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it to me like it was.

      He said he had already been studying my case. I can’t believe I’m being called ‘a case’. It makes me feel as if my body is something separate from me.

      He said that more cancer had shown up and I had a great big tumour that filled half my womb. He wanted to do a mini operation that takes about fifteen minutes to remove some of the tissue and see exactly what this cancer is doing.

      I knew he was giving it to me like it was. I was terrified, of course, but also relieved in a weird way because at last someone seemed to know what they were talking about.

      ‘What does it mean?’ I asked.

      Then he told me some news I wasn’t expecting. He said once they were inside and had a look, there was a 50–50 chance I’d need a radical…whatever it’s called where they take out your womb (a hysterectomy, someone just told me).

      I don’t know much about biological things, but even I knew that meant no more kids.

      ‘Oh my god,’ I cried. ‘You’re joking!’

      A sick pain hurt my heart right inside. No more babies. Ever.

      My chin wobbled as I looked at Jack and realised what that meant for him. We couldn’t have kids together. And I’d always wished for a little girl. I’d always thought I’d have a daughter one day. Now she’ll never be born.

      Thank God I’ve got my boys.

      Then he started telling me all the percentages of whether I was going to live or die, and obviously that was horrible. It didn’t feel real. It was as though he was talking about someone else.

      He told me first of all that if the cancer had spread there was a 55 per cent chance I could die. But if it hadn’t, there was a 95 per cent chance I would live. I was never any good at maths but 95 sounded a lot better than 55.

      He said that if the cancer had spread to my bloodstream my major organs, like the liver and kidneys, were at risk.

      They wouldn’t be able to tell me till after I’d had the operation though.

      I was bloody terrified.

      He explained that after the op, I would have to have radiotherapy and chemotherapy.

      My mouth fell open like a goldfish. ‘Excuse me?’ I asked.

      I got him to repeat stuff and gradually it started to sink in. I might need my whole womb out and really strong treatment afterwards. Radiotherapy to burn the cells and chemo to kill the cancer.

      The only good news was that he said they could try to save my ovaries, so I could maybe have kids still.

      ‘What would have happened if I’d stayed in Indian Big Brother?’ I asked.

      Without hesitation he said: ‘Jade, you would have ended up with incurable cancer within three months.’

      I felt my insides go all funny. ‘Oh my god!’ I said. ‘Oh my god!’ Jack just squeezed my hand and stared at the floor.

      Being told you could have been months from death is the scariest thing in the world. I suppose we can all be moments away from death without knowing it–like if you accidentally step out in front of a car or something–but to know that it could have been happening to you in a few months…I felt really wobbly.

      Putting on a brave face is something I am used to doing. I could see in Jack’s eyes how scared he was for me, so I tried to crack a joke. I can’t remember what. I’m sure it wasn’t very funny.

      All of a sudden, I realised I was at the beginning of a long, long journey full of tests and hospitals and treatments. This wasn’t going to be over quickly.

      What would I tell the boys? Instinctively, I wanted to hide it from them, protect them. They are too young to know about horrible things like cancer.

      Thinking of the boys, deep in my heart I made a big decision. I was going to fight this damn thing every step of the way. I wouldn’t let it win. Whatever I had to do, no matter how painful or horrible, then I would do it. I would take any drugs they wanted me to take and have any operations I needed to have because I had to beat this cancer. There was no other option.

      I had to get through it because I had Bobby and Freddy to live for. And that was the bottom line.

      After getting the scan results I had to go to the Soho Hotel to have an interview with a journalist from the Sun about my cancer. I was going to put my side of it and try to answer some of the people who had been saying I was doing it as a publicity stunt. Of course, people might ask why I was bothering to give a press interview when I was so ill. But it’s always been my way of coping. Just put a smile on your face and carry on, Jade.

      Katherine Lister did the interview. She used to work alongside my old agent John Noel years ago and I knew and trusted her.

      Mark was there throughout and Jack lay on a bed texting his mates and occasionally reaching over to squeeze my hand. He’d hardly said a word since we heard the news from Dr Ind and I think he was in shock. We both were.

      As I talked to Katherine about my illness I kept turning to Mark and Jack and saying: ‘I can’t believe this.’ I really couldn’t.

      Shit, I really do have cancer. It felt more real now I was telling someone else but just saying the words ‘I’ve got cancer’ was incredibly hard. Inside I still felt as though I was talking about someone else.

      Then–oh my god–I started bawling when they took the pictures. That’s just me though; I cry so easily anyway.

      I knew I was going to look terrible.

      I’ve lived my life through the press but it’s a bit different when it’s something so serious. I do deal with things better when they are out there, but never ever ever did I imagine I’d be told I had cancer on a reality TV show. I mean, how fucked up is that?

      After the interview and the photos were all done, Mark, Jack and I went downstairs for a snack. We sat on this lovely cream sofa in the library area of the hotel, chatting away. It was nice to see Mark and I was starting to feel almost like my normal self when a terrible cramping pain made me double up.

      Jack and Mark carried on talking, not realising anything was wrong, but I could feel a wetness on my bum and looked down to see a red oozing patch.

      I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me! How embarrassing is that? Bleeding in a posh hotel on a cream sofa.

      I got up and hobbled over to the reception. Thank God the manager was a lady.

      I was bent over, looking like a nutter, and I said: ‘I’m so sorry I’m not well. I’ve just bled all over your nice sofa. Is there anywhere I can clean myself up?’

      She looked surprised, then said: ‘Please don’t worry.’ She led me to a toilet to clean up and she found me a nice white dressing gown to put on over my stained clothes. She couldn’t have been more sweet about it.

      I washed myself and put the dressing gown on, while she went off to tell the guys what had happened. Mark called a cab to pick us up at the side entrance of the hotel and I slipped out. Thank God no one was waiting. I just wanted to escape home again.

      There was no holding back in the car. I cried my eyes out. Jack rubbed my back as I sobbed, feeling like an old lady.

      ‘It’s okay, babe, it’s okay,’ he said.

      ‘I’m so embarrassed, Jack,’ I sobbed. ‘It’s not fair. I just want it all to go away.’

      He held me for a bit then passed me my mobile.

      ‘Call the boys, babe. They’ll cheer you up.’

      So I did, and you know what? He was right. He knows me so well. It was just so lovely to hear their little voices telling me about all the things they’d been

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