TW: This article contains references to illness, Cancer and Surgery and may be triggering.Â
Everytime there’s a storyline in a movie or TV show about cancer, my spine stiffens slightly and in some hilariously cursed twist of fate, I can’t even say my own horoscope without having to think about the big C. One in two of us will get cancer in our lifetimes and breast cancer is the most common form for women of all ages. My chances of being diagnosed with cancer are higher than most – a fact that sometimes keeps me awake at night. There can be stigma or shame attached to talking about cancer, but I’m open about the fact that cancer has stolen a lot from my family – through my Mum’s story, I’ve also learnt a hell of a lot from it.Â
My mother was first diagnosed with cancer when I was just three years old after finding a small lump in her breast. Suddenly time meant to be spent facing the challenges of raising a toddler was instead spent bed-bound. My mum went through intense radiation, and as she would say added significantly to her tattoo count because of the three tiny dots the radiation left on the sides of her chest. I was far too young to understand what my mum was going through at that time, but it was never hidden from me. Growing up, my mother and I would frequently partake in the Race for Life charity 5ks, I knew what a mammogram was earlier than a lot of my peers and I watched as my mum proudly wore her cancer ribbon in the lapel of her winter jackets.Â
The second time my mum was diagnosed with cancer was different. It was the day after my sixteenth birthday and my mum thought that the mammogram she had gone to the week prior was just routine. This time, there was no lump, no signs, and yet, everything was much worse. The cancer was stronger this time and required an operation. Within just three months, my mum had undergone a single mastectomy, had some of her lymph nodes removed and was once again bed-bound, this time with wires protruding out of her chest. The experience of watching your parents look fragile and dependent is not meant to happen until they are old and can look back on a full, vibrant life. My mum has always been my best friend and, in the blink of an eye, she was a shell of herself. The weeks and months following were incredibly hard but also taught me important lessons that have and will continue to shape me as a young woman.Â
The first lesson is that it takes a village, and the best village is full of women. My mum’s best friend was the one who drove us to the hospital for checkups; it was my 80 year old neighbour who called from over the wall and knocked on our door to just check in; it was my old primary school teacher who still to this day cuts out newspaper clippings of women’s breast cancer stories to remind my mum just how strong she is. Friendship is fundamental in both the best and worst moments of your life. Surround yourself with people who you know would shelter you in a storm and keep you smiling.Â
You think too much about how you look. So much of our self-worth is focused on how we look, evident in the rise of cosmetic surgery in recent years. When you have a mastectomy procedure one of the first questions the doctors ask you is if you would like a reconstruction. My mum chose not to have a reconstruction, and that journey of radical self-love and acceptance was at times as tumultuous as the recovery from the cancer itself. To know you look different and that what society deems to be a symbol of your femininity has been changed in such a clear way is an immensely difficult thing to deal with. My mum taught me that nobody is actually looking at you, that the bravest thing you can be is yourself. When you leave a room, people don’t think ‘wow, what was wrong with her?’ They think ‘wow, she was so kind, so funny, so welcoming.’ And if people are looking, my mum’s approach and strength taught me to keep my head held high, a smile on my face and stay true to the knowledge that it’s ultimately their problem, not yours.
Eat the damn chocolate cake. You wouldn’t think it but when you have cancer a lot of people think it’s an appropriate time to tell you what they believe caused it. My mum heard all sorts of things – too much red meat, not enough greens powders. Someone on our street even offered her some supplements that were meant to get rid of the cancer. Wellness culture is often a trend in itself, shifting from eating clean, whole foods to the protein-rich, carnivore diet quicker than you can keep up. It’s abundantly clear – you just can’t get it right, it’s simply impossible. Cancer is cruel, relentless and unforgiving, sometimes these things just happen. Obviously, eat a balanced diet, exercise well and treat your body like a friend, but allow yourself some of life’s simple joys. If you ever have the joy of meeting my mum, it’ll probably be over coffee, and she’ll definitely order a cake, and I say follow her lead.
Stay vigilant and know your body. Women’s health is often misunderstood. Don’t allow your autonomy to be shrunk in such a way. Trust yourself, trust your gut and most importantly Cop-a-feel.