“I Found My Own Breast Lump at 39. Here’s What I Wish I'd Known Sooner”

For most women, finding a breast lump is the stuff of nightmares. While we know that the symptoms of breast cancer are more varied (and often harder to spot) than simply a lump, this is the scenario we tend to worry about in the middle of the night.

For 41-year-old psychologist and mum of two, Roxy Rhodes, it was exactly this discovery that changed her life forever. Just days after her mother-in-law finished her own breast cancer treatment, and the night after her 39th birthday, Rhodes felt a tiny, pea-shaped lump in her chest.

What followed was a gruelling two-year journey that pushed her to her limits, both mentally and physically, while also challenging all her preconceptions of breast cancer and the treatment process.

Below, she shares her story.

“Being ‘Young’ When Diagnosed With Cancer Changed the Course of My Treatment.”

“In December 2023, between Christmas and New Year, my mother-in-law found a lump in her breast. In May, we were all booked on a long-awaited family holiday to Disneyland, which had been postponed due to the COVID pandemic.

The day before my birthday in April, my mother-in-law, Gail, got the all-clear after a lumpectomy and five rounds of radiotherapy. We were all thrilled as it meant that she’d be able to join us on our much-anticipated trip.

But on 23^rd April, the day after my 39^th birthday, we were dealt another blow. I was just going to sleep; I’d said goodnight to my husband, Tom, and as I rolled over to get settled, my hand grazed my boob, and I felt the tiniest lump. It was total luck that I felt it. I immediately asked Tom to feel it, and he agreed there was something there, but as I’d had cysts in the past, I just assumed that that’s what it was again.

It was very round and pea-like, but smaller than a pea. If ever I felt that there was someone looking after me, it was in the weeks that followed, and it became clear how fortunate I’d been to have found it.

My overriding feeling was how on earth I was going to find the time to deal with making a doctor’s appointment and everything else that would be needed—I honestly just wasn’t overly concerned about it. That became a recurring theme throughout my treatment: I had to find time to fit it in.

What Happens After You Find a Breast Lump

I messaged the GP, and they rang me to tell me to go in and get it checked, which I did the same day. Again, the doctor was quite reassuring, but he said he could feel a lump and he had to refer me for a mammogram. So, I was put on the two-week cancer pathway, which is standard NHS practice whenever someone presents with a lump.

The service is very stretched in my area, so I ended up waiting longer than two weeks. But I was keen to get seen as soon as possible, so I ended up making a private scan appointment.

The clinic was amazing; it’s essentially a one-stop shop where you can go through the whole diagnostic process in one go, from mammogram and ultrasound to biopsy. When I was having the ultrasound, the doctor was incredibly thorough—and I was so fortunate that she was. She said that because she couldn’t quite see the very bottom of the lump, she was going to do a biopsy for the sake of clarity. If she hadn’t done this, things could have looked very different for me.

As soon as we walked into the consultant’s room, I knew instantly that I had cancer. As a psychotherapist, I’ve worked a lot in the NHS, and the moment I saw her face, I just knew. And then came the absolute worst part of the whole journey for me, which was having to watch my husband find out. Out of everything that was to come, that was my worst moment.

After Diagnosis, Things Happen Really Fast

I found out that the lump was hormone-positive but didn’t yet know if it was HER2-positive (HER2-positive cancers are typically more aggressive and are treated in different ways), so we weren’t sure of my treatment route.

Despite this, once you’ve been told you have cancer, you move into the life of being a cancer patient that same day—and it’s genuinely like a full-time job. I can’t explain how many letters you get, how much admin there is to deal with, how many appointments get cancelled, or how you don’t know what they’re for. It’s a constant bombardment of letters and paper arriving. Trying to manage where I was supposed to be and where, and then fit my life in around it, was a real challenge.

Since I was under 40, I was sent for an MRI scan, and there they discovered another lump lower down the same breast, which hadn’t shown up on the ultrasound. Because there were two lumps, I had to have a full mastectomy; I couldn’t just have a lumpectomy anymore.

We found out that the cancer was grade 1, stage 1, which is the tiniest cancer. I still count myself incredibly lucky we caught it at that stage when I think about how much treatment I ended up having. However, because they still weren’t sure about my Her-2 results, they couldn’t confirm my treatment plan for what felt like ages.

I finally had my mastectomy in mid-July, but I still didn’t know whether I’d need to have chemo, and we were all just praying I wouldn’t need it.

However, we eventually found out that the tumours were HER2-positive, which meant I did need chemo. I had twelve weeks of treatment, every Friday. They also removed my lymph nodes. Because I was so young, they didn’t want to risk skipping chemo, plus wanted to ensure nothing was floating around.

I also had a year of Herceptin injections, every three weeks for a year, which started when I was in chemo.

