Cancer has struck Jacqui Herlingshaw's family four times, twice affecting her, attacking her brother and causing her mother's death. Yet her amazing attitude has got her through it, as Sarah Foster finds out.

JACQUI Herlingshaw has a distinct mental image she turns to whenever her courage fails. It comes from when she was in hospital, having treatment for breast cancer when she had it the first time.

Among the many inspirational people she met were two older women. One was brought in by a neighbour because she had no-one else. She was physically well, but convinced she was ill, and her whole life was centered around "illness".

The other was a sprightly old dear who, despite having had cancer in practically every part of her body, could only heap praise on the doctor who had cured her, saying she wanted to "kiss his feet".

To Jacqui, these two women symbolised the choice between negative and positive. Whatever she comes up against, she asks herself which she would rather be and she always comes up with the latter.

Jacqui, 44, from South Bank, Middlesbrough, first developed breast cancer in 1988, when she was only 28. She rolled over in bed and found a tennis ball-sized lump. It took her a couple of days to do anything about it. "I ignored it. At 28 years old, you don't think you've got cancer," she says.

But tests showed otherwise and Jacqui underwent a lumpectomy, and then a course of radiotherapy. It wasn't until after the lump had been removed that she realised what she had. "I was told that I had some nasty cells. The radiologist was the first one who actually told me," she says.

After the initial shock, Jacqui, who had daughters aged one and two at the time, made a key decision - she was going to simply deal with the cancer, with the minimum inconvenience to her family. "At the time, my husband, who worked on roofs, had just had his best friend fall off the roof in front of him. It was very traumatic, so really, I didn't think about my illness. I was on my own dealing with it and putting the most important things, like the kids and family, first," she explains.

Seeing bald-headed children in the hospital only strengthened her resolve. "It made me think how important they were and how unimportant I was. It made me feel very grateful that God had sent the cancer to me. I really thanked God for giving it to me and not my children," she says.

Jacqui sailed through the treatment, considering it much worse for her family than herself. "I come from South Bank - they build them tough," she laughs. "The family found it much harder. They want to help you because they love you but they can't do anything."

Fifteen years later and by now a mother of four, Jacqui experienced this first-hand when in July 2003, her mother, Pat O'Neill, developed pancreatic cancer. While Pat was a tower of strength, wanting every possible treatment, Jacqui was devastated. "I just wanted to burst out crying. I thought, 'God mam, you're fantastic'," she says.

Tragically, the cancer was so advanced that there was little doctors could do, and Pat was given about a year to live. Jacqui decided to fill it with happiness. "We went on holiday after holiday. I gave her something that she could look forward to every month. We absolutely loved it. It was fantastic," she enthuses.

Pat's favourite hotel was The Metropole, in Blackpool, and it was in February this year - the month before a planned visit - that Jacqui made another sickening discovery. Just like in 1998, she rolled over in bed and felt a huge lump, this time under her arm and on the other side. She made a doctor's appointment and the same day, her worst fear was confirmed - the breast cancer had returned.

"I came out and cried my eyes out in the car park. I just wanted to sit and get it all out but I couldn't because I didn't have time. I had to pick one of the kids up from school. I had to think, 'Hurry up and get it out as fast as you can and get to the school,'" says Jacqui, laughing at the ridiculousness of it.

By now, her mother's health had deteriorated and she was living at Hillview nursing home, in Eston. Despite staff advising against it, and even though it meant postponing her own vital appointment at the breast clinic, she was adamant that the Blackpool trip was going ahead. "There was no way I was going to cancel my mam's holiday," she says simply.

But first, she had to break the news of her illness to her husband Robert, a welder. His reaction was one that plainly still haunts her. "His face froze. It was the most horrific face I've ever seen on a man. I'll never forget how he looked," says Jacqui.

She started chemotherapy and took her mother to Blackpool, deciding not to tell her she had cancer to spare her from further suffering. But on the last day, disaster struck. "I was rinsing my hair and it was coming out in handfuls. I must have lost half my hair. It was so traumatic," she recalls. Having left the wig she'd bought at home, Jacqui didn't dare look in the mirror, and was even contemplating buying a Russ Abbot-style shock of hair from a nearby joke shop and passing it off as a final night prank. Mercifully, however, there was enough hair left for her mother not to notice.

Jacqui returned home and had a mastectomy but faced it with typical courage, treating her stay in hospital as another holiday and having the consultant shake her hand in admiration. Her will to get better helped her through the ravages of chemotherapy, ending in what hospital staff told her were the best results they had ever seen.

But she faced further heartache when, in March, her brother Tony was found to have oral cancer and in addition to coping with her own illness, she had to watch her mother edging closer to death.

"She was strong and had so much courage, but sometimes she'd cry. Quite often she would say, 'Why has He sent it to me? I don't want to die like this. I'm frightened,' and it would break my heart," says Jacqui.

Throughout everything, her main priority has been supporting her family. She was adamant that her children, aged 17, 16, 11, and nine, weren't afraid, telling her youngest, Robert, that nana was tired and needed to sleep and making a joke about her own chemotherapy giving her pink wee. As she puts it: "When they think of the 'Big C', I want to make it into a 'little c'. You must laugh. You must make a joke."

On the day of her mother's funeral in June, she tells me proudly, her kids were composed enough to sit exams.

Never one for self-pity, Jacqui turned losing her hair into a fundraising head shave for St Peter's RC Comprehensive School, where she is chairwoman of the PTA and which she hopes can reach its £45,000 target to win specialist status. A truly devoted mum, she even spent a year helping out full time in Robert's class when he had a distended bowel and needed her by his side.

Above all it has been her children, and her religious faith, which have helped Jacqui through her fight with cancer - a fight which is not yet won. For her, the mastectomy was the hardest, robbing her as it did, of her positive self-image, and she freely admits to crying - "Nobody is superwoman," she says.

Yet in the light of all she's been through, her philosophy is both humbling and inspiring. "Sometimes when you are looking for answers, there aren't any," says Jacqui. "You've got to accept. That's when you have got to cling onto your faith because when there's nothing else left, what else do you do? Nothing can possibly go wrong because there are just so many people praying for me."

* Anyone who can help with St Peter's fundraising appeal should ring (01642) 291936.