decision, which my Oncologist later reminded me that she told me not to opt for. Cue *eye roll* because apparently, I had so much radiation damage to my chest tissue that it wasn't the best route for me. Whilst she was imparting her pearls of wisdom, she hadn't considered that it was on the tail end of her re-diagnosing me with primary cancer again. Because of Covid, I didn't have my second set of ears with me, AKA my Mum! So, it was a rinse and repeat of 11 years before, when due to shock, all I could see was her mouth moving whilst my ears were failing me yet again. So, devastatingly, and not knowing what would ensue a month down the line, I missed that crucial memo.

My right lateral mastectomy with an expander was scheduled for November 27th. Although a tad scared, I consoled myself that I had a breast of sorts, AKA the expander. Comforted by the knowledge that my Plastic Surgeon had explained that within 6 months maximum, the expander would be exchanged for an implant. Obviously, I was delighted that all cancer would be eradicated forever, but unfortunately, my problematic boob seemed hell-bent on finishing me off.

Over the Christmas period, all went smilingly. Yes, I was uncomfortable. The expander had these weird Sharpe edges that jutted out and were tiny compared to my other breast. Still, it was something, and I wasn't completely flat or a uni-boober, which the thought of absolutely terrified me. I'd already met with a friend of my Mum's who'd had a Latissimus Dorsi Flap. This is where they take the back muscle and manoeuvre it around to the chest to form a breast. Whilst she was now fully healed sporting a beautifully shaped breast now, she had to be flat for a year, and the prospect of that filled me with dread. However, it hadn't seemed to phase her one bit. In fact, she had taken a lot of persuading to have the operation by friends because she wasn't really bothered and happy using a prosthetic. However, in the last 7 months, whilst perusing many breast cancer groups, I realised many don't. As a result of soul searching, many women opt out of reconstruction for one reason or another. As I said at the beginning of my blog, it's such a personal choice and a unique journey. For me, though, I just couldn't wrap my head around having one boob, so I was thankful for small mercies wearing my expander. Even though it felt like I had some kind of medieval torture device inside me, I told myself, it was better than nothing!

The Calm Before The Storm

Christmas came and went. I settled into January slightly apprehensive because Covid was into its second year. Cyprus was in a very strict lockdown. I had unnerving thoughts and irrational fears swirling around my head that something would prevent the reconstruction. Like the hospitals would be overwhelmed with people on ventilators. Or there would be a mad rush for medical supplies like there had been on the news or a mad rush for toilet rolls! Not only did I have to deal with the uncertainty of a global pandemic, but I was also dealing with the boob! Whilst simultaneously trying to make scary decisions around my impending Endocrine Therapy. My Oncologist was pressuring me. Throw away comments, such as "You're are pushing your luck, Danielle, you might not be so lucky next time"! All in her vain attempt to get me to agree to a 'surgical menopause and #Tamoxifen'. I was trying to put her off as I just couldn't deal with recovering from surgery and coping with being drenched in sweat from hot flushes, hobbling around like a 100-year-old. Depressed 'AF' from my body being starved of its oestrogen supplies. Yeah, that could most defiantly go on the back burner for now. I was not ready for that – cancer recurrence or not, it would have to wait.

The Storm

Then completely out of the blue, on a Sunday, January 11th, around 4 PM (I'll never forget it), I started to feel a bit odd. By 8 PM, I was so cold, the coldest I've ever been. Teeth chattering cold, like I was butt naked in the middle of a snowstorm in Siberia cold. I called my Plastic Surgeon, and he asked me if my breast was red or hot, which it wasn't. He suspected I might have Covid! He muttered if I still felt like it in the morning, I should get a test. And not to worry.

