Standing at the bar, I sipped my cocktail and smiled nervously at the incredibly good-looking man in front of me, who was – at least I was pretty sure – trying to hit on me. It was January 2017 and I’d been enjoying my first night out with friends for months when Wayne, 37, had unexpectedly sidled up to me. Yet while the conversation flowed, I felt uneasy when he started asking questions about me. I wasn’t sure how to answer, so I settled for being vague. After all, how do you tell a handsome stranger that despite looking healthy and happy, your body has been a battleground for the last few years, without scaring him off?
I’d discovered the lump in my left breast in June 2015, and the cancer diagnosis a few days later left me utterly shell-shocked. Aged 38, I moved back in with my mum, Carol, 75, and dad Emrys, 76, in Pontypridd, Wales, and they came toevery appointment, and chemotherapy and radiotherapy session at Royal Glamorgan Hospital, caring for me like I was a child again. I’d taken leave from my job as a payroll manager, and most of the time felt so sick and weak I could barely function, but Mum made sure I went out every day, even just for a walk to the shops, covering my balding head with a woolly hat.
At high risk
Just as the intense treatment was finishing in September 2015, and my specialist was confident the tumour had gone, tests revealed I had the faulty BRCA1 gene, which meant there was a high risk of the breast cancer returning and that I could develop ovarian cancer in the future. My best option was to have both breasts and my ovaries removed, but that meant my chances of being a mum were over. Until then, I was undecided about kids, but having the option taken away felt so cruel and I wondered if, after the operations, I’d still feel womanly or ever have the confidence to date again.
Bu hikaye WOMAN - UK dergisinin January 06, 2020 sayısından alınmıştır.
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Bu hikaye WOMAN - UK dergisinin January 06, 2020 sayısından alınmıştır.
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