The day my mum Maggie told me she had cancer, alongside the heart condition which I already knew about and which we ultimately lost her to, was initially just like any other Sunday.
It was February 2005 and I had just turned 27. I was an editorial assistant at a magazine and had driven back from London to Mum’s Warwickshire cottage for one of her wonderful roasts (which I still dream about, all these years later).
Afterwards, as she was curled up by the fire, cup of tea in hand, she calmly and quietly said that she had been diagnosed with bowel
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