Young people are already dealing with the difficult transition from childhood to adulthood, without having to cope with a life threatening disease at such a vulnerable time of their lives.

Read how it affected some young people below.

This is an essay Laura wrote in her first (and only) term at sixth form college, September/October 1995.

Laura was diagnosed with cancer in March 1995, and died in May 1996.

Coping with Cancer
Laura Catherine Crane

A sudden blow from out of nowhere, for a moment, time completely stands still; and this is only a relative or a friend’s reaction. But for the victim, cancer can seem almost certainly a killer, whether caught at the very beginning or at the very end.

At any age, the prospects of a possibly fatal disease, a known killer, are terrifying. At the age of fifteen, I was perhaps one of the most vulnerable to notions of certain death and loss. My initial reaction was similar to most as I imagine, when told my diagnosis on a sunny Monday morning in a clean, crisp hospital bed. The mystifying tumour which had attached itself to the side of my right ovary, grown to an enormous four and a half inches diameter and then ruptured, had been surgically removed the previous Friday and sent for tests and examination over the weekend. Meanwhile, my family, friends and I had waited anxiously for what could decide my destiny. This was a very worrying time, but all we could do was to hope and pray for the best.

I had been told before my operation that the tumour (or ‘lump’ in the terminology I was given), may well be cancerous, or perhaps just a normal cyst. The latter was without a doubt what I expected, perhaps through subconscious fear of worse, or most probably because cancer wasn’t a conception I’d ever considered. Members of my distant family had suffered and sadly died from the disease, yet after fifteen years it seemed so far away from my life, which I imagined to be invincible. I’d never even dreamed it could happen to me and on some crazy days throughout my five month ordeal and even now, I think that this may well be one reason for me to suffer, if there are any at all.

As the doctor entered my side room to bring the fateful news, I saw an expression on his face which I came to know well, and which you may do too; disappointed and uneasy. From the moment he said the word, my life changed, and I have never been the same since. A whirlwind took me and swept me away for a moment, and something suddenly seized my heart, as my hand flew to my mouth and tears sprung to my eyes. Before I knew where I was, my family had surrounded me and were seeming to crumble before me.

It was right then I knew something was very wrong. The thought of what I had was indeed daunting, but I knew surrendering was not the answer and brushing away the tears I began my fight there and then. I believe now that fighting cancer is the only way to survive it, and anyone facing the disease must be brave and fight for their life.

The first week or so was admittedly difficult for me, and once or twice I weakly uttered the words ‘I’m not going to die am I Mum?’, to the ever-sympathetic ears of my mother. After then though, there was only one option. Killing the disease was now my quest, and any anger I felt from that moment I would try to turn inside myself to kill the remaining cancer deep in my abdomen.

The hardest part for me though was yet to come. The following Wednesday after I’d been diagnosed as having ovarian cancer, I was transported by ambulance to St James’ University Hospital Leeds, to see the professor who’d become my consultant during the course of the treatment. We talked about what the chemotherapy would involve, the various drugs, the side effects I may suffer, the wards I would stay in, and then I asked about losing my hair; something I’d always envisaged cancer patients did. To my surprise, not all treatments cause hair loss, but to my horror, the treatment I was to receive does.

On the 20 th April 1995, at 9.25pm I was given my first dose of chemotherapy through an intravenous drip in my arm. I wrote in my journal:-

‘First dosage of chemo to kill this bloody cancer. I feel strange, tired, apprehensive, but interested and angry. I’m ready, willing and able (I hope), to fight it and win the battle. With the support and love of my wonderful family and friends, my most cherished boyfriend and the good will of God behind me, I can and will defeat the monster which attempted to cloud and force me to question my future. We are ready.’

I hope this reinforces that it is most important for you to adopt the right kind of attitude from the beginning when facing cancer of any kind. If you value your life or the happiness of your loved ones at all, you must be brave right from the outset.

