I still remember the moment like it happened yesterday.

One minute, I was lying on a bed in the day surgery suites, completely unsedated, making plans for the new year.

The next, I was being told - with a camera still inside me - that they'd found something, and it didn't look good.

I was 32. I was newly married. I was planning a family. I'd never felt healthier. And yet, I was about to be told I had stage four bowel cancer.

For most of my adult life, fitness had been my thing. I'd fallen in love with the gym in my early twenties, eventually working my way up to bodybuilding competitions. 

My last comp was in 2019, and by then, I was the picture of health - strong, lean, disciplined. I ate well. I trained hard. I felt fine. Better than fine, really. Like I had everything to look forward to.

When my husband and I married in 2020, it felt like the start of a new chapter. I had only one minor health concern: I'd been on blood thinning medication since April that same year, when blood clots appeared in my lungs - quite randomly. 

I knew I'd need to change that medication before we could try for a baby, so I booked a doctor's appointment, assuming it would be straightforward.

'For most of my adult life, fitness had been my thing. I'd fallen in love with the gym in my early twenties, eventually working my way up to bodybuilding competitions,' Rachael says

It wasn't.

My doctor, thankfully, is incredibly thorough. As part of the routine prenatal check-up, she ordered a round of blood tests. When the results came back, she called me in and said, 'I honestly don't know how you're functioning.'

My iron levels were dangerously low - severely anaemic - which made no sense, given I hadn't felt off at all.

I was a bit tired, sure. But who wasn't? It was mid-pandemic, I'd just planned a wedding and I'd been working full-time. Fatigue didn't raise any alarm bells. Even when I started taking iron tablets and nothing changed, I didn't think much of it.

It was only then, during that follow-up with my doctor, that I remembered: I had noticed a small amount of blood in my stool a few times. Bright red. Not a lot. Just… there. I told myself it was from wiping too hard. And honestly, if I hadn't been in that doctor's office having that conversation, I'm not sure I would've even mentioned it.

But I did. And my doctor didn't brush it off. She said, 'I don't think there's anything wrong, but if I were in your position, I'd want to know.' So she referred me for a flexible sigmoidoscopy, a diagnostic test that checks the colon.

I wasn't worried. I trusted her, and I figured she was just being cautious. I didn't even want sedation for the procedure - I thought, why bother? I'll be in and out.

What I didn't expect was the specialist telling me something didn't look good at all, and she'd be back to talk to me in a while when she'd cleared her other patients.

It was a confusing and frustrating time, sitting in the recovery area afterwards, alone, with nurses popping in to check on me every few minutes. I didn't want company; I wanted answers. And when the specialist finally returned, I knew before she opened her mouth that something wasn't right.

'I was a bit tired, sure. But who wasn't? It was mid-pandemic, I'd just planned a wedding and I'd been working full-time,' recalls Rachael (pictured with her husband on her wedding day)

After getting married, Rachael (pictured with a member of her bridal party) was excited about starting a family - but a routine doctor's appointment turned into a nightmare 

She didn't say the word 'cancer' at first. Just that what she saw had been there a long time, and it didn't look good.

But in my bones, I knew. And so did she.

My husband called me as I left the hospital. He had been fishing with my dad. As I told him what I had just heard, I urged him not to say anything to my dad until I had processed it myself.

It was too late: I'd been on speaker and my father had heard everything.

That night, I went to my parents' house and tried to keep it together. But how do you put on a brave face when you don't even know what's coming?

The following weeks were a blur of scans and waiting rooms. Eventually, the diagnosis was confirmed: stage four bowel cancer.

I was completely floored.

You grow up believing that cancer feels like something - that it announces itself. But I felt strong. I looked healthy. I was planning for a baby, not chemotherapy.

I felt betrayed by my own body. I kept looking at old bodybuilding photos, thinking 'how could I look like that and have cancer inside me?' It was in me for more than 18 months and I had no idea.

That's what makes bowel cancer so dangerous - it's often silent, until it's not.

I had bowel surgery in February. Originally, it was just going to be a resection. But a spot on my liver looked suspicious in an MRI, and follow-ups confirmed it looked like cancer too.

Rachael was diagnosed with stage four bowel cancer with almost no symptoms. 'I felt betrayed by my own body,' she says

After surgery, Rachael had 'mop up' chemo to make sure every trace of the cancer was gone

They got it all. The margins were clear. I went through what they call mop-up chemotherapy - basically, making sure there are no sneaky cells left behind. It's gruelling, but I know how lucky I am to have caught it when I did.

My doctor saved my life. If she hadn't been so thorough, I could've ended up critically ill within months. I'll never stop being grateful for that.

People don't often talk about the emotional fallout that comes after a diagnosis like this. Once the surgery is done and the treatment plan is underway, everyone thinks you're 'okay' again. But mentally, you're still catching up.

I allowed myself one really big breakdown - an ugly, all-consuming release - and then I told myself, 'That's it. Now you fight.' I threw everything I had at getting better. I still do.

It's a process. But mostly, now, it's beginning to feel like it was another lifetime ago.

I know bowel cancer isn't the kind of thing people our age talk about. It feels awkward - embarrassing, even. But I'm here to tell you: a couple of minutes of embarrassment in a private room with your doctor is nothing compared to what I've been through.

If something feels off, even the tiniest bit, get it checked. If your doctor brushes it off, push back. Ask for a second opinion. You know your body.

And please, don't think you're too young. Don't think being fit, strong or eating well makes you immune. It doesn't.

I was lucky. You might not be.

It still stuns me that this was caught at all - that a simple blood test flagged something I couldn't even feel.

I don't share my story to scare people. I share it because I want you to know that this can happen to you. And if it does, I want you to be able to say: I caught it early. I listened to my body. I acted.

Because I did all of those things. And that's why I'm still here.