By 2 AM, my breast was hot and red, and by 6 AM, my #mastectomy scar had started to open up, and my bra was saturated with fluid. Luckily for me, my ex-husband is a DR, so I called him. He told me in a loud unwavering voice to get in the car immediately and COME NOW to the hospital where he worked. Long story short, after blood tests and white cell count, were measured it revealed I had Sepsis. I'll never ever forget how ill I felt with it either. I literally felt like the life force was very quickly being drained from me, and It was shocking just how fast it happened. I spent the next 10 days on four types of intravenous antibiotics, an assortment of pain killers, and blood was taken. All my veins had all but collapsed. This resulted in a competition between nursing staff to see who the best was at finding a vein to insert the canular. My mastectomy scar completely opened up and looked horrific. Still, at that point, I didn't care because I was shell-shocked by the breakneck speed at which it had all happened and I didn't have the energy anyway.

I discovered that the infection was caused by the sheath placed between the expander and my skin. Apparently, it's common for that to become infected. The risk increases if you've had radiation in the past because of the surrounding tissue and skin damage. I later found out many women develop Sepsis infections, and it's a common complication. So if you are reading this and you've had rads, please take that on board. I didn't and it almost cost me my life. One other thing to consider is there are Surgeons and Plastic Surgeons. One of the Surgeons who was visiting me while in the hospital advised me to remove the expander because the damage was too vast. My Plastic Surgeon said there was a 50/50 chance of saving the expander. Still, there was also a risk of having another infection. I ended up choosing to have it removed, which was a tough decision because it meant that until I healed, it would mean my worst nightmare would come true. I would be flat. I would also have to wait 3-6 months to heal before attempting any kind of recon. In the months that followed, I came across women in breast cancer recon groups who'd chosen to try and keep the expanders and had succumbed to multiple infections. These resulted in antibiotic resistance, which is in itself very dangerous.

Two months later, I was healed enough to perform the surgery. Naively, I believed I was prepared. The moment I came around from the surgery, I cried. I remember a young nurse asking me why I was crying "was I in pain?", "no", I replied, "I'm crying because I've just lost my breast and I am devastated" "Oh," she said," you'll be fine, don't worry!" This was the first of many awkward conversations with people who just didn't get it. Just couldn't fathom at all how I felt. God must have heard my plight because I came across a few Breast Cancer Recon groups on Facebook. These were full of women in the same and similar situations as me. To be fair, I really, sincerely, don't know what the hell I would have done without those women. Their courage, their vulnerability, their bravery in sharing their stories. I genuinely don't. They were like beacons of light and hope in a very dark period that would engulf me over those next 4 months.

The Interim

I had a lot to be grateful for. I had NED (no evidence of disease), and my cancer, along with my boob, had been cut off and thrown in the bin. However, nothing could prepare me for losing that precious part of me. I was floored. For those that don't know, I'm a Life Coach, not one that did a $9.99 one-week course advertised on Facebook, but a professional one. I'd studied Coaching with all the best coaching Universities out there. I am an expert in mindset and reframing perspectives. However, even with an arsenal of knowledge at my disposal, I was still grappling with my mental health. I was considering putting sheets all over the mirrors in the house. Because every time I came out of the shower or had to change clothes, I just couldn't face seeing myself in a mirror. To make matters worse, my mastectomy wasn't even tidy or smooth and flat. It was a skin-sparing one, so it was concave and stuck to my chest wall in places and wavy with clumps of skin in others. It looked grotesque like I'd had an encounter with an axe-yielding Rwandan. I just couldn't face myself. To make matters worse, I still didn't know IF I was eligible for reconstruction at this point, I had to decide and understand what my options were. There are two types of procedures for women in my situation. One is the Latissimus Dorsi (where they take your back muscle and pull it around to the front, and the other is called a #DIEP Flap. Where they take the fat, tissue & skin from your stomach, remove it with your vessels intact, and reconnect it with the vessels to your chest wall to recreate the breast. For the DIEP, you have to have a very experienced Micro Surgeon; I lived in Cyprus, and there was only ONE on the Island. To make matters even more stressful, not everyone can have the operation as you have to have viable, i.e., suitable vessels for the procedure to succeed.

