Her Voice Her Strength

Let’s talk about fertility, egg freezing, needles, and the raw journey through breast cancer.

Dear Kind Reader,

In my last blog, Faith vs. Breast Cancer: Acne, Wounded But Willing — War Room Prayers for a Miracle, I opened up about how layered this part of my journey has been.

I shared the reality of battling relentless acne, the weight of an oncologist appointment filled with unsettling language, and how I had to chase down my own scan and fertility appointments just to keep things moving. I spoke about the fire-like feeling during the pelvis scan and the emotional blow of being let down by someone I once called a friend.

And just as I was navigating all of that, a friend who had supported me suddenly fell ill. My prayers shifted and I found myself carrying not only the weight of my own diagnosis, but his, too.

Mid-February 2023 became a storm physically, emotionally, and spiritually. But through it all, I kept showing up, kept praying, and kept believing for a miracle.

Now, let’s move forward into the next chapter.

Scan Results, but No Peace

The PET scan and pelvis scan I had in February 2023 came back clear, there was no signs that the cancer had spread. On paper, that should have felt like a win right ?

But it didn’t.

Because cancer was still there. Still sitting stubbornly in my left breast. 😔

People hear “no spread” and think, That’s great news! And sure, in some ways, it is. But when you’re the one living it, when you know the fight isn’t over, it doesn’t feel like a relief. It feels like a limbo.

And I was angry, especially at God.

I remember thinking, seriously, God? You’re just going to let me walk through this chaos, this madness and pain ?

Silence.

No whisper. No sign. Nothing.

Not that I’ve ever known what God’s voice sounds like. But in that moment, I wanted something. Anything. I felt alone and I needed to actually hear God respond to me with a thunder type voice — well that’s how I envision God’s voice. 

Instead, I sighed… One of those deep, tired sighs that felt like it came from the soul. I tried to steer myself for what was coming next: which was the fertility appointment.

Egg Freezing: The Fear, the Bruises, and the Silence

My first appointment with the NHS fertility department was a whirlwind—blood test, vaginal scan, maybe even a weigh-in, but honestly? I can’t remember. It all blurs together. I was there for a couple of hours, trying to stay present, trying to absorb it all.

At the follow-up appointment a nurse—or maybe the fertility consultant, I wasn’t sure—explained the next steps. Casually, like she was reading a recipe.

She said “You’ll be sent a box of pre-filled needles,”. “Inject them into your belly at the same time every day for a week. Just pick a time and stick to it.”

She handed me an out-of-hours contact number, in case I had problems, and told me I’d come back in a week so they could check if my eggs had matured in the womb sac. If they had, I’d keep injecting for a few more days.

It sounded so straightforward.

Until the needles arrived.

I unpacked them and put them in the fridge, and something inside me froze too.

I stared at them for what felt like forever.

When the time came, I just… couldn’t.

I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

The fear was sharp, real, and physically 

overwhelming. I cried. I shook. I was alone, and no one was there to hold my hand. No one was there to say, You’ve got this.

I called a friend. I told her “I can’t do this,” I said through tears. “I’m struggling.”

She tried to comfort me, and said she understood but did she really ? I explained how terrifying it was, how unnatural it felt. We went back and forth. Then the call ended.

I sat there. Took a breath. Checked the time. And I did it.

I pushed the needle into my belly.

The pain was sharp, like a spike through my nervous system.

But I kept going. Same time, every day.The bruises came quickly. Purple patches blooming across my skin, surrounded by little red dots. I started on the right side of my belly, then switched to the left when the soreness got too much. My body looked like a pincushion.

One day, I missed the time. Panic took over. I called the emergency line, hoping for reassurance—but the nurse on the other end was cold, indifferent.

“Just do the injection now and go back to your usual time tomorrow,” she said, flatly with no warmth or care.

I followed her advice, but I carried the sting of her tone with me.

At my next appointment, the consultant said, “Everything is progressing well. The eggs are maturing. Just continue for a few more days.”

I smiled faintly. But inside, I was screaming.

More days? Why? What’s wrong with my body? Why isn’t it enough already?

Holding Two Battles at Once

While I was going through all of this, I was also checking in on my friend who was in the hospital. He was stable, but not improving and not ready to be discharged. I kept praying for him by lifting him up across different prayer platforms. Sometimes, I think I prayed more for him than I did for myself.

Then the day came: 14th March 2023—egg retrieval day.

I don’t think I could eat that morning. I think I was advised not to. However, I remember my stomach felt very tight that morning I’m sure it was my nerves. When I got to the hospital that day I signed all the necessary forms, changed into the hospital gown, I put my clothes in the locker I was given and waited to be taken into the procedure room.

When they brought me into the procedure room, it was full of different people, all doing their part. It felt like a blur of scrubs, questions, and soft voices trying to comfort me. One woman asked me why I was freezing my eggs. I told her about the breast cancer diagnosis. She nodded and said a colleague of hers had been through it too. Then she quickly shifted the mood by asking, “If you could go on any holiday, where would it be?”

While I tried to answer, something about somewhere sunny someone was already inserting a needle 💉 into the top of my right hand. Another was telling me to spread my legs wide. I noticed my piercings had been covered with medical tape. The whole thing felt surreal. I was there, exposed, vulnerable a living canvas, a masterpiece picture on a gallery wall in a gallery full of strangers, all analysing me like a study and a case. it felt as if I was just another body in need of fixing ??? A body. A patient. A case. 

