In February I was told I had a 25% chance of having cancer. In June I'm still waiting to find out

I worry that any cancer diagnosis I may have needs to be met with a strong state of mind but these months have depleted me. The strain is like carrying a physical weight

Before coronavirus, to demonstrate its enormity and destruction, cancer was known as the “big C”. Now, Macmillan Cancer Support is referring to it as the “forgotten C”. Oncologist Karol Sikora talks of 2,300 cancer cases being missed each week and that the cancer diagnostic system has all but seized up.

For five months I have been trapped in this system, currently going nowhere, waiting for surgery to determine if I have cancer. I feel abandoned.

In February I was told that I have at least a 25 per cent chance of having cancer due to a suspicious thyroid nodule. This was discovered quite by chance, revealed by an MRI scan I had because of a painful neck and tingling in my hands.

Back then I was swiftly and competently seen by the NHS. I felt secure that the NHS would be there for me no matter what. I was quickly given an ultrasound and then a fine needle aspiration. This confirmed the nodule showed malignancy markers and needed to be removed in an operation that will take out half my thyroid to be biopsied. But while cancer continues to be active during this pandemic, everything that helps diagnose it has been stopped.

It is now June and I am still waiting. The psychological toll of these months has been immense and I already live with depression. In the early hours I wake up fearing that cancer is rampaging, unchecked around my body. I ask myself could I go from being in a curable state to not, leaving my children motherless and my husband having to raise them alone.

I have tried my hardest to carry on with the new normal, to work and to homeschool my children, but I am distracted. It has been like living in a strange parallel universe; while I socially distance and do all I can to prevent the spread of Covid-19, my thoughts have been about cancer.

I worry that any cancer diagnosis I may have needs to be met with a strong state of mind but these months have depleted me. The strain is like carrying a physical weight. This strain is not just on me either, the wait and uncertainty cause distress for those that I love and who love me. I am guilty that I am causing this anxiety for them.

On mental health grounds I had been referred for robotic surgery which should have left less scarring than the normal thyroid surgery, but it is no longer an option for me as the wait looks to be even longer for this type of surgery to re- open. It is yet another blow to deal with.

I am overwhelmingly frustrated with the government’s slow response and confused messaging during this pandemic. But while Boris Johnson and his cabinet were telling us to protect the NHS, they haven’t been practising what they preach. Instead, they have kept it starved of funds and under resourced. The UK’s cancer survival rates lag behind those in other comparable countries. The NHS has fewer of nearly all types of staff than its counterparts across the world, relative to the number of patients.

By Christmas, an expected 10m people will be waiting for NHS help. How on earth will the teetering health service possibly manage with this influx and backlog of patients who could be sicker and more anxious than if they had been helped straight away? And with a staff who must surely be exhausted? It is a frightening time to be an NHS patient.

When I eventually get a date for my operation, as lists gradually begin to start again, I have been categorised as a priority and the surgeon aims to operate on me in the next six weeks. My family and I will enter isolation for two weeks beforehand and along with all the other pre-op checks I will be tested for coronavirus. It has to be a negative result for the surgery to go ahead. I hope it is.

Like Covid-19, cancer is both life threatening and life changing, and those affected by it should never be forgotten.