As you grow up, people tell you where or from whom you ‘got’ your character traits or physical attributes. For example, from my Welsh Nanna, I ‘got’ a need to buy overpriced, beautiful shoes and a height that borders on needing to tick a box when I fill in forms. From my Italian Nonna, I guess I ‘got’ my bluntness, a love of G-plan furniture and, as it turns out, breast cancer.
Growing up, we knew Nonna had a funny bra, we knew my Dad’s sisters had both died young from cancer, but that was where it ended. I remember being told that as the breast and ovarian cancer in my family came via my Dad’s side, I didn’t need to worry about it. A lot of people were told this. It’s not true, as it turns out. And now, I’m not just worrying about it, I’m facing the reality of having breast cancer at 31, with an 8 month old baby. It’s not ideal.
Anyway, I’ve decided to write over the coming months about dealing with this, and sometimes not dealing with it. Some of it will be current, some not. For example, I spend a lot of time in waiting rooms now, I tend to write things then but might not post them for a few days or weeks as I might be writing something too painful or private, but I’ll decide later that I feel like sharing it.
So, feel free to join me as I try to work through some of this. Not all of it will be cheerful, I warn you, but I’ll do my best to be honest. Except when I don’t feel like it.