My name is Vathani. I have been meaning to post my story for ages, so here it is.

I had just had surgery in December 2004, after my GP had failed to investigate further (after I had been complaining for over ten years!) to have my left ovary out... as a 30cm by 30 cm cyst (5kg; football sized) had grown off my left ovary. I think the cyst had only grown during 2004 (as I definitely 'ballooned' in size during the latter half of 2004). I had to lie and see another locum GP for them to take my complaint more seriously... and luckily I was seen in November 2004 - which was when the cyst was diagnosed. I rested over Christmas 2004 and changed my GP (still at the same surgery), as I was furious with her for not investigating the symptoms that had led me to have the cyst. With hindsight, I know now I should have taken steps to get a second opinion... but she was my GP and I had mistakenly completely trusted her for years.

At the beginning of 2005, I was sent a letter, telling me the cyst was benign. I was shocked, as I hadn't been told that there was a possibility of it being malignant! A pain started in my lower back in January 2005, and it became worse, so I saw my new GP. She said it was definitely not surgery-related and gave me co-codemol for the pain; diagnosing it as sciatica. The pain got worse as months went on, but I was only given more pain relief. There were times when I was crying in agony all night (as the pain got worse at night) but that GP still just gave me more medication. I eventually got a physio referral... by the time I got to see the physio, it was June 2005 and I was limping in agony. She was shocked and refused to touch me; saying that there was something seriously wrong. I went back to my GP... she wasn't there, so a locum gave me a pain killer injection in my lower back area. I mentioned this pain to my Uncle (who was a GP in North London), and he said I should go to A&E. I did so, but they said my GP was investigating it, so they couldn't do more than giving me a shot of morphine - after waiting till 4am one time.

It was June 2005 when I was at work (filming) and couldn't not hide my limping. I heard the director complaining about me, so I decided it was not worth working until I got my health sorted out. As the new GP wasn't doing much, I tried seeing a locum GP again... but this time, that locum GP just laughed at my request for an MRI, saying, "There are people with cancer waiting for MRI's... you don't need one," sending me off, giving me the impression I was being too melodramatic. She said she even had sciatica and people "live with pain, so deal with it." Having experience from the previous year's cyst fiasco, I knew I needed to get a second opinion from a different surgery. I talked to my parents, who suggested and offered to pay for me to see a private doctor.

In July 2005, I first saw an Orthopaedic Consultant privately, but the timing was bad, as he was going on holiday for 2 weeks. I was wheelchair bound by this time. He did suggest me having an MRI, but said he would deal with it when he got back. My Uncle suggested it could be a nerve pain, so I immediately went to see a Neurological Consultant - again privately at St. Anthony's in Cheam. Mr McKeran immediately said I had something "seriously wrong in the pelvic area" after examining me, and as I had no medical insurance, offered to see me under his NHS practice at St. George's in Tooting.

On July 21st 2005, after Mr. McKeran had immediately admitted me the previous week for a string of tests, a Doctor came to my bed and told my Mother and I that I had osteosarcoma in the pelvic area on the right. My brother visited soon after and I told him.... but telling my Father was the most difficult, as it was the only time I have ever seen him actually cry like the way he did. (My sister lives in LA, so I had to tell her over the phone, as with most friends.)

After a biopsy at Stanmore confirmed the previous diagnosis, I was admitted into what was the Middlesex Hospital (now UCLH) to start chemotherapy on September 26th 2005. I was told that I would have a few cycles of chemo, remove the shrunken tumour, and then more preventative chemo after that. In October, as my hair started to fall out, as I asked my then boyfriend to shave my hair off, as I didn't want to go from having really long hair, to having patchy bald bits. He suggested cutting my hair into a bob first, and then shaving it a few days after that... which was a good idea, as it lessened the shock factor a little for me. During chemo, I was being sick the whole time, everything tasted metallic (like when you eat chocolate and if there is a bit of the metal wrapper that gets into your mouth, snagging on a tooth and you get that metallic taste? ... I'm probably making sense to no one here, so I'll get back to the life story!)... my blood counts all plummeted so I didn't have any 'home' time... as I would have chemo, go home and within a day I was admitted to a local hospital for blood transfusions, platelet transfusions etc etc... by the time that was finished, it was time for the next cycle of chemo.

