“I had to survive cancer to save my unborn baby”
Sarah Bell, 35, was devastated to find out she had a rare form of cancer. But she received an even bigger shock when she was told she was pregnant, too. Sarah shares her remarkable story with Cynthia Lawrence.

The day I was diagnosed with cancer I had originally gone to see the doctor with the flu. I casually mentioned that I had a prominent lump on my collarbone. I’d had the lump at the back of my neck for years, but I just put it down to my glands. I wasn’t worried, as it wasn’t painful. When the doctor examined me, his expression suddenly turned serious. Ironically I joked and said, “Is it life-threatening? Am I going to die?” He explained to me that he thought it may have something to do with my lymph nodes, and I needed an urgent biopsy to find out. I still didn’t think anything of it. If I had not gone to the doctor with flu, I probably wouldn’t have known that my life was at risk.

It was a waiting game for the biopsy results to come back. I went to see the doctor, and he confirmed my worst fears. I was diagnosed with non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma [a rare cancer of the immune system] in November 2004. It still hadn’t dawned on me – the seriousness of what non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma was – so I just kept saying, “What are you going to do about it?” It wasn’t until it was explained to me what the cancer is that I went into shock. Since they needed to start chemotherapy, I made the consultants aware that myself and my husband Garnet had been trying for a baby. We got married in September 2002 and had been trying for two years with no luck. We were told there was nothing wrong with either of us; it was just a matter of letting nature take its course. I went to see a specialist doctor who said they would need to harvest my eggs prior to the chemotherapy. It wasn’t until the urine and blood-test results came back that we received another shock. I was two months pregnant. I couldn’t believe it. It had only been two weeks before that I was told I had non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma. The first thing I thought was, “It just can’t be one thing – it had to be everything at once.” I kept thinking that I was being truly tested at that moment. It was a double blow. They did a lot of tests to find out whether chemotherapy was urgent or not. Because of the type of lymphoma it is, it can just lie dormant, so if the lumps are not getting any bigger, they will not trouble it.

We were really happy yet worried about the health of our baby. We didn’t want to put our baby at risk from the chemotherapy chemicals. A part of the area where I had my lymph nodes was in my stomach, and obviously with the baby growing there, they’re both fighting for space. At that point it was decided that they would wait to give me chemotherapy until I’d gone past the first trimester. But sadly I was told that my lymph nodes were growing at such a fast rate that if left untreated I might not survive. Worse still, our baby may not survive.

It was upsetting and yet another blow, but I didn’t have much choice. I was at the doctor’s every week being monitored, so I saw specialist consultants for my pregnancy and consultants for the treatments I was receiving for the cancer. Those two areas would coordinate with each other so that it would work out fine.

When I had my first chemotherapy treatment I stayed in hospital for just under a week. Because I was also pregnant, nobody was sure what reaction I was going to have, so I was admitted for five days. I had four doses of chemotherapy. It took its toll on me physically. I looked grey at one point and lost a lot of weight while I was pregnant. It did cross my mind that my baby might not survive, but the doctors and nurses were very good in reassuring me. I did have my down days, but the majority of the time I didn’t have time to dwell on the ifs and maybes. I have an amazing husband and supportive family and friends. I felt that if I went down the road of “why me?”, it wasn’t going to make me feel any better. Everything went into ensuring that the baby was all right, so I didn’t concentrate on my illness.

On 27 July 2005, I went into St Thomas Hospital, where the birth of my daughter was induced. Experiencing pregnancy was beautiful, but the birth all seemed surreal. They prepared for a Caesarean and gave me an epidural that didn’t work until after I gave birth. I do remember when she was born I didn’t hear her cry, so I panicked and said, “Is everything alright?” They told me everything was fine, and when I heard a tiny squeak it put an end to my worry. I had my arms wrapped around my baby girl and just kept looking at her. When she was given to me, her eyes were wide open and she was looking around. We decided to call her Toni, as I’d always liked that name.

Everybody insisted I go on the drugs immediately in order to treat the cancer, but I refused because I wanted some days when Toni could be breast-fed. The agreement was that I got nine days physically and at the same time I had a breast pump. Luckily, there was nothing wrong with Toni’s health but we do have to wait to see if there will be any side effects.

I received a new drug, Rituximab, which is supposed to delay the cancer for longer. I’ve had four doses. The doctors have never used the word remission with me, and so I don’t consider myself in remission. It’s mainly because the type of cancer I have is one where there is a high possibility it will return. Now I’m at the point of being monitored every four months.

If I were to dwell on that, it would waste too much energy over something I have no control over. I just get on with what I have to do. I have so many other things in my life to enjoy, like time with my daughter, family and friends. Toni’s 18 months now, and I love watching the different stages of her development. Each day is something different – she is such a little character. We call her our blessing. I think if anybody goes through a traumatic experience like this, they find new appreciation for the things they didn’t appreciate before. I just enjoy the time that I have.

For further information on non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (NHL), visit: The Lymphoma Association, www.lymphoma.org.uk 01296 619 418