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By Joanna Moorhead. A few months ago, I was planning a family holiday when I asked my daughter if we could just hang fire on making the booking, because I had some medical tests coming up. The tests came and went; the results were good. It was just your breasts,' she laughed. I thought you might have something really serious like ebola! I've not been to Africa for years, and I've not had so much as a sniffle for months. On the other hand, I did have breast cancer last year.
That's right: breast cancer. The two words that strike terror into the hearts of most women - but my children saw as nothing more alarming than a sore throat. And that's how I want it. When cancer hits, people cope in different ways. And looking back, I can see that I coped by going into complete denial; and in denial is, largely, where I have stayed.
As far as I could, I never allowed cancer to penetrate my thoughts, my sense of wellbeing, my happiness. It's because of my unwavering denial that my four daughters, aged between 13 and 23, still don't see my cancer as a big, bad wolf they need to fear.
I remember soon after my initial diagnosis, sitting in the waiting room at my surgeon's clinic. I suddenly thought there was nothing to be afraid of, because she was going to tell me what I already knew, which was that I didn't have cancer at all! I was so certain this was going to happen that I was stunned when she had to start from square one and explain yet again that, yes, this really was an invasive malignant tumour, and it really did have to be dealt with. But even after this long and detailed explanation, I just couldn't let myself quite believe it.