Also, not all flaps survive post-surgery. More fail than they lead you to believe. I had to wait almost 2.5 months for a CT scan to see if I was eligible for this procedure and I was a bundle of nerves in the interim. My Mum and best friends kept trying to reassure me I'd get a boob back. Still, everything else had gone 'tits up' so far. I was terrified to allow myself that knowing. Because I knew that if I got my hopes up and it went wrong again, as everything else had, the fall from that would crucify me. I just couldn't allow myself to have any expectations whatsoever, just in case. So many horrible thoughts & scenarios played over and over through my mind on a loop. It was a god damn awful hellish place to try and navigate. A few said to me, "well, at least you don't have cancer" and I then felt guilty for being so vain! First I would feel angry because I would think, how dare they! How could they possibly even know how it feels to be mutilated like this? And secondly, I didn't want to live like this; how was I going to live like this anyway? I had one ginormous boob and one mutilated side. I remember one day going to see another Plastic surgeon for a second opinion. I sat in his expensive state-of-the-art furnished office in a chair before him and was requested to remove my blouse. As he moved closer, he tapped and lifted the bottom of my remaining breast, making it bounce in his hand, and he muttered, "so. what are you going to do with this one then?" I was surprised at his question, even if it seemed relevant from his perspective. I felt like a total freak! When I left his office, I sat in the car in disbelief and blubbed my eyes out.

Once I'd healed, my Mum came with me to have a plastic prosthetic boob fitted, I really don't know what I expected, but I didn't expect it to be so heavy. It weighed a ton! Mum & I joked about me whipping it out to do party tricks at Christmas, but jokes aside, it was awful. Living in Cyprus, I kept imagining losing it and it floating off at sea. Or having a few too many drinks, leaning over and it flopping out on the floor. And what about dating? How would I explain that to a love interest? Would I ever even have sex again? Would I tell them before we got intimate, or would I wait until the crucial moment and whip open my shirt and say taaaada!? I became pretty obsessed over all this. There was, and it was, just too much to wrap my little brain around.

On one occasion I did the most embarrassing thing I've ever done. I still shudder about it to this day. Although I see the funny side now, I certainly did not at the time. Total face-palm moment, and only one I could do! Because this sort of shit doesn't often happen to other people that I know. I went on to share it with the ladies in the UK Breast Cancer group to give them a laugh too.

I hope this story makes you laugh just as much as I just have, although I wanted the ground to swallow me up whole at the time.

So, one day I saw a post flash up on Facebook. One where this lady mentioned that she had felt like she'd lost her sense of identity; she didn't know what her new normal was. This post sparked my attention! She bravely asked if anyone else had felt like this. So, I quickly responded to her post and said, YES ME! Then I proceeded to tell her I related and felt similar, but mostly it was since my 2nd diagnosis and, most of all, losing my boob!! I described that it felt like a rebirth of sorts and would never be who I was before!

Then it went quiet. No replies or further comments. I thought it was a bit odd, but I went back to the film I was watching and thought no more of it.

Then I saw a comment flash up on my phone. This woman had replied. She said, "OMG, what an ordeal, you poor thing," and she continued to tell me how brave I was sharing that with everybody and wished me well! I immediately sensed something was off with her comment! Straight away I checked the group. Then to my absolute shock of all horrors and the ground opening up to swallow me whole moment. Going a full shade of crimson red from my toes to my head. I realised what I'd done; I'd posted a reply to a comment referencing the "lockdown", and it was in a "DATING" group! Not in the UK Breast Cancer Group… Yikes! I had just told 1K people (500K MEN to be exact!) I had one boob! Wtf? Needless to say, I deleted that comment and came out of that group faster than 'common sense had left the world during Covid! Shaking my head in disbelief. Knowing that this was going down in history as my worst clanger of all time.

