It took a divorce and cancer diagnosis for Juliette Wills to give herself a break – by actually going on one

From one heartache to the next

This time two years ago I ended my marriage of 15 years, a week before my birthday. My husband and I lived in our apartment for another 12 months, finishing the renovations so it could go up for sale. I found a much smaller place in St Leonard’s on Sea, just five miles away, while my ex was planning to move back to his native France.

Meanwhile I was in relationship with a man I was besotted with. A man who would go on to repeatedly ghost me then leave me for another woman.

Fast-forward a year and we were finally due to exchange contracts on our flat. Only for the buyer to pull out at the last moment. I had to pay the fees for the flat I could no longer buy, along with the fees for the one we hadn’t sold. I had no work at the time, so it was a huge blow, both financially and emotionally.

It’s fair to say that life was overwhelming for both of us.

Gautier’s father had died unexpectedly during COVID and his mother had recently been diagnosed with cancer, and was undergoing brutal treatment with a bleak prognosis. We were both devastated, obviously him more than me. But I too was so stressed I was worried that I’d end up with cancer.

Guess what?

The unthinkable

Gautier had just left for France when I found a weird cocktail sausage-shaped swelling in my left breast whilst maneuvering myself into a new bikini. I was sent for a mammogram, scan and biopsies immediately after the consultant had examined me, and had a lumpectomy six weeks later.

Friends helped out post-surgery, but there was nobody to make me a cup of tea, give me a hug, do housework and make dinner. Each night I went to bed exhausted, scared and alone. I struggled physically and mentally for months, especially after radiotherapy. I was stuck in a flat I couldn’t sell, so I literally couldn’t move on with my life. And I found it hard to ask for help, so I didn’t.

I desperately needed a break before I broke.

Another article you may like: 10 things I wish I’d known about breast cancer – before I had it 

A change of scenery – the road to recovery

An all-inclusive hotel in Egypt’s Sharm-el-Sheik wouldn’t have been my first choice of destination. I was thinking more of Madeira or Menorca. However, a deal popped up for the Iberotel Redsina and the word ‘snorkeling’ jumped out at me.

I went bananas and booked a ‘swim-up’ room instead of the cheapest room, which is what the old me had always done. The sea appeared to be the same shade of blue as Paul Newman’s eyes. My body needed this like it needed oxygen.

Because it was summer and off-season – high season being spring or late autumn/winter – the resort was almost empty. I arrived at night, ordered room service and jumped straight in the pool outside my room. I swam under the soft white lights with no interruptions except the faint rustling of palm tree leaves as they swayed in the breeze.

The grounds are beautiful

There’s nothing but polite staff, beautiful flowers and palm trees everywhere you go. I felt very relaxed despite the 45-degree heat doing its best to floor me.

I’d sit cross-legged in the clear shallows playing with passing fish and little things that were like a cross between starfish and tarantulas (we held hands/tentacles)

The 60-minute deep tissue massage I treated myself to was the best I’d ever had, and I left the spa with some gorgeous Egyptian skincare products. The beach was two minutes’ walk from my room; the deep water accessed by a long jetty. I was in heaven the moment I jumped into the water.

In the main restaurant, giddy from such a vast choice of food from so many different cultures, I chose Egyptian (obvs). Dishes were beautifully cooked and bursting with flavour. I ate grilled red mullet and sardines, zesty tabbouleh, stuffed aubergines, perfectly dainty French-inspired patisserie, and about 87 different breads.

“Hello Miss Juliette, would you like to do yoga and Pilates each morning, outside in the shade?” Er, yes. After that I’d sit cross-legged in the clear shallows playing with passing fish and little things that were like a cross between starfish and tarantulas (we held hands/tentacles).

Facing phobias

I snorkeled for the first time. This was a huge deal since I have three lifelong phobias: anything covering my face, eels and the other things like eels beginning with ‘s’, and deep water. I had two panic attacks then went back in minus the snorkel, waving to beautiful blue and yellow fish as I swam along the coral. Still in panic mode, though, since I was in 40ft deep water and THERE MIGHT BE AN EEL. I don’t do things by halves.

At the zen pool I could sketch or read in peace while sipping ice-cold Sakara (Egyptian beer) with lemon. I dressed up for dinner each night and was happy to eat alone while I mopped my sweaty brow, insisting on eating outside – “I’m on holiday!” – rather than in the air-conditioned interior.

Four days later, despite a horrible flight, I came back a better, calmer version of myself. I’d been looked after, and I’d relished it. I wouldn’t recommend waiting until you get cancer to allow yourself that. But for me, I guess it was better late than never. Do go in October, though, won’t you?

www.jazhotels.com