It was about seven weeks into my pregnancy that I started to worry something might be wrong. I’d been bleeding so I booked in for an early scan. 

I can remember the radiographer saying she thought she could see something but couldn’t be sure what. They took some blood and told me to come back in a week. My mind raced. What did she mean she could see something? Was I miscarrying?

The following week, after more tests, I found out I was miscarrying. The nurse couldn’t see a baby on the scan but a collection of abnormal cells. 

I’d need a D&C procedure (in which abnormal cells are scraped from the uterus) and they’d need to test the cells to check if I was experiencing a ‘molar pregnancy’, where a problem with a fertilised egg means the baby and placenta don’t develop properly. In most molar pregnancies, remaining abnormal tissue dies off but in a small proportion of cases the tissue grows further into the lining of the womb and spreads like a cancer. This is what happened to me.

I didn’t understand much of this at the time; I was just devastated. It was July 2020 and Covid restrictions meant my fiancé Adam had to wait outside in the car park, so I was alone when they told me we wouldn’t be having our much longed for baby.

Six weeks later, after further tests, the consultant broke more bad news: ‘You’ve had a complete molar pregnancy – you need to leave right now for chemotherapy.’ It was only then that it dawned on me what was happening; the molar cells had become embedded in the deeper tissues of the womb and were multiplying rapidly, forming what’s known as a persistent gestational tumour.

Half an hour later, Adam and I were in the car, racing from our home in Swansea to the specialist centre at Charing Cross Hospital in London. 

I’ll never forget that car journey. I was in pieces, already racked with grief for the baby I’d lost – learning I had cancer and was about to have chemotherapy was unbearably shocking. I felt like my body was failing me.

It was unbelievable how quickly our lives had changed: before lockdown, Adam and I had been planning our wedding, preparing to spend the rest of our lives together. We’d met in our 30s through mutual friends – I was an occupational therapist, Adam a partner for a holiday park – and our relationship moved quickly. 

Nine months after we got together, Adam proposed. Our wedding was postponed twice because of the pandemic so we’d decided to try for a baby straight away. Then suddenly everything was put on hold.

For the eight months after the diagnosis, Adam drove me to and from hospitals in Swansea and London, often at the drop of a hat if my hormone levels weren’t responding as they should to the treatment.

It was tough for him too but he cared for me brilliantly. He was never allowed to come on to the ward with me because it was lockdown but we found out about Maggie’s cancer centre at the hospital, where Adam and I could sit together after treatment. It felt like a safe space.

Sometimes, in those early days, I felt I didn’t deserve to be there because I still had my hair (though I later lost it) and my prognosis was good. I cried to a Maggie’s psychologist that I was wasting her time. ‘You lost your baby and then you were diagnosed with cancer at 33, Steph,’ she said. ‘Of course you deserve to be here.’

I met other women there too who were also being treated for invasive molar pregnancies. We were as lonely and frightened as each other but their friendship, together with Adam’s support, saved me.

I finished my chemo in April and got the all clear in June, almost a year after it all began. Adam and I finally got married in August. It felt miraculous after everything.

Since then, I’ve healed slowly. I recently returned to work and though I still feel traumatised I’m grateful to be healthy. What got me through was the dream that one day, we might be able to try for a baby again. 

There is a small chance of having another molar pregnancy but after everything we’ve been through, I haven’t given up hope of one day becoming a mum.

As told to Eleanor Steafel

How you can help 

Maggie’s is one of four organisations supported by this year’s Telegraph Christmas Charity Appeal. The others are The Duke of Edinburgh’s Award, Dogs Trust and Alzheimer’s Society. To make a donation, please visit telegraph.co.uk/2021appeal or call 0151 284 1927.