A bit of a winge

So now I have to have a bit on a winge on behalf of my fellow Breast Cancer pals in the UK DIEP Reconstruction Support Group on Facebook. I'm in many groups on FB, on the net, and on Instagram, and so far, I have only seen one brave lady mention it and have it published. No other Influencers seem to want to address it. This bugs me as It's so vital and it needs more attention. It's the waiting list for reconstruction and DIEP procedures post- #mastectomy. I have been so fortunate because I have Private Medical Insurance. I live in Cyprus, which, because it's a small country, doesn't have anything like the waiting lists in the UK. In the UK, the list is HUGE. In an average year, due to Covid, recons were put on hold. To my shock & dismay, I heard some women have been waiting over five years to have their reconstructions done because they aren't deemed urgent or life-saving. To me, that is just unacceptable. I read countless stories in the group of severe mental health issues. Depression, failed marriages, all because of the impact of living as not whole. The effect of not feeling like a woman anymore, not feeling whole, was having on these ladies. It made me feel a combination of heartbreak and anger, and whatever way you look at it's unjust. I also wondered if men had to undergo having vital parts of their anatomy amputated and if the wait would be as long. I know Covid hugely impacted the waiting lists. Still, even before Covid, the waiting list was a long one, too long. It's not humane and it needs to be addressed. It's another one of those situations that, sadly, no one could possibly understand unless they've travelled that road themselves. I just wanted to highlight it in my story because the more it's discussed, the closer these ladies will be to a resolution.

The Big D(IEP) Day

Just as the last 7 months weren't without hic-ups, little did I know the BIG D(IEP) day was going to follow suit.

To say I was crapping myself was the understatement of the century. I had my little hospital bag ready for my four-day stay in the hospital. But, unfortunately, Mum couldn't come with me because of Covid rules, which I was gutted about. But, even at 48, you still want your Mum with you, right?

Off I went, holding my breath and praying that all would be OK. As I only had one breast undergoing reconstruction, that meant if the surgery went without complications, I would be in Theatre for 5 to 6 hours maximum.

My Plastic Surgeon was a charming man. In fact, all the team were fantastic and amazing at reassuring me and putting my mind to rest. My anaesthetist was terrific, a young woman in her early forties. She came to see me first, followed by the Surgeons and nurses. I had all my pre-op preparations done, and when the time came, I was wheeled on the operating trolley down the long corridor into the theatre. Once inside, my anaesthetist gently rubbed my hand and said, see you soon, and then it went black.

I woke up absolutely freezing. My teeth were chattering non-stop, a side effect from the anaesthetic, apparently, and lying naked on an operating table for hours on end. Then finally, I was back inside the hospital room. The pain at that point was quite intense. I was slipping in and out of consciousness due to the drugs. I had managed to ask if it had worked, that being my biggest concern. Finally, the nurse came in to check my new boob with a doppler machine. These are the same machines that listen to a baby's heartbeat when you go for an ultrasound. This was to check whether the vessels were pumping enough blood and oxygen to the newly transplanted boob.

Around half an hour passed, and the unthinkable started to happen.

The new boob started to change from a healthy pink to blue. My worse fear was coming true. It was failing.

The next thing I knew, my Surgeon, the anaesthetist, and all the nurses stood at the side of my bed. "I am not happy with the vessel Danielle, it's unstable. I think we should go back into theatre and connect to a better vessel. We need to be fast. If it fails, we'll lose everything!" These were the words my micro Surgeon was conveying behind his surgical mask. His eyes darted worryingly. The team still needed my permission. Still wholly off my head from the anaesthetic, I muttered, "I trust you, let's do this". I was handed the paperwork to sign, and in seconds I was whisked off down the long grey corridor with overhead intimidating luminescent lights into the theatre for a second time that morning.

