Mev was diagnosed with womb cancer in 2018, aged 31. She first underwent fertility-preserving treatment, but after years of living with pain and heavy bleeding, she later had a hysterectomy. Since then, Mev’s cancer has recurred elsewhere in her body and she is now living with stage 4 incurable cancer, receiving chemotherapy, radiotherapy and immunotherapy alongside regular monitoring.
As a South Asian woman, Mev is helping to break taboos around gynaecological health and wants others to feel confident in listening to their bodies and advocating for themselves. Her message is one of honesty, strength and hope for brighter days.
You never think you’re going to get cancer. When my gynaecologist said that word, everything froze. I was in disbelief. Surely the results were wrong. This couldn’t be happening to me.
My story began in my early to mid-20s with horrifically heavy periods. I brushed it off, telling myself it would eventually balance out. I was travelling a lot for work, and one evening alone in a hotel room, I nearly fainted from the amount of blood I had lost. The clots I was passing were the size of my fist. That was the moment I knew something wasn’t right and I had to get checked.
After seeing my GP, I chose to go privately through work as I felt something was seriously wrong. My gynaecologist found polyps and reassured me they were nothing to worry about, just growths in the lining of the uterus. I had surgery to remove them, hopeful that the pain and bleeding would finally stop. But I was still in pain afterwards, so my biopsy results were expedited.
I was told I had endometrial cancer. I had never even heard of it.
I remember that day vividly, 15 November 2018. Sitting in the hospital waiting area, unaware my life was about to change forever. I was told I had endometrial cancer. I had never even heard of it. I was heartbroken and terrified, convinced this had to be some kind of nightmare.
At 31, wanting a family one day, we decided to try hormone therapy to preserve my fertility. For three years I underwent repeated hysteroscopies, D&Cs, and Mirena coil insertions. Sadly, it didn’t work. My bleeding became worse than ever, the pain unbearable. I remember curling up on the bathroom floor thinking, I cannot live like this.
In May 2021, I had a hysterectomy. I was 34. The emotional toll was devastating; losing the chance to carry my own child broke me. My ovaries were left in to avoid immediate surgical menopause, and although recovery was tough, I took it day by day.
I then had six monthly MRIs. Each scan brought anxiety, a reminder of what I’d already endured and the fear of what might come next. In May 2022, I developed severe pain on my left side. Scans revealed a 10cm cyst wrapped around my ovary. Surgery to remove my left ovary confirmed early-stage ovarian cancer. By September 2022, my remaining ovary was removed, plunging me into surgical menopause overnight. I had no idea how much ovaries controlled the body, I felt lost, overwhelmed, and exhausted trying to manage the symptoms.
By early 2023, I was still in constant pain. After months of waiting and multiple medications that didn’t help, a CT scan finally revealed devastating news: my cancer had metastasised to my peritoneum, ureter, and between my bladder and bowel. The pain was excruciating. I was told it was now stage 4 and incurable, with a life expectancy of 3–4 years. I felt like a time ticking bomb, constantly worrying and thinking am I even going to be alive to reach my 40th birthday, all those moments I’m going to miss out with my family and not being able to see my nephew grow up.
I was fighting for my life.
I found my inner strength and I had to have chemotherapy straight away. Six long hours per session, every three weeks. When my hair fell out, I shaved it off. Losing my hair was one of the hardest parts I didn’t want to be seen as “the cancer patient” for people to look at me differently or treat me different. The side effects were brutal, but I kept going. I was fighting for my life.
Cancer wasn’t done with me, my tumours spread further, and I had to have radiotherapy in 2024, using SABR treatment. It was gruelling, but it worked, giving me some relief from the pain. Unfortunately, by late 2024 the cancer progressed again, spreading to my lungs, vagina wall, and further into my peritoneum. I bled continuously for months and was exhausted. Iron infusions helped restore some strength, and hormone therapy drugs reduced the bleeding and shrank my lung metastases, giving me a small sense of relief.
Late 2025 plans for interstitial brachytherapy were halted when a tumour was found in my bladder during a stent procedure for my ureter. Treatment plans kept changing from one week to another, it was overwhelming. I felt powerless, juggling hospital appointments alongside work, trying to process it all.
This meant in October 2025, I had to start chemotherapy again, this time alongside immunotherapy. It has been brutal and very different from before. I’ve had severe anaphylactic reactions, multiple hospital stays, and moments where I’ve questioned how much more I can take. But I hold on to my faith and to hope, that brighter days are still possible. I was still grateful and lucky enough to have different treatment options available for me, and I was going to grab them and keep on fighting!
Once chemotherapy finishes, I will remain on immunotherapy and start a PARP inhibitor, Olaparib, with regular PET-CT scans to monitor my disease.
I was grateful my Cancer Support Nurse informed me about Peaches Cancer Trust. I’ve been able to get support from Peaches on what to expect when having certain lines of treatment. How to prepare for operations and knowing what my body will be going through. I was thankful that I didn’t feel alone and other women were out there going through the same thing as I was.
Today, I try to live in the moment, taking each day at a time and really being present and enjoying life. I am endlessly grateful to my medical team, my mum, sister & my family who have cared for me through everything, and my friends who have never left my side. Living with incurable stage 4 cancer is not easy. Scanxiety still grips me. But I am fighting to live and enjoy my life as much as I’m able to.
Silence does not protect us.
My journey has taught me the importance of listening to your body and advocating for yourself. Silence does not protect us. As a South Asian woman, I know how taboo gynaecological health can be, but awareness saves lives. Open, honest conversations about our bodies and symptoms are essential.
For anyone reading my story, I want you to remember to always hold on to ‘hope’ and ‘faith’, that’s what is helping me through my cancer journey. To let go of the little things, live in the moment, make amazing memories with all your loved ones and be grateful for your precious life.
