When Leona Macken was told her cervical cancer had returned and progressed to stage 4, she asked doctors the question most mothers would probably ask before anything else.
“How much time do I have?”
The answer she received is one no 39 year old woman, and certainly no mother of two young children, should ever hear because, sitting beside her husband Alan in a hospital room after years of attending smear appointments, major surgery, chemotherapy and radiotherapy, Leona was told she possibly had years left to live, but “short years”, words she says have followed her ever since and continue to echo in the quiet moments she least expects them.
The Cork woman, who now lives in Dublin with Alan and their children Quin and Drew, remembers very little else from that appointment because shock took over almost instantly. She remembers Alan sitting beside her with his head in his hands, wanting desperately to leave the room herself and then sitting in silence afterwards as they cried in the car, trying to understand how ordinary life, school runs, family dinners and plans for the future had suddenly become uncertain.
For days afterwards she says she could barely function because every time she looked at her children, all she could think about were the moments she feared she might miss, not only birthdays and Christmas mornings but school graduations, teenage heartbreaks, weddings and all of the ordinary milestones parents assume they will always be there for until the possibility of losing them becomes terrifyingly real.
“I thought their normal was going to become life without me,” Leona said during an emotional chat with All About Cork.
Listening to her now, what strikes you first is not sadness, although there has been enough of that to last several lifetimes, and it is not even anger, despite periods where she admits anger completely consumed her. What stands out most is determination because, despite failed treatments and devastating conversations about her future, a clinical drug trial is now shrinking her tumours and giving her something she had almost stopped allowing herself to believe in, hope.
Her largest tumour has reduced from four centimetres to three, other tumours have shrunk too and, for the first time in a very long time, there is genuine optimism that more time may still be possible.
Leona describes her childhood in Cork as happy, ordinary and centred around family before later moving into hairdressing and relocating to Dublin in her twenties. It was there she met Alan and, listening to her speak about him now, even after everything they have endured together, there is still affection and warmth in her voice because the pair married in 2015, bought a house near his family and built the sort of simple life many people quietly dream of.
“I never wanted anything major,” she explained.
“All I wanted was my house, my husband, my kids and a simple life.”
Their children arrived, Quin in 2017 and Drew in 2019, and life settled into routines familiar to thousands of families, balancing work, school runs and weekends together. Leona loved her work as a hairdresser and says she genuinely appreciated the ordinary life they had created because she was never chasing wealth or huge ambitions, she simply loved the family life they had built.
Then things slowly began to change.
Leona had always attended smear appointments and says watching Jade Goody die from cervical cancer years earlier encouraged her to be proactive. She even paid privately for smear tests before becoming eligible for screening and continued attending appointments over the years, with results repeatedly showing no abnormalities.
That matters because, when symptoms eventually appeared in the form of irregular periods, pain and discomfort, cancer was not something she seriously considered.
“I was putting it down to having babies and getting older,” she explained.
By 2023 symptoms had worsened and eventually another smear, another appointment and another phone call led to scans confirming cervical cancer. Initially there was optimism because doctors believed treatment would work and Leona underwent a radical hysterectomy, with survival becoming the only thing she cared about.
“At that stage I literally said do whatever you have to do,” she recalled.
“Take my arms off if you have to. I have two babies at home.”
Then came further devastating news because the cancer had spread to lymph nodes, chemotherapy followed, radiotherapy followed and recovery proved much harder than expected. Despite repeated appointments, Leona says pain remained severe and she continued telling doctors something did not feel right because instinct was telling her there was more going on.
Walking became difficult, collecting her children from school became exhausting and even ordinary things like shopping slowly became painful as the life she had once managed with ease started becoming harder to hold together.
“I knew something wasn’t adding up.”
That instinct eventually led Leona to seek answers elsewhere because she struggled to understand how someone attending regular smear tests could still end up with advanced cervical cancer. Investigations later found two smears had been misread, one in 2016 and another in 2020, and although Leona eventually received an apology through the courts from the HSE, by then the consequences had already changed her life forever.
What followed after treatment was another devastating blow because by January 2025 scans confirmed the cancer had returned and this time it was stage 4.
Leona says hearing those words felt unreal because, although she feared something was wrong, reality was still impossible to prepare for.
“I wanted to knock myself out constantly because reality was too scary,” she admitted.
For about a week afterwards she says she completely fell apart, crying constantly and struggling to imagine a future before survival instinct slowly took over and she stopped asking why and started asking what else could be done, whether there was another treatment, another option or some trial that might buy more time.
Initially immunotherapy appeared successful and doctors later told her tumours had dissolved while lymph nodes improved, bringing hope back into the family, but months later while on holiday Leona found another lump and once again the cancer had returned. By then options were becoming limited, however she continued asking about clinical trials because she understood standard treatments were running out.
Eventually doctors mentioned a clinical trial, although they warned access was limited and even getting onto it would not guarantee treatment because allocation was random. Family and friends prayed constantly during that period, candles were lit and people around her quietly held onto hope before eventually the phone call came.
Her nurse told her she had received the trial drug.
“I literally fell to the floor crying,” Leona recalled.
“I was hysterical.”
What followed surprised everyone because slowly the pain started easing, tumours began shrinking and scans confirmed what Leona and those closest to her had desperately hoped for, that the treatment was working.
Today Leona receives treatment every second Thursday and scans every nine weeks. Although she continues living with stage 4 cancer, she says she is still able to be present with her children, make memories, go out and continue living life.
“I’m very much living with cancer,” she said.
“For now, I’m living a good life with this.”
Perhaps the hardest part of our conversation came when Leona described what keeps her awake at night because, despite everything she has endured, it is not dying itself she fears most. What she worries about is what her absence would mean for Quin and Drew and whether they would remember her voice, her advice or the little things mothers leave behind that children carry with them forever.
“I don’t really worry about me,” she said quietly.
“I worry about them.”
Listening to her say that, one thing becomes painfully obvious because even now, through every setback, every failed treatment and every devastating conversation about life expectancy, her instinct remains exactly the same as it always has been, to protect her children, think about their futures and keep fighting for as much time with them as possible.
Before ending our conversation, Leona wanted women reading her story to hear one message clearly, continue attending smear appointments, trust your instincts and push for answers when something feels wrong because, despite doing everything she believed she should do, her experience taught her that sometimes you know your own body better than anyone else.
“Definitely still get your smears,” she said.
“But trust your instinct as well.”
Meeting Leona, one thing became obvious very quickly because cancer may be part of her story, but it is far from all of her story. She is funny, warm, stubborn, fiercely protective and determined in a way that is impossible not to admire and, most of all, she refuses to stop fighting because right now, thanks to a clinical trial and an extraordinary determination to stay here for as long as possible for Quin and Drew, the tumours doctors once feared were progressing are shrinking, which means hope remains and her story is still being written.
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