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The Memory of My Cancer Diagnosis Will Stay With Me Forever
Several years ago, I was diagnosed with bilateral breast cancer. I was lucky, and made it through to the other side. But years later, I can still recall the shock and trauma of hearing those dreaded words, “I’m very sorry to tell you….”
I’d put off seeing my GP for weeks. Though I knew the lump was there, a large swelling on the inner side of my left breast, and had noticed it was growing at an alarming rate, I kept telling myself it was probably just an odd, but entirely benign cyst. At 38 years old, I was convinced I was too young to get breast cancer and, besides, apart from one great Aunt who died of the disease back in the late 1970s, there was no family history. No, I was just being paranoid, I decided. There was no way I wanted to risk showing up at my local GP surgery and being dismissed by the doctor as a silly, time-wasting hypochondriac.
When I started having terrifyingly vivid nightmares about dying on an operating table in my local hospital, I knew I had to have the lump investigated, or else I’d never get a decent night’s sleep. When I arrived at work that morning, I snuck into a quiet room and called the surgery, who scheduled an appointment for me…