From April until August 1995, I went through a great deal of physical and emotional pain, and insanity, but most of all confusion and loneliness. I felt as though I was the only one suffering even though I knew there were a billion others in the same position. The problem was lack of contact with those others. If through your treatment, you feel alone at all, then ask to see some other patients or a Macmillan nurse; they will really make a difference.

I would sometimes secretly, and still do, ask myself, and God, why it was me who was this ill, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with asking such questions. While you are ill with Cancer, time and words become yours as long as you choose to use them wisely. You must consider what is important, and what you must do to kill the disease very carefully. You’ll have so much time to think, you may as well think constructively. The main thing to remember throughout it all, is that you mustn’t be afraid. Believe in whatever you have to believe in to enable yourself to recover; for me it was myself and the love and support of those around me. However, even with no-one, a reason to fight against cancer would be to stop it claiming yet another innocent victim, wouldn’t it?

The chemotherapy treatment will very probably give some nasty side effects as well as the hair loss, so be prepared. Even those ‘lucky enough’ to have a very low dosage of the various drugs suffer some side effects. Common ones are sickness, a darkening of pigmentation in the skin around the joints, and a general groggy feeling. Also you will be much more prone to any infections, so watch out. These, and the many other nasty things that may affect you are terribly difficult to cope with, and often you may, as I id, find yourself asking what the point of this is, but hold on, and keep up the fight. Set yourself targets, and truly believe they can be reached. That way, no matter how bad things get, you will always have incentives to keep on going strong.

As well as the side effects I suffered, which luckily were few aside from some nasty infections including pneumonia, at times I grew what you may call temporarily insane, and lost my targets, forgetting where to turn my anger and thrusting it upon those around me rather than on my illness. This is unfortunately all too easy to do and I lost valuable people through my doing so, so try and avoid that if you can. Hurting and getting angry with other people only hurts you in the long run and makes you feel worse rather than better, so it is a waste of time. One of the people who I needed more than anything throughout my ordeal is also sadly the one person I continually hurt over and over, the one who seemed most vulnerable to my attacks of confusion. The one I took all my pain out upon didn’t deserve it at all, and is gone now.

Strange as it may seem though, the was the only thing I lost which I cannot gain back. I lost my lovely hair, and my holiday in Spain which was replaced with an equally wonderful week on the Isle of Wight, but my hair is now returning in the gentle form of a baby’s and my sanity is coming back (slowly!), as is my level of fitness and health.

A lot can be gained from this terrible illness, despite it’s many downfalls. If a positive mind is applied, and you survive your ordeal, no matter how many disappointments you encounter, you will undoubtedly be a stronger person eventually. You will consider things more deeply, and come out from your illness with plenty more answers than you went in with. Because I was positive and I had such loving supporters who believed in me, and also because I believed so strongly in myself, I conquered that particular cancer. any cancer patients who kills the disease is then in remission, and the disease could come back at any moment, but if it returned to me, I know that I would have the strength to deal with it once again, thanks to being so strong this time. Some may say I have had youth on my side, and this may be true, but I believe cancer is an equally horrible experience for any one of any age.

If you are reading this as a cancer diagnosed person, or the friend or relative of someone this unfortunate, I am truly sorry for you. I hope my story has helped you to think positively and perhaps taken an inch of loneliness you are feeling away. I went through a very up and down few moths, with things getting more turned and twisted by the day, but I came through it this time and hope that no matter how complicated or nasty your ordeal, you can too.

Never be scared when you hear someone say that cancer kills; this is a purely statistical statement, and you can beat statistics!

'Cancer and Me' - Laura Ormandy

Cancer, for me, has meant chemotherapy… it isn’t all that bad, I’m not saying I enjoy it but I’m surviving it all better than I ever thought possible. I was diagnosed earlier this year with Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, 16 years old, and I thought that was it… life as I knew it was over and I was ill! Not true, and Weston Park had a lot to do with making me realise the truth – whether to control the cancer or let the cancer control me. For once I had so much power… over one of the most notorious and hyped killers of our world today. Weston Park is a fantastic place, everyone knows my name and I know them…I’m not scared of it any more, but I will be honest and say I’m scared of what the place is about and what it is there for: I don’t know a person who wouldn’t be!

