My Job Is to Report on the Royals. Just Before Princess Kate Announced She Was Ill, I Was Diagnosed With Cancer Too.

Having been a journalist for nearly two decades, I’ve developed something of an immunity to breaking difficult news stories, but reporting on the Princess of Wales’s recent cancer diagnosis floored me. I’m not ashamed to say that when I heard the news, just moments before going on air, I shed a tear. Here was a young woman, fit and in her prime, facing every mother’s worst nightmare. My empathy for what Princess Catherine and her family were going through ran deep, because almost a year to the day before her announcement, I was diagnosed with cancer.

Like the princess, I was in my 40s and a busy mum juggling home life, young children, and a demanding career. I was also super fit, ate a healthy balanced diet, and didn’t drink much alcohol. But on Valentine’s Day 2023, I was diagnosed with cholangiocarcinoma, a relatively rare but aggressive form of liver cancer, also known as bile duct cancer. The day I took that call was the day my life changed forever.

I had gone to my GP just before Christmas 2022 after suffering from mild heart palpitations and indigestion. I’d put the mild symptoms down to stress as it had been a busy year. I’d written two books, cohosted Dynasty, the Vanity Fair podcast, and reported on the late Queen Elizabeth’s funeral. Following the check-up, my blood work came back as normal, and my GP thought I might be on the brink of a burnout and advised me to take some time off work. Because of my heart palpitations and a sense that something was not right, I pushed for a scan, and my doctor agreed to send me to a cardiologist to rule out any underlying heart conditions. A CT and an electrocardiogram both came back normal. However, during a further scan of my aorta, the radiologist discovered a suspicious lesion on my liver. A further MRI revealed that a tumor the size of my palm was growing within my liver.

Recovering at The Royal Free Hospital in London after 11 hours of lifesaving surgery in 2023.Courtesy of Katie Nicholl.

The two-week wait for the results was horrific. I felt sick to my stomach and could barely eat, a million thoughts whirring around my head. Being told I had cancer was my worst nightmare. How could I be ill when I felt so well? Was it curable? Would I need chemo? How was I going to tell my children—Matilda, then 11, and George, just 6? They were still so young, and I was too. I promised myself that I would be there to see them grow up. At the Royal Free Hospital in London the next day, I met with Dr. Dora Pissanou, one of the country’s leading liver surgeons, who specializes in cholangiocarcinoma. I’d been advised not to Google the condition because every case is unique. But of course, I had, and what I’d read terrified me. The five-year survival rate for cholangiocarcinoma that hasn’t spread outside of the bile ducts ranges from 18 to 23%. That rate drops to 2 to 3% for cancer that has spread beyond the bile ducts.

It’s called “the silent killer” because the symptoms are vague and often dismissed as IBS. Other symptoms such as itching, weight loss, chest pain, and jaundice often only present when the tumor is advanced. While there are some treatments for certain gene mutations, the only cure is surgery. Mercifully, my tumor was operable, and a PET scan showed the cancer had not spread.

I remember my surgeon looking me in the eye and telling me this would be a fight, but that I was going to be her champion, and from that moment on, we became a team. In the days leading up to my surgery, I prepped my children’s favorite meals and froze them, organized playdates, and frantically wrote the final chapter of my latest book, The New Royals. I sent it to my editor just before I was admitted to the hospital. The night before I went in for surgery, I hugged my son and daughter extra tight and promised them I would be home soon. I decided not to tell them I had cancer at that point; it was just too much for them to take on.