Ok, God: I Need a Miracle!: Fighting Incurable Cancer During a Global Pandemic

By Denise Lovell

'Living my childhood with an alcoholic father and, later, going through a failed marriage, mental health breakdown and incurable cancer diagnosis, I often wondered if there was a God and why life can appear so cruel at times. However, as I reached out with unshakeable faith, I realised that every experience is a lesson to help us evolve. It was then that miracles really did start to show up in my life.

'Growing up as an empath, I have a strong intuition when it is called for. No more so than when my cancer became so aggressive that it threatened my life at the start of a global pandemic.

'I had to fully trust my intuitive choices because my life was dependent on them. Cancer was my wake-up call, but it is only through true self-love and self-care that we can learn to heal and live a life free from pain. This book has been written to inspire readers to never lose hope - and never stop loving yourself.'

Denise Lovell

• Language: English
• Publisher: Balboa Press UK
• Release date: Dec 6, 2022
• ISBN: 9781982286606

Book preview

Copyright © 2022 Denise Lovell.

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ISBN: 978-1-9822-8659-0 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-9822-8660-6 (e)

Print information available on the last page.

Balboa Press rev. date: 03/23/2023

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Contents

1.    IN A ROOM WITH DOCTOR DOOM

2.    GROWING UP AS A GUARDIAN ANGEL

3.    COMING BACK HOME

4.    BREAKING DOWN

5.    CANCER

6.    HEALING FROM WITHIN

7.    NO TRACE

8.    CANCER WAS MY WAKE-UP CALL

To Mum, Harrison and Kenzie, the 3 most precious people in my world, I love you more than words

Thank you for your unconditional love – it’s what keeps me going

Dad, your love still surrounds me. Thank you, I love and miss you lots

1

IN A ROOM WITH DOCTOR DOOM

J anuary 2020. The man sat across from me with his eyes fixed on the computer screen. His qualifications hung above his desk like medals in polished frames

– did all the doctors have their degrees hanging in their offices or was this man particularly keen to show me his credentials? The consultant was obviously highly qualified. That’s why I was here.

He didn’t look at me as he clicked through the grey-and- white platform on his screen. In fact, he hardly looked me in the eye for the next 20 minutes.

‘Denise, thank you for coming in today. Your test results are back in . . .’

The room at the hospital was painted white. From the outside, the Glasgow hospital was vast – a modern, futuristic- style building surrounded by more concrete than trees. I had come to realise that all hospital consulting rooms looked the same: plain, unassuming, a place to absorb bad news.

‘Last year’s surgery was not as successful as we had hoped. I’m afraid the cancer has come back. There are now three tumours: two in your neck and one at the back of your throat. The affected area is extensive. There is no cure,’ he said flatly. ‘There is nothing more the hospital can do for you.’

I held my breath. In that momentary silence, I could hear my heart hammering at my ribs, chiselling its way out of my chest. There was the whir of the desk computer. The footsteps walking quickly in the corridor outside sounded like another heartbeat – as if the hospital was trying to match my erratic pulse. I must have asked a question because the consultant spoke again.

‘There is no cure.’

I felt numb with fear, the panic playing in my chest like a scratchy violin.

In the moments that followed, the consultant told me yet again that they had done all they could. Not once along my 18-month-long cancer journey had I been offered any emotional or psychological support, and none came now.

I had been diagnosed with throat cancer in June 2018. After several months of feeling a small lump in the right- hand side of my neck grow to the size of a grape, I went to the doctor expecting it to be a benign cyst. When the result came back, I was absolutely shocked. Me – how could this be happening to me? I was fit and healthy, always smiling, a Zumba instructor, surrounded by loving family and friends and was the mother of two boys. The doctors told me that we had caught it early, and they looked relieved to tell me it was perfectly treatable. My family, and partner Alexander, were so supportive, accompanying me to appointments and on the long regular trips from Glasgow to London for hospital visits and always being there to provide the positive network I needed to stay upbeat and manage the discomfort that came with cancer. But after several rounds of radiation therapy and a failed invasive surgery, here I was at one of the top cancer facilities in the UK being told that there was nothing more the medical profession could do for me.

I was being shown the door with no hope whatsoever. During this whole time, my consultant hadn’t looked at my face. Were his thoughts on other