Walking in on my first visit was a day that changed my life – I was the youngest around, but I soon realised probably one of the luckiest. I met the most wonderful people who were so kind to me, and I think some knew by looking at me that I just wanted, or should I say needed to cry. I had to have a blood test that day, I started to cry, and Janet let me. She is a star… looking after me at every moment and always checking up on me… well, making sure that I’m not causing too much trouble for everyone!

For my chemotherapy I need to be an outpatient and visit the hospital every two weeks for a day’s treatment. I Usually arrive about 9am for my blood test then wait for about an hour to an hour and a half to see the doctor. If all is OK then I have another two hours, sometimes more, to wait for the pharmacy to make my chemotherapy combination. Then two hours for my treatment to finish – on a good day! The waiting is awful, it just gives me time to dwell on what’s waiting for me in the next room… and seeing the nurses count down the minutes until they have me, ‘Laura with the bad veins’ again!

Whilst waiting one day, Janet came to see me and told me about the Teenage Cancer Unit and showed me the basic plans… what a difference that would make to the treatment of people like me. I had to go to Ward 3 one night because they thought I had the flu. Luckily I didn’t and so was only there for about three or four hours… believe me, it felt like a week! This unit will be a place to go and be ‘alive’ again, to be back with people of the same age but that understand your feelings, both emotional and physical, where the hours would fly by. A place where I, personally would be able to go and just relax, where I wouldn’t have to sit in one chair for hours on end waiting for my chemotherapy. It would jusr change the whole day for me, and for the lucky person whose turn it is to come with me. I think they would relax so much more, also knowing that there was somewhere else to go, not to feel like I was in a hospital waiting for treatment… and me not to have to try and smile at their attempts to make me laugh!

I can’t believe the size of this project… it’s amazing, and all the people involved are so committed to what they have set out to achieve, everyone just wants the best… and it looks like we’re well on the way to getting a dream building. All the help and donations to the unit have been so fantastic, the committee have been able to design the unit in such a way that it will be the easiest and pleasantest place for a young person to be at a hard time in all of their lives. This building is going to change the lives of so many, see so many people recover, and be a place where many people will witness this change. A place of medicine, of care, of love, and of LIFE!

Thank you… everyone! …It’s not so bad, but it’s about to get a lot better…

Laura later wrote in a letter to the Laura Crane Trust; “Thank you again for your support of the unit here in Sheffield. It has certainly helped to keep me positive and fighting for the third time. I can’t wait to be better now, but I’m not afraid of the hospital and chemo, and some of that is down to you”

A Letter From The Lonely' - Kelly Denver (age 19)

Didn’t you care?
Or, were you frightened
Of what you might find?
I’m still me.
I can’t come to school anymore,
But I haven’t stopped wanting to be there.
I may have lost my hair,
But I still laugh at the same jokes.
Did you think I wouldn’t want to see you?
That I’d feel left out
By regaled stories of nights out?
I’d feel loved.
That makes me feel included.
I want to hear your stories,
I’d feel loved.
Are you hurt that I didn’t ring you?
Think I’d rather spend my time
With other people than you?
I felt shy.
I didn’t want to take up your time
If you’d rather be out with your friends.
I felt uninteresting.
I could tell you about daytime TV,
But I have no stories like you.
I’m still here.
Please don’t forget me.’

Felicity Jump writes about having cancer
and her treatment ...

I found the lump in my breast when I was 22. I didn’t for a moment think that it could be Cancer. It was ignorant, but I had never heard of anyone my age having it. I had a check up with the Doctor, who told me to come back in a month if it hadn’t changed. By that time it was larger and I was losing sleep with worry. They arranged a biopsy at the hospital, and I had to wait over Christmas to get my results. I found out on 3 rd January 2003.