When inside, the Surgeon asked, "shall I call your Mum before we start?", "Oh, I'm not sure; she's probably going to freak out". "But she is your mum, she should know" "OK then, call her", and I semi-incoherently rambled off her number. Next, as I had feared, my mild-mannered Surgeon was reassuring my frantic and frightened mother that all would be OK, but also saying strange things akin to "surely you don't mean that?" "Oh no!" I said to the lady anaesthetist who was rubbing my arm reassuringly, "What on Earth is she saying to him? Please don't tell me she's threatening him with the "if anything happens to my daughter spiel?" "Shall I give you the medicine now it's ready" she suggested. You don't need to hear all this; it's stressing you out. I'll put you to sleep now! "No, let's wait I said just in case." She didn't know my mother and what she could do if her protective lioness had been activated. No one wants a Yvonne Bragg on the warpath!

For what seemed like forever and a day, eventually My surgeon got off of the phone and praise be to the-gods Mum had been reassured and all was calm! Pheww!

The white milky medicine went into my vein and not a moment too soon, I shall add, and then It was lights out, again!

Another anaesthetic later and another few hours on the operating table, I was back out of the theatre and in my hospital bed. This time it was a SUCCESS! My Surgeon had reconnected the same vessel, the central heart artery, but from higher up. Apparently, radiation (the gift that keeps on giving) had damaged part of the vessel lower down. The minor tweak had saved my transplanted new boob. Thank GOD for that!

The Recovery

The DIEP procedure is major surgery. Do not be under any illusions that you will spring out of bed and resume normal activities after a week. Because you won't. You'll need a long period of recovery and either a lot of support from family and friends or if you are going it alone, lots of organisation in the way or meal planning. Help with housework and shopping will be needed too.

You'll hear of people who sail through the operation, but many don't; recovery can take months. Hence, it's important not to put pressure on yourself. The DIEP is not a sprint. It's a marathon. Your body is working hard to heal itself, and it will hijack your energy levels to do so. Therefore, a lot of patience is required.

Many get complications too. Unfortunately, I was one of those. My Surgeon couldn't pinpoint the exact reason. Perhaps because he took a little bit too much skin and fat from my stomach to recreate my breast, or the area was too weak because of my previous C-sections. But alas, within a few day's my stomach wound started to split open. This resulted in another operation to clean it out, re-stitch it and have a 'Wound Vacuum' fitted. In total, it took 3 and half months for my stomach to heal properly. Fortunately, my new boob was fine, and over the last few months, it's healed nicely and even softened and dropped. I'll be able to have a nipple recreated in a few months, with a 3D tattoo, if I wish.

I have swelled over much of my stomach and have a small Seroma (pocket of fluid) on my stomach, which my Surgeon says should reabsorb. He's advised me that because the entire stomach area is involved during the DIEP procedure. It takes a good year to eighteen months to heal fully.

So, for any ladies about to have this, bags of patience will be required.

Insert image - me when I arrived back from the hospital to two teens who had been missing my cooking.

In closing, I would like to express my gratitude to my medical team at the American Heart Breast Center & The Breast Center in Nicosia, Cyprus. They were always on the other side of the phone to reassure me and acted swiftly during an emergency. In addition, my DR ex-husband for stepping in and treating me quickly when It could of been a fatal Sepsis infection back in January. But, I guess he still needs me to take care of the kids! *Chortle. My mum, who was my rock 24-7, and my ex - Mother-in-law ran around tirelessly after my boys. My Dad & Lisa's support over Facetime from the UK. My adopted sister Rabs, with her empathy and advice, she's a fellow Cancer survivor and warrior herself. Heartfelt thanks to Laura, AKA Joanie, Sean, Kellie & Lisa, my besties, you came up trumps as usual. My apologies to ALL for scaring you, but you now know I have more lives than a cat! Let's hope I still have a few more left. To my boys, you've been such stars! You both smashed your GCSE and A 'level exams with top marks. Dealt with your poor old Mum being sick and poorly, and to top it off, your world turned upside down with Covid lockdowns! You were managing for much of the year alone. I was impressed with how you helped out with all the chores and fending for yourselves! Although I can't promise, I won't milk the chore part for as long as I can! ;-) I love you ALL from the bottom of my heart and am eternally grateful to have you here with me in this lifetime; you are indeed my 'Earth Angels'. Big fat hugs to the many more friends, healers, and fellow cancer warriors who helped me navigate this last year and checked in on me, too many to mention, but you know who you are.