Again, because I’m young, the advice was to take Tamoxifen, a drug that blocks the effects of the hormone oestrogen in certain tissues, for ten years, but I chose to come off it after four months. They push you into full menopause, and I couldn’t handle it. The joint pain, exhaustion and lack of energy were too much for me after everything I’d already been through.

Don't Be Scared of Chemotherapy

From the moment I found out I had cancer, my biggest fear was chemo, due to my perceptions of what it would be like from seeing it portrayed in the media. And one of the most important things I would say is that it’s absolutely nothing like you think it’s going to be—it was totally fine.

TV tends to show perfectly bald people throwing up, but I wasn’t sick once. You’re given anti-sickness tablets the whole way through, and the dose is fine-tuned to your exact weight and height, so it’s so well controlled. I felt a bit nauseous after my first session, so I took two anti-sickness pills but never had to take them again—I didn’t even feel sick. I also don’t know anyone else who was sick—and I got to know everyone.

The first chemo session is terrifying. There are so many different types, and before you go into your first session, you have a kind of therapy session, and it seemed almost like they were trying to scare us. Bearing in mind, I was terrified. I felt like they were trying to get us to take it seriously, when all the way through I’d tried to maintain a positive outlook.

I was so lucky that I live close to a specialist cancer treatment centre where I had all my treatment, and I can honestly say that I used to look forward to it. On a Friday, it was only breast cancer patients as well, which made it feel almost like a little coffee morning—all the nurses were amazing, and I got to know the other women really well. You’re given lunch and endless cups of tea by the wonderful volunteers, and it’s just such a gorgeous atmosphere. We were all laughing and giggling, and it was honestly lovely.

On the chemo ward, you’re meeting people at their very bravest, and it’s such a privilege to spend time with them when they’re at their most vulnerable.

Losing My Hair Was So Much Harder Than I'd Expected

I finished chemo at the beginning of December, and I lost my hair after my fourth session, and that was the second worst day of the whole experience. I’d thought I might get away with it, and I felt like I’d gone through so much already. It felt like I was losing my hair forever.

I remember we shaved my head on a Sunday, and on the Monday I had to go to a school assembly for one of my kids, I wore a wig for the first time—and honestly, that was the time I had to be the absolute bravest, as I felt like everyone could tell. Over time, I got used to the wigs, and I wore some pretty crazy ones.

I do feel, looking back, that I could have challenged the chemo decision, but I didn’t realise at the time that I may have had a choice. I don’t know if I would have said no to it, but with hindsight, one of my biggest takeaways is that you have to question everything, much more than you think.

The cancer teams tell you that when you have to make a decision, to ask yourself the following questions:

• What are the consequences if I do this?
• What are the consequences if I don’t do this?
• What other options are there?
• What if I do nothing?

The Type of Cancer You Have Changes Your Treatment Plan

Be prepared to wait to find out what type of cancer you have, and make sure you get this information as soon as possible, as your whole treatment plan depends on it.

Hormone-driven tumours tend to be a ‘good’ thing, as they can be treated with medication and you might not require chemotherapy. So, it’s vital to be clear about what kind of tumour you have, as early on as possible.

People will surprise you all the way through the process, in good and bad ways. People you hardly know will step up and be amazing—there was one guy I worked with who used to cook me a homemade pie every week without fail and drop it round to my house—a good hour’s round trip for him, once a week.

And other people will let you down beyond belief, and you have to be ok with that, too. People that you’d think would be there won’t be. Also, once you’ve finished chemo, everyone thinks you’re back to normal, and things are fine again, but your life has changed forever. Any grace you had was gone.

Finishing Chemo Might Feel Like an Anti-Climax

I remember after my last Herceptin injection, when I was officially finished with treatment, I expected to feel relieved. But it’s not relief. It’s so strange, this whole thing that you had for three months that took up so much time and headspace just ends, and there’s no transition period or support through this—you just stop going there.

You’ve built it into your life, and suddenly it’s gone, and you don’t have that structure—it’s such a weird feeling not to have any more appointments. You don’t get to say goodbye to the team who have cared for you; you just never go back—and it feels like you’re cut off from that support.

I feel really strongly that there should be more focus on the transition out of active treatment, in the same way as there is going in. I didn’t feel like I needed that much support while I was in treatment, but afterwards I really struggled and felt a bit numb.

Please don’t ever think you’re too young for critical illness cover.

I wasn’t even aware that I had this cover in place, but I’m so grateful that I did. They paid out immediately as soon as I was diagnosed—it’s not life-changing money, but it’s absolutely allowed us to do some things that we wouldn’t otherwise have been able to.

I’m self-employed, and I managed to carry on working fairly normally, but if you do have to take leave, this money will be incredibly important. There’s no financial support when you’re self-employed, so critical illness is crucial.”