I continued talking about how I wanted to go on a sunny holiday.

I kept talking about holidays.

Then, suddenly, I remember a flash of white light, almost blinding me then it was dark.

And then… nothing.

Then anaesthesia had kicked in. And just like that, I was out. I don’t remember anything else that took place in that procedure room.

When I woke up, I was in a different cubicle room and it was over.

They told me the procedure went well and offered me juice, hot chocolate, and some biscuits. My mouth was dry. My hands looked parched, and I asked if it could get my hand cream in the locker they gave me. I didn’t even realise I was bleeding below until I saw the pad underneath my bottom. No one said anything about it I guess that’s the procedure as I was told at the beginning I may bleed a little however, no one cleaned me up. I dealt with it myself quietly and automatically

They told me I needed to rest, to take it easy for the day. I couldn’t leave alone, which I was aware of and I had planned with a friend back then to meet me at the hospital to drive me back home. I was relieved to hear that she had arrived to take me home.

Once I could stand, I got dressed. Then I was handed a form which was an Immediate Advice Letterwith instructions for after egg retrieval: 

Post-Egg Retrieval Advice (14 March 2023):

• Rest: It is sensible to rest for the remainder of the day following your egg retrieval (collection) procedure.

• Eating and Drinking: You may eat and drink as normal after the procedure, but make sure to stay hydrated and drink plenty of fluids.

• Pain Management: Some abdominal discomfort is normal for 2–3 days. It shouldn’t be severe. Take painkillers like Panadol, Paracetamol, or Ibuprofen as needed.

• Next dose of Paracetamol: Due at 18:30 (6:30 p.m.).

• Follow-Up: A member of the embryology team will contact you the next day, usually in the morning to let you know how many eggs were mature and successfully frozen and / or fertilised. 

Whilst I got dressed slowly, my body still catching up with what just happened. My mind was going through a lot of flashing images and thoughts. There was no space to reflect, to breathe, to fully feelwhat just took place. So even then, my mind wasn’t still. I was thinking about my friend in hospital, what I will need to do next then I called my friend’s family and checked in on how he was doing.

Then the friend who came to pick me up looked at me and said,

“Andréa… do you even realise what you’ve just been through?”

And I said, “I know…”

But the truth? I didn’t.

My brain was going at 100 miles per hour. I couldn’t stop to process. I didn’t have that luxury.

Chemotherapy was right around the corner.

Zoladex and the Punch to My Belly

Chemotherapy was scheduled to begin on 16th March 2023, and that same day, I was meant to have a port installed on my right side of my breast. I couldn’t get a PICC line because the private hospital I was attending didn’t offer it, so the port was the only option. Port surgery and chemotherapy both on the same day !!! But before that, I had to be given Zoladex.

Zoladex is an implant injected into the belly to temporarily stop your menstrual cycle. It works by shutting down hormone production in the ovaries, reducing estrogen levels, and effectively putting your body into a kind of medical menopause. That means hot flashes, vaginal dryness, emotional shifts and for most women, no periods. But it’s not a contraceptive.

Anyway, back to the appointment. I had a blood test, got weighed, and then came the injection administered by a male nurse.

No numbing cream.

No warning.

Just a sharp, clinical jab.

It felt like a gunshot to my belly. I was stunned by the pain. My stomach had already been through so much needle after needle and now this. I didn’t even flinch on the outside. I kept it together. But inside? I was hurting.

Afterwards, a receptionist asked how I was feeling. I shrugged, trying to seem okay… and then suddenly I just broke down. I cried. She hugged me gently and said, “I’ve seen you come in here so many times you were so calm, so strong I didn’t expect this.”

I told her the truth: it hurt. The Zoladex hurt and I can’t believe that chemotherapy is really going to happen. She empathised with me.

She told me that I could request numbing cream for next time. Which, honestly, just made me think why wasn’t that offered in the first place?

And here’s what I really thought:

Was it because I’m young?

Was it because I’m a Black woman assumed to be strong, to endure pain without complaint?

Was it just oversight… or something deeper?

I still don’t know. But I do know it hurt. And I carried that hurt silently…

By then, everything was starting to feel real. The egg freezing, the injections, the surgery, the upcoming chemotherapy. All of it.

But still, I kept wondering in the back of my mind:

God, are You going to come and save me now? You’re not really going to let me go through this… right?

And I’ll pause here.

This part of the blog was so traumatic to write. To go back, to revisit each scene, to feel each needle, each injection, test, and wave of pain was overwhelming. It’s the unvarnished reality of what it means to fight breast cancer while trying to hold onto hope for the future. If you’ve been with me so far, thank you for your strength and love. For those just joining, welcome I hope my story speaks to you in ways words often can’t.

So, what happened next?

• Did I show up for the port installation and my first round of chemotherapy?

• Did I find out how many eggs were successfully frozen?

• Did my friend get better?

The rest of the story continues in my next blog.

Reflection Questions for You, Dear Reader:

• Have you ever had to face something terrifying alone?

• What helps you push through fear—especially when support is lacking?

• Have you ever questioned why your body or life wasn’t cooperating, even when you did “everything right”?

• Have you ever screamed or muttered, “Why me?

Thank you so much for reading.

If anything I’ve shared resonated with you, please subscribe, like, and share.

And don’t forget to check out my YouTube channel: Her Voice Her Strength 

Warm wishes,

Andréa Xxx 💕