In a new Sky Sports News documentary, I talk openly about my cancer experience in Football, Cancer and Me.
I was diagnosed with stage three cervical cancer on 31 July 2022, shortly after my daughter Mabel was born. Now, two-and-a-half years later, I am cancer-free. The film brings together four people in the football world who have also been affected by cancer — players David Brooks and Henri Lansbury, manager Tony Mowbray, Sky Sports reporter Emma Saunders, and St Johnstone owner Adam Webb — to share how the disease touched their lives. The documentary airs on Sky Sports News on Wednesday at 4pm and will be available On Demand.
When I heard the diagnosis it hit me like a truck. I did wonder if I was going to die. I prepared myself for the worst — I think you have to — but I didn’t tell anyone straight away because I didn’t want to put that burden on people. For a while I wanted to get through it privately; I didn’t want everyone worrying.
If one person watches the film and makes a phone call to get checked because something doesn’t feel right, then it will have been worthwhile. Cancer affects so many people, directly and indirectly, and talking about it helps others feel less alone and shows there can be life after cancer.
I knew something wasn’t right and went to get checked. I expected to be told it was a post-birth issue, but that day I was told it looked like cancer. Your life changes in an instant. The strangest part was how, for a few weeks while scans and tests were arranged, everything else continued as normal. I actually went to a wine festival in Cheltenham during that time, looking around thinking, “I’ve got cancer” — life was carrying on while mine was about to change.
My treatment plan was five weeks of daily radiotherapy, chemotherapy once a week, then three days of brachytherapy — an intrusive internal radiotherapy. I didn’t tell anyone until I had a plan because I wanted to be able to say to my mum, “this is happening, but this is the plan and this is how we’re going to get through it.” I knew my parents would feel helpless; as a parent yourself you’d do anything to stop your children suffering, and I couldn’t bear to put that on them before I had a clear plan.
Chemotherapy days were the hardest. The nurse reminded me that everyone reacts differently, and not knowing how my body would respond was terrifying: this unknown liquid was going into me and it might make me better but it might also make me feel awful. There were moments I was on the floor crying, thinking I couldn’t do it or go to my treatment.
The final part of treatment was brutal. I spent three days in hospital, was put to sleep and had 14 metal rods inserted during brachytherapy. For those three days I had to lie flat, couldn’t eat or move, and I wasn’t allowed to see Mabel because I knew she would want to cuddle me and climb on me. It was the first time I’d been apart from her since giving birth and probably the darkest period I faced.
Mabel was 18 months old when I was first told and she became my focus — the reason I got up each day despite sickness and exhaustion. Even on my worst days she was my reason for everything; without knowing it she became my rock. When I was first told my immediate question was, “am I going to die?” That wasn’t about me as much as it was about not wanting to leave her without a mum.
When treatment ends, support can feel reduced. You’re no longer going in for active therapy, but recovery is tough: you’re exhausted and you’re also trying to cope with the psychological impact. Scans become a regular part of life and there’s always the anxiety that the cancer could return. Some people assume that once treatment finishes you’re simply better, but it doesn’t work like that. I probably think about it daily in some form. Recently I woke with a sore back and my immediate thought was, “it’s back” — for my type of cancer that can be a symptom of recurrence, so the fear is always there while you wait and hope the treatment has worked.
Being told I was cancer-free was indescribable. You can’t capture what it feels like to hear the treatment has worked — it’s everything you hoped for. It was the hardest thing I’ve ever gone through, but getting through it and hearing those words made me feel alive and grateful. Even so, the all-clear doesn’t always feel like a straight celebration. Two-and-a-half years on, I still think about it, though less as time passes.
I live with lasting side effects. Although I’m 40, it sometimes feels like the cancer aged me. I was plunged into an early menopause and was told I couldn’t have more children because of my treatment. That’s a psychological loss I’m still processing. I’m so happy for Mabel and I have thoughts about her milestones and school that I almost didn’t want to miss.
Sport and competition have always been part of who I am, and that resilience helped me through treatment. The wider football family and support from the sports media meant everything — the outpouring of messages from people, many I’d never met, when I returned to work was overwhelming and incredibly sustaining.
Life after cancer has made me focus on the small moments: spending time with loved ones and doing things that bring joy. You can’t go through something like this and not be changed; it puts everything into perspective. You can get through it, and people will help you get through it. There really is life after cancer.
If you or someone you know has been affected by cancer, you are not alone. For support and information visit cancerresearchuk.org or macmillan.org.uk. You can also speak to your GP or call the Macmillan Support Line on 0808 808 00 00.
Watch Football, Cancer and Me with Jo Wilson on Sky Sports News at 4pm on Wednesday. The documentary will also be available On Demand.