I was diagnosed with a rare and aggressive liver cancer at 46. But I had no idea it would change my life for the better: Royal commentator KATIE NICHOLL

When King Charles delivered a message of comfort to those affected by cancer last week, it was straight from the heart.

Writing for the first time about being diagnosed with the illness last year, the King described it as a ‘daunting and at times frightening experience for those individuals and their loved ones’.

His words were raw and deeply personal as he drew on his own experience.

‘As one among those statistics myself, I can vouch for the fact that it can also be an experience that brings into sharp focus the very best of humanity.’

His words struck a chord with me and his decision to quote the late great Dame Deborah James, who died from bowel cancer in 2022, was deeply moving.

‘To those who may be receiving such upsetting news today, tomorrow or at any point in the future I can only echo the departing words of the late Dame Deborah James whose example stands as an inspiration to us all in sickness and in health: “Find a life worth enjoying; take risks; love deeply; have no regrets; and always, always have rebellious hope.”’

It’s a mantra which I have pinned to my desk and by which I try to live every day after my life was turned upside down when I was diagnosed with cholangiocarcinoma, an aggressive type of liver cancer, also known as bile duct cancer, in February 2023.

To say it was a shock is an understatement. I was a young, fit mother-of-two when I was forced to stare my own mortality in the face.

It was a defining moment that has shaped the person I am today and, in the King’s words, an experience that has sharpened my focus and allowed me to see the very best of humanity during this most remarkable journey.

I was 46 when I was diagnosed with cholangiocarcinoma. I’d only been to see my GP because I was suffering from indigestion and mild heart palpitations.

My symptoms were minor, but my GP was concerned that I was on the brink of a burnout following a stressful year and as a precautionary measure he referred me to the Royal Free Hospital in north London for a CT scan of my heart. It was only during a further abdominal scan (which I pushed for) that a tumour the size of my palm was detected on my liver.

I will never forget taking a call on Valentine’s Day from a kind nurse called Rose who told me I had cancer.

It’s hard to put into words what goes through your mind when you are given a life changing diagnosis. Disbelief. Panic. Fear. Endless questions raced around my head.

How could this be happening to me when I was so young and healthy? Was I going to survive? (A quick search of cholangiocarcinoma on Google sent me into a spiral of terror and fear).

What would happen to my children Matilda (then ten) and George (just six) if something happened to me? I could see the shock and sadness when I told my parents who were with me at the time I took that call.

And I recognised the panic in my husband’s voice when I called him on the phone to tell him I needed collecting as I was due at the hospital the next day. It was the same panic that was rising inside me making it hard to breathe.

Earlier that morning I had been out running in the fields surrounding our family home in Suffolk. Heavy fog meant that I could barely see two metres in front of me, but for a moment the fog cleared, and I found myself surrounded by a herd of deer.

I stopped in my tracks. I’ve run along those country lanes many times but have never seen so many deer that close and I knew it was a sign. In many cultures seeing a deer signals a spiritual message and the need to tread cautiously.

When I took that fateful call just a few hours later, I was reminded of the deer, their gentle nature and their resilience.

It was something I would draw on many times over the coming months. While I am not particularly religious, I have always been spiritual and that night I called my good friend and well-established medium Gordon Smith.

‘Gordon, I’ve been diagnosed with cancer. Am I going to survive this? I need to know.’ I’d had numerous readings with Gordon in the past, but I’d never been more scared to ask a question.

Back in 2010 my mother had been diagnosed with breast cancer and Gordon assured me she would be OK.

I was trying for a baby at the time, and he predicted I would have a girl in 2012. When I asked him how he could be so sure, he told me that my grandmother Rose (who had long since passed but with whom I was always close) was sitting next to me holding a beautiful little girl. Two years later Matilda Rose was born.

Five years on, my mother was given the all clear and my son George was born, just as Gordon had also predicted. I knew I could trust him, and he told me in no uncertain terms that while I was in for a bumpy ride, I was not going to die. He told me to draw on my belief in the universe and to never ever lose hope even during the darkest times.

Ten days after my diagnosis, I underwent a gruelling 11-hour operation during which Dr Dora Pissanou, a liver resection specialist at the Royal Free, successfully removed my tumour and nearly half my liver. Coming round in the ICU I saw Dora and my husband smiling down at me and I thanked God that I had made it through the operation. I then spent 12 days getting strong enough to leave hospital.

Coming home was hard, and when I walked through my front door, I knew that something had shifted inside me. I remember looking in the mirror and not recognising the gaunt frightened woman staring back at me.

Because cholangiocarcinoma is such an aggressive cancer, I started a six-month long course of preventative chemotherapy almost immediately.

I was terrified about losing my hair, having seen my mother lose hers when she had breast cancer, and I worried about the effect on my young children who I’d not yet told about my illness.

Thankfully a PET scan revealed the cancer had not spread and I focused on this miracle over the unpleasant side effects of the chemotherapy, including palmar-plantar erythrodysesthesia (PPE) which made my feet so sore that there were days I couldn’t walk.