On November 4th 2005, I went to Stanmore in what I thought was a routine check up during chemo. The Orthopaedic Consultant sat my Father and I down and said, "Right, well the chemo hasn't worked, so we have to schedule in the amputation as soon as we can...".... it was like the world stopped then and there. I had NO idea that amputation was even a possibility! I didn't understand why my whole right leg needed to be amputated, if the cancer was in my pelvis. I know the Consultant quite well now and he is a lovely man, so I can only presume that he thought I knew about the high possibility of amputation. He then went on, in the same breath, to say, "Well, we may not have to talk too much about that right now," (I could hear my Father breathe a sigh of relief.) but the Consultant went on to say, "If it has gotten into your lungs, then I'm afraid there'll be no point in the amputation".... which was like another kick. I demanded the lungs MRI then and there... and 45 minutes later, I was told that my lungs were clear. The chemo had not worked though, and the tumour had grown into my right hip socket, and was in danger of spreading.

During those 45 minutes of waiting for the chest results, my Father and I didn't speak one word. I could see he was in total shock. It gave me time to think... and while that wait wasn't planned or intentional... I credit that time of thinking to helping me have the positive outlook I've been able to have ever since. Those 45 minutes were basically a wait to see whether I was going to live or die. I decided then that I definitely wanted the chance to live; even if it was going to be in a very difficult and different way. It was such a relief. They were going to give me one more round of chemo, in the hope of the different combination of drugs to shrink the tumour... but if it didn't work, then there would definitely be the need of amputation.

I went back to Stanmore on November 18th 2005, with the total hope that the previous cycle of chemo had finally been the right combination to shrink the tumour... but I was told that it hadn't worked and it couldn't be left any later, or my life was at serious risk. I was told that I could still have a prosthetic leg, and they obliged when I asked to see a prosthetic leg. On November 21st 2005, my right hip socket, the entire right side of my pelvis... along with my entirely healthy right leg... was amputated. The reason for my healthy leg being amputated was because everything attaching my right leg to my body was corrupted with the osteosarcoma... so they had no choice but to amputate my healthy right leg.

I started to have physio a couple of days after surgery. I was alarmed at being asked to have physio so soon, but I soon realised the value of that. Even at times when you just want to sleep and forget about everything, going through physio every day is the only way to getting fully on the road to recovery. I had more chemo till March 2006, but they stopped it as it was starting to affect my healthy kidneys and heart. So I only have five cycles of chemo, out of the proposed eight. My wound finally healed at the beginning of July 2006. (I had ripped it slightly, when I fell on hearing my Grandmother had suddenly passed away, so it may have healed earlier if I had not fallen.) I was then admitted onto the Gwynne Holford ward, at Queen Mary's hospital in Roehampton, and attended the Douglas Bader Walking School.

The Walking School was amazing. I had gone down in weight to 39kg through chemo, so I was asked to gain weight and muscle before learning how to walk. I took my first proper steps on August 21st 2006 - watched on by my teary-eyed parents. I really pushed myself every day, and was allowed to go home on September 28th 2006, after an Occupational Therapist visited me at home, making sure everything was easily accessible for me. All the staff at the Walking School and Dr. Soori at Queen Mary's are all completely amazing people and I wouldn't have been able to get through Walking School without their kindness and effort.

I worked at the Limbless Association, a month after I left Walking School. I was only there temporarily, to cover the Outreach Officer when he was away. It was an insightful experience, but perhaps too soon for me. I learnt there that while sometimes you may feel you are ready, you need to listen to those around you who have your best interests at heart... as sometimes they are right as well! I walk with two walking sticks, and my prosthetic is still a work-in-progress.... as they have not found a seating socket that fits me well yet....and I am working my way to getting a more functional leg. Half the battle is emotional.... having a positive outlook definitely helps - though I do allow myself moments of darkness, but never allow myself to wallow in that 'dark' state for long. Always do something every day that makes you happy and feel positive.

I am one of the lucky ones who has survived so far... well, most of me did (!),... and I am eternally grateful for that. I have an amazing brother and parents who help me out every day, and my sister who phones from LA. I do aim to get more independent as time goes on... after all, I am 31 and not 101! While a lot of sympathy can fall on the person who is ill, it is also important for those around the person to seek support as well... as I think it is just as hard for those around, as it is for the person who has been diagnosed with cancer.

To anyone reading this who has had cancer, is going through it or has lost someone to it.... no one really knows what it's like till it happens to you or someone close to you, and I know it seems so unfair. In life, I believe that while we can't control some things that happen to us, we can however control our reaction to it. Such deep love, admiration and support can come from dealing with cancer.... it proves how amazing us human beings are. Positivity may not always be easy to practice, but it certainly is a better alternative than the opposite... so my lesson I've learnt through this is to try to be positive on all things life throws at us.

Best wishes and my prayers are with you all... especially those who are enduring cancer at the moment.

Vathani Nathan
(Former bone cancer patient)