Below I’ve compiled a list of valuable resources and my own personal feelings around my experience with cancer, which I hope will assist you greatly if you or a loved one finds themselves in their own 'Storm in a D Cup'!

Much love

Danielle ♡

My takeaways from being on the Cancer Train.

In closing, I’d like to share some of the gifts I believe the cancer experience and what I’ve encountered on my Journey and for what it is worth, what I’ve observed.

Now, no one knows why so many are succumbing to cancer. But we know it’s on the rise. The cause could be anything. Genetic, environmental, or the body’s reaction to shock. Or a combination of one or two or all of those things. Possibly even, something else? Anything could trigger a response.

What I have found is FEAR and stress and your mindset around NOT what is happening to you, but how you react to it is probably the most important thing.

I firmly believe that as humans we wander through life thinking that Cancer and other horrendous things only happen to other people, so it always comes as a massive shock when it happens to us. Because so little is known about Cancer, we suddenly feel vulnerable, and right from the off look for others, i.e.; Oncologists to save the day. We put all our trust outside of ourselves. Unfortunately, Orthodox Medical practices have the same old protocols they’ve been using for decades when it comes to treating cancer, so they tend to lump each person into the same boat. It’s a one size fits all. There is no holistic approach or looking at each person differently. They just don’t have the time, resources, awareness, or training to approach from a whole-person perspective. The fear of acting fast, the fear of dying if you don’t, and the bombardment of treatment are enough to crush anyone.

The whole process is so disempowering. No one should be guilt-tripped or have the fear of acting immediately put upon them. It’s important to take a step back & regroup & not feel pressured into making decisions if you don’t feel comfortable, especially if you are in the grip of fear. This I believe drains your power and your immune system even further, and no one has the right to do this to you.

I believe healing should be an empowering process. A deep conversation with yourself and Medical professionals that include choices that don’t betray your nature and values. We all know deep down what we need to be on board with, but we tend to overwrite it because we don’t trust ourselves enough. Compromising our integrity probably led us to dis-ease in the first place, so it’s important to sit up and listen and make choices that are aligned with who we are and our intuitive knowing of what we need, so we remain in balance.

For example. If I take a tablet from my Doctor and I take it with the knowledge that it will be good for me, and I fully trust it, I’m on board with it 100% it will probably be good for me. If I swallow that tablet with fear inside me because the long list of side effects are stuck in my mind, it won’t be good for me.

One is coming from trust and one is coming from fear.

You can apply this to a ‘Wheatgrass Smoothie’ drink it from a mindset where you believe you are nourishing your body, because you love your body, and all are aligned. Drink it from a belief that I better drink this wheatgrass or else I’ll get cancer, and you may as well not bother.

We all have an inbuilt intuitive system but we need to listen to it. There is no point in doing one thing when you are believing another because you are draining your power that way, and FEAR is the quickest way to do it.

Resources and other helpful bits & bobs














HORMONEHEALTHUK - DR NICK PANNAY - World Leader in Menopause Care for women living with Breast Cancer.


About Danielle

I'm a 'Professional Credentialed Life & Business Coach' accredited with an ACC certification from the International Coaching Federation USA, a Certified Holistic Health Practitioner of #Reflexology, Master of Usui Reiki, and recently practicing Astrology. I have over 25 years of work experience with clients in #coaching, #energetics, and #self-#development mastery. Rather than approach the topic or the external manifestation that's showing up directly in a client's life, my work has a #holistic approach, encompassing the #mind, #body, and #spirit as a whole.

I use a unique combination of coaching tools, #astrology, #shadow work, #guided #imaginary, #manifestation techniques, positive psychology, and #embodiment work, which creates powerful change from the inside out.

I'm a Mum to two lively teen boy's and a small zoo of fur babies. Born & raised in the UK, and I currently divide my time between there and the Island of Cyprus in the Mediterranean.

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