I WENT TO MY OWN FUNERAL

Learning she was dying, Amanda McDonald, 50, knew how she wanted to say goodbye

Surrounded by a sea of people, I felt overwhelmed with love, unable to believe so many had gathered together just for me. It was November 2015 and I had been joined in my favourite restaurant by 250 loved ones, all because they wanted to raise a glass and celebrate me and my life. But this wasn’t a milestone birthday party. It was my funeral, and I was the guest of honour, having planned it all myself.

It was two years earlier, in 2013, when I’d first found a lump in my left breast. As a cancer charity volunteer, I knew how important it was to examine your breasts regularly and act early if you found any irregularities, so I made an appointment to see my GP that week.

He examined me and I was referred to Royal Stoke University Hospital for a biopsy. A few days later, my husband Dean, then 48, came with me to get the results. As we walked into the consultant’s office hand in hand, I caught the grave expression on the doctor’s face. Moments later he was gently explaining I had stage three, triple negative breast cancer.

If I had any chance of beating the disease it was vital I began treatment immediately, starting with a lumpectomy in November 2016. The surgeon removed the tumour effectively, but as it was a high-grade cancer I started a course of chemotherapy. The side effects were brutal – chemotherapy made me sick and my hair fell out, too. ‘You’re still beautiful,’ Dean told me, knowing how much it had knocked my confidence.

Afterwards, I began a course of radiotherapy and within nine months I felt well enough to return part-time to my job in advertising.