My initial reaction was one of shock, then devastation. I automatically started thinking of death – of losing my hair, and being sick all the time – all of the things which I had seen on television. Apart from my Grandmother, my Godmother and a friends’ mother (none of whom lived near me) I had never known anyone with the disease, so I had no idea what to expect. The whole day was strange. My mum was with me and was naturally terrified. We had to tell my brother and my dad, and they came home. Strangest thing is for about two hours that evening I managed to forget about it. I watched a film with my brother, and felt normal. I was so tired from crying that I slept well that night and the next day I set about telling all of my friends. That was terrible. Most of them said ‘you’re joking’ I knew that nothing was meant by it, but it was not the reaction I was hoping for! Others cried, which was worse, and some said ‘Don’t worry, they have really good treatments these days’ That was the worst reaction. It was almost patronising. I knew that it was going to be hard, and didn’t want anyone making out like it was going to be a walk in the park.

Anyway, the doctor told me that I would need an operation, and chemotherapy and possibly radiotherapy. They thought I would only need 4 or 5 chemo treatments. I had the operation after which they discovered I had Grade 3 cancer – the most aggressive kind. They then told me I would need 8 months of chemotherapy and a month of radiotherapy.

Chemo frightened me the most. Maybe I was lucky, but I have to say it was not as bad as I thought it would be. I was sick after my first treatment which lasted about two hours, and felt very queasy for the few days afterwards, but then I felt fine. My hair started to fall out two weeks after the first treatment, and within a few days it was all gone. I had already bought a wig, and whilst it wasn’t perfect, it looked real, so I didn’t feel too nervous about wearing it. I went back to work for two weeks out of the three before the next treatment and felt fine. Then the next treatment came and the next and the next. The sickness lessened. I was always sick on the first day, but ended up regaining my appetite on day two or day three.

My final four treatments were of a different kind. I was on a trial and received a drug used widely in North America to fight the disease. On this treatment I had no sickness, but I felt very very tired on the day. The drug also made me very susceptible to infections and I had to be very careful. I lost all my eyelashes and eyebrows on this drug also – I had managed to keep hold of them until then! I also had anaemia and had to delay treatments 3 times, as my blood count was so low. I did feel fine in myself though, and could see an end to it all.

Chemo did have an impact on my life. My friends were all going out every weekend, which of course I could not do. I went out about once or twice a month. I used to be very confident about my appearance, but that diminished too. Without my wig I looked a bit like an egg! I was used to having long blonde hair, which was a big part of my identity and all of a sudden I didn’t have it. I also had no eyebrows or eyelashes. And the summer time was dreadful. It was a really hot summer and wearing a wig was torture. This upset me most in these months. I longed to take it off – it was itchy and sweaty, but I couldn’t. I really didn’t want anyone to know I had been ill – especially at work – so I just put up with it.

Chemo finished, Radiotherapy started and before I knew it, it was all over. I went on holiday to New York to celebrate. By that time my hair was about a millimetre long, and I LOVED it! I felt great and was overjoyed to have finished it all.

One of the things that struck me most about having cancer was the atmosphere in the Oncology Department. I can’t say I looked forward to chemo, but I did look forward to seeing all of the familiar faces. We would talk about how we felt, how much longer we had before treatment was over, what we were going to do with our hair when it was growing back – it was a really friendly place to be. One of the women remains a really good friend – a Turkish girl who was the same age as me but I still see them all when I go for my check-ups, which is on a three monthly basis. The nurses were also amazing. I got to know them really well. They were really encouraging and affectionate – a lot of them felt like aunties by the end of it all!

I still worry about the disease, and the six months after treatment finished were the worst. I felt more frightened than when I was on the treatment. On the chemo you feel safe as you know the disease is being fought, but when it’s all over the worry grows – will it come back? Will it be worse? I still have sleepless nights and I do find it difficult to talk about. I never push it to the back of my mind though as I still have to check my breasts regularly.

I think about it every day, but it does not run my life. I know I have been lucky, but it is not over yet. I have to wait three more years for the all clear. However, I have a great job, great friends and family (I don’t think I could have coped with any of it without these people!) and I know I am a much stronger person as a result of it all.