Our friendship was a lifeline while we fought cancer together

Elena Espinosa Cabrera, 21 , from Ilfracombe, was 17 when she was diagnosed with metastatic ovarian germ cell cancer in November 2020

I was sitting at my desk, studying for my University Clinical Aptitude Test (UCAT), when I felt a stabbing pain in my side. It was sharp, insistent, and impossible to ignore, like I’d pulled a muscle in my oblique. I was 17, fit and healthy so I brushed it off at first – but by the evening, the pain was unbearable. I could barely sit upright, and my parents rushed me to A&E. By the time we arrived, I was doubled over, vomiting from the agony.

The doctor told me I had an ovarian cyst that had twisted around the fallopian tube and would need surgery to remove it. I’d never been seriously ill before, so I thought, “OK, they’ll fix this, and I’ll get back to normal.”

A few days later, my parents picked me up from school and said we were heading to the hospital to get the results. They didn’t tell me much. My dad was driving me to the cancer clinic because they had found cancer cells in the cyst – germ cell cancer, an incredibly rare diagnosis. At the clinic, the doctor explained the diagnosis and what it meant. I was told I would have a laparotomy operation to remove one of my ovaries and then nine rounds of chemo and then six rounds of immunotherapy. I remember sitting there, feeling like I was watching someone else’s life. It felt unreal, like a scene from a movie.

Up until that point, my life had been full of simple joys. I spent my days exploring the beaches of North Devon with my dog Rolo, paddleboarding, and visiting my Spanish family in Andalucía. My future was mapped out: medical school, becoming a doctor, and making a difference in the world.

Still, I was determined not to let it derail my dreams. My biggest fear wasn’t the cancer itself but the idea of chemo ruining everything – losing my hair, missing exams and not getting my grades. I’d cry myself to sleep, just from the fear of the chemo. I didn’t want to lose my hair. I just felt so lonely. No one could really understand what I was going through, so I just tried to keep going. The day after the diagnosis, I went back to school. Physically I felt OK and I just wanted to focus on getting the grades I needed to study medicine.

I kept going and, sure enough, I got into med school but at the start of my first semester, I was struggling to breathe; even walking upstairs felt so much more difficult than it should have. I just thought I had long Covid but then a persistent cough set in. Tests revealed the cancer had metastasised to my lungs. The cancer had spread. It was terrifying and doctors didn’t know whether I would survive it.

Chemotherapy was brutal. I lost my hair and my energy. My mum carried me up the stairs when I was too weak to walk, and my dad tried to keep things light with games of pool in the Teenage Cancer Trust ward in Edinburgh. Those moments saved me. My dad, ever competitive, always made sure he won. It was exactly what I needed – someone to treat me like me, not a cancer patient.

The Teenage Cancer Trust ward became my sanctuary. The nurses and youth coordinators were incredible. They made me feel seen and understood. I remember Nicola, my youth coordinator, sitting with me during chemo.

Yoga became a lifeline during recovery. At first, I couldn’t do much more than lie on the mat and breathe, but slowly, I started rebuilding my strength. Teaching myself to squat again felt like a small victory. My body had been through so much, but I was determined to reclaim it.

Then, there was Rachel.

We were introduced through the Teenage Cancer Trust, and Nicola had been saying for months, “You need to meet her. She’s also a med student and has been through cancer.” When we finally met at a Youth Advisory Group event in Manchester, it was like finding a long-lost friend. Rachel, older and wiser, became a mentor. We’d go for coffee or walks around the Meadows in Edinburgh, talking about everything from exams to the absurdity of being both cancer patients and future doctors.

She told me about how hard it was to sit in oncology wards during her placements, and how she’d lean on the nurses for support. Hearing her experiences gave me hope. If Rachel could get through it, so could I.

Today, I’m in my third year of medical school and teaching yoga classes tailored for cancer patients. My dream is to combine medicine with holistic care, helping others heal physically and emotionally. Rachel is still my rock – my friend, mentor, and reminder that cancer doesn’t define us.

Rachel Morton, 23, was diagnosed with tongue cancer aged 19 while studying medicine at university

“When I walked into the consultation room, I knew it wasn’t good news. There were tissues on the table, two strangers in the room, and a consultant who couldn’t meet my eyes. As he started speaking, a red flush crept up his neck, and I almost felt sorry for him. I recognised what he was doing – setting the stage to deliver bad news. As a medical student, I’d learned about this technique in lectures. But it didn’t make it any easier when the words finally came: Stage 3 tongue cancer.

I was 19, in my second year of medical school at Edinburgh University, and loving life. I had a close-knit group of friends, danced in my free time, and was thriving academically. But for over a year, I’d been dealing with persistent ulcers on my tongue and a gnawing pain in my throat and ear. When my tongue started folding in on itself, I knew something was seriously wrong.

I had a new GP and when she saw me, she immediately sent me to have a biopsy. The hospital said I’d hear the results in about three weeks but they rang me back within a week. It was seven days before Christmas when I heard I had cancer. The diagnosis hit me like a freight train but in some strange way I was relieved. Finally, I had an explanation for all my weird symptoms.

My first thought wasn’t about myself but my mum, who had lost her own mother to cancer. I couldn’t believe she was going to have to relive the pain of looking after a loved one who had this horrible disease.

The treatment was relentless. A 16-hour surgery removed two-thirds of my tongue, replacing it with muscle from my leg. Radiation therapy followed, and it was worse than I’d imagined. On the drive to the hospital, there was a roundabout just before we arrived and every time we approached it, I would throw up, my body’s visceral reaction to what lay ahead.

But the Teenage Cancer Trust ward became my haven. My youth coordinator, Nicola, was my lifeline. She sat with me during chemo and made me feel less alone during a time when isolation was suffocating. The ward was a space designed for people my age, with private rooms and cosy touches that made it feel more like home. They organised activities, like ordering a pizza onto the ward, with the Teenage Cancer Trust staff, who were incredibly kind and would help you feel physically better when you were at your lowest ebb.

Even in the midst of treatment, I clung to my studies. Logging into lectures from my hospital bed gave me a sense of purpose and normality. My experience as a patient reshaped my perspective on medicine. I learned that being a good doctor isn’t just about clinical skills; it’s about empathy and connection.

Meeting Elena was a turning point. We were introduced through the Teenage Cancer Trust, and from our first conversation, it felt like we’d known each other forever. We share a bond that goes beyond words – a shared understanding of the absurdity and pain of our journeys. It feels so lonely to go through cancer as a young woman and here was someone just like me, who was not only going through treatment but also training to be a doctor. Elena feels like a little sister to me. I want to protect her and remind her, as much as myself, that cancer doesn’t define us.

Now in my final year of medical school, I plan to specialise in psychiatry and create a mental health clinic for young people. My goal is to help others the way the Teenage Cancer Trust and Elena have helped me—with compassion, understanding, and hope. Together, we’re proving that even in the hardest moments, there’s a way forward.

As told to Suzy Walker

Teenage Cancer Trust is one of four charities supported by this year’s Telegraph Christmas Charity Appeal. The others are Humanity & Inclusion, Alzheimer’s Research UK and Army Benevolent Fund. To make a donation, please visit telegraph.co.uk/2024appeal or call 0151 317 5247