I Kept My Cancer A Secret

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When I found out my mum’s breast cancer had returned in January 2017 – almost five years after getting the all clear – I felt like my whole world was falling apart. This time, it had spread to her brain, lungs and liver. And while she started chemotherapy, there wasn’t much doctors could do.

Over the next few months, we focused on making as many memories together as possible. It had always been Mum and me, ever since I was little. She was like a parent, my best friend and my soulmate all rolled into one. I gave up my job as a primary school teacher to become her full-time carer, taking short breaks only when my aunts or cousins would pop round for the afternoon to take over. It was during one of those afternoons, in September 2017, as I was having a quick bath that I felt a marble-sized lump under the skin on my right breast. I’d always been vigilant about checking my breasts since Mum’s initial diagnosis, and now I could see that my nipple had changed direction and there was some dimpling too. My first instinct was to shout for Mum. But that wasn’t an option any more. The cancer was eating away at her brain and even if she had understood what I was telling her, she’d have forgotten again moments later.

Instead, the next morning, I ran the taps in the bathroom to muffle the sound of my voice and booked an appointment with the GP. I wasn’t going to say anything to anyone – not until I knew more, I told myself. I managed to get to the appointment a few days later and, on the pretext of nipping out for some bread, I slipped out of the house.

Clinic referral