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Heidi Loughlin found out she had a rare form of breast cancer when she was 14 weeks pregnant with her third child.

The 35-year-old decided to delay treatment until it was safe for her to deliver her baby daughter early, but Ally then died when she was just eight days old.

Here Heidi tells Sky News about how a troll sent her a sickening message:

Last Friday, while my little boy was at his swimming lesson, I opened my emails and found a message from someone called Kitty Meijer.

I felt a chill as I began to scroll the hate mail from a troll I'd never met.

A troll who told me that my decision to delay my cancer treatment killed my little girl.

Upon reading Kitty's in-depth assessment of my life choices, I felt sick.

In descriptive terms, I'd liken it to walking along the street eating an ice cream, when out of nowhere, a stranger punches you in the face and runs off.

At first, I felt total shock. Then pain, and I'll be honest, there was a prickling of the eyeballs. Then I was over it.

That's how it worked for me, but I know this is not the case for everyone. I'm fortunate enough to be made of extremely strong stuff. That happens when you've already been to hell - nothing else burns you quite the same way. But there are people that will be consumed by these types of comments.

They will read them over and over and ask themselves if this is indicative of other's opinions. 'Does everybody hate me? Am I an awful person?' The answer is always no, and this is simply some horrid person's self-reflection that they are projecting onto you.

A troll's raison d'etre is to bring others to their level of sadness. It's lonely down there and fundamentally, no one wants to be alone.

I think that's why I became a target.

On paper I look like an absolute car crash. I should be the most miserable soul on the planet.

In September 2015, I was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer, a rare and aggressive form of the disease with a prognosis of between two to five years.

On the day of my diagnosis, I was 14 weeks pregnant with my third child and I had two little boys aged one and two at home. I was offered a termination just two weeks after seeing my baby wiggling around on the 12-week scan.

I arrived for the results that day, an excited expectant mum and left with the option of a termination to prolong my life.

Or a risk to my life by delaying treatment to protect my baby and potentially depriving my sons of their mother.

I was told if I carried to full term I'd die, so if I chose to decline treatment then my baby would have to be born early.

I was offered a form of chemotherapy deemed safe in pregnancy which may slow the process a little, but wouldn't be very effective.

I wanted to save us all.

I wanted to give my baby a chance at life and I wanted to give my boys the chance to keep their mum for as long as possible.

So, who do you choose? The baby or the boys? I wanted both.

So, I declined the termination and agreed to an early delivery.

You may have done things differently. But who is right? A choice is simply a choice. A decision, with no possible way of knowing the outcome.

I started to write a blog. I wanted to do something positive with the hand I'd been dealt by educating others about inflammatory breast cancer and cancer in pregnancy.

Storm in a Tit Cup began life as a sweary documentation of life with cancer, but has since evolved into so much more.

With a dedicated following, over a million hits and the odd award to boot, it has been extremely successful in bringing hope to others, and yet, it was the perfect platform for Kitty to spew his/her bile.

My little girl, Ally Louise Smith, was born on 11 December 2015 at 28 weeks and one day. Babies born at this stage have a 95% chance of survival, or there about. She was a textbook neonatal baby. Breathing, feeding and responding perfectly.

I was in desperate need of Herceptin, the drug I had postponed, and was focused on preparing for the treatment and getting home with all three kids under my wing.

But in what can only be described as unfathomable, at five days old, Ally contracted an infection in hospital and died three days later.

I'd risked everything to save her, and I'd failed.

I felt utter despair. I blamed myself for agreeing to the early delivery and I blamed myself for getting cancer.

I felt smothered in guilt as I then embarked on the treatment that she had been born early for me to have.

The drugs lasted for a while.

But then they failed as the cancer spread into my blood.

Looking back, this chunk of my life had been dominated with the fear of saying goodbye.

I had a recurring thought that one day I would kiss my kids for the last time and then I'd drift away.

I hadn't envisaged I would in fact kiss Ally goodbye as she drifted away.

At the time, I could only make the decisions I could make with the information I had. We stood in a room with the option of several doors to walk through and none would lead to a happy ending.

But with a metaphorical gun to our heads we had to choose one as we were running out of time.

My husband and I felt these were the right choices and given our time again with the same information, and the absence of a crystal ball, we'd make that same decision. We wanted to be a family of five and this was our only way to do that.

But if Ally taught me just one thing, it is that time is precious. I'm afraid to break it to you, but we all die. No one knows when.

So you must get out there and live. Which is exactly what I'm doing and, in some ways, I've never been more alive.

I am happy. I enjoy my life and I value every moment of it. I think that really ticks Kitty off.

Whoever 'Kitty' is - we cannot assume to know anything about the anonymous dregs of society that are trolls.

I suspect trolls probably can't understand why someone like me is able to laugh and enjoy my life. I'll tell you how; I appreciate what I have. Be that family, friends or time. I appreciate it.

If some faceless twonk with a raging penchant for sadness thinks that after everything we've endured, their comments on a blog will stop us being happy and living our life, they are very much mistaken.

I'd welcome them to meet me, look me in the eyes and repeat their diatribe of manure… but something tells me that Kitty Meijer just doesn't have the minerals.

You can follow my ramblings at

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