I learned during those long days of recovery that while you cannot choose what happens to you, you can choose your response to every situation and circumstance.

It was an empowering and important life lesson as was learning that the mind is the most powerful tool we have.

I believe we are all capable of healing ourselves from within and I believe it has helped save my life. I meditated daily and used visualisation techniques to help my body heal, visualising the cells in my liver being strong and healthy and my liver regenerating every day. I manifested a return to full health and my recovery astonished my surgeon and medical team.

But despite my remarkable recovery and positive attitude, I would be challenged many times over the coming months and tested to my absolute limit. Before the end of 2023, both my parents were also diagnosed with the disease. My mother’s breast cancer came back after 14 years in remission, while my father was diagnosed with prostate cancer.

While I don’t blame myself, I am quite sure stress played a role in both of their diagnoses. They feared they would lose their only daughter. My father underwent a gruelling course of radiotherapy (which has been successful) while my mother’s secondary breast cancer is treatable but not curable.

As a family we had already been through so much but there was more heartache to come. We lost our family pets in tragic circumstances. Then my 18 year-long marriage, which was hanging by a thread before my illness, collapsed. I was at breaking point and remember sobbing on the kitchen floor. I had survived cancer, and for that I was eternally grateful, but I simply couldn’t take any more.

In retrospect, I had a feeling that something was going to happen to me, that my life was just too good.

I had my dream job – reporting on the royals for Vanity Fair and working with some of the best TV networks in the world as a royal commentator. It had taken me the best part of two decades to earn my success.

I’d also written a New York Times best seller on William and Harry and, in 2022, just months before my diagnosis, I achieved my career high, publishing two more books, co-hosting the Dynasty podcast for Vanity Fair and commentating on the late Queen’s funeral for the BBC. Work hard, play hard has always been my motto, and love life. Which I did.

We enjoyed bucket list family holidays to Kenya and the Maldives and to those looking from the outside in I suppose it appeared we had a charmed life.

But the truth was that my marriage – to my university sweetheart – had hit the rocks as we both navigated demanding careers and parenthood, drifting apart in the process as so many long-term couples do.

A decade of IVF treatments to have our longed-for children – and a miscarriage when I lost so much blood, I needed seven transfusions – had also taken its toll. But I’d hoped that having got through so much together, we might make it to the finish line.

The truth is a serious illness like cancer takes its toll on a relationship. It makes or breaks you and for a while I was truly broken. It took every bit of strength I had left to get up in the mornings, do the school run, smile for the children and be camera ready to report on breaking royal news stories (including King Charles and Princess Catherine’s cancer diagnoses).

But I knew that nothing could be as bad as staring death in the face. I had done that, and I had survived and so in a strange way cancer had been a gift – it had showed me just how strong I was.

In the face of losing so much – my health, my marriage, our family home (which we sold when we separated) I realised the only way to cope was to surrender.

Despite the loss and heartache, I was determined to navigate this next chapter of my life with compassion and kindness.

Today my ex and I remain good friends and we co-parent our children who know that they are deeply loved.

If I’m being honest I’m not sure I would have found such strength or grace in all of this, had I not got ill. Cancer has given me a new perspective on life and shown me my true inner strength, giving me the courage to embrace new paths and change my life for the better.

Today I live life fearlessly and to the full and I’ve found love again – when I was least expecting to – which has been so life affirming and joyful.

I’ve also learned to put myself first, something I didn’t do enough. For too long I was giving from an empty cup, like so many women.

Perhaps the greatest lesson I have learned in all of this, is the importance of self-care, something I factor into every day along with writing in a gratitude journal.

A friend once told me the cancer club is one you never want to be a member of, but this disease has taught me so much.

To never take a moment for granted and to be truly grateful for what I have and for the simplest things in life.

I know I am one of the fortunate ones, and that not everyone is so lucky. It is why I am so determined to live a joyful life. Because it is a blessing.

I’m also enjoying exploring new paths, working with the Alan Morement Memorial Foundation (AMMF), the UK’s only cholangiocarcinoma charity as an ambassador to raise awareness about bile duct cancer.

Last month I delivered a speech at the AMMF’s annual reception at the House of Commons during Liver Awareness Month, when I spoke about the need for a fairer deal for patients diagnosed with this lesser-known disease.

In a few weeks’ time I’m running the Hackney Half Marathon for the cancer support charity Maggie’s with my new partner, in memory of my friend Katie Phillips who passed away from cancer last year.

I am fitter and stronger than ever thanks to all the training, and I’ve educated myself even more on diet (I try to follow an anti-inflammatory diet as much as possible) and regularly see a homeopath.

I’ve invested time and money into alternative holistic treatments and my surgeon says she has never seen a liver regrow the way mine has.

Last month I went away to Bali and Lombok on a solo spiritual retreat where I started working on my next book.

Having written royal biographies for decades, I want to tell my story and the challenges I’ve overcome in the hope that it will inspire others.

It’s more than a cancer memoir, it’s a book about hope, about love in all its shifting forms, about finding yourself and learning how to fly after hitting rock bottom.