“It was just over two years ago that I first spoke to an audience on behalf of The Eve Appeal. We were at Claridge’s Hotel for an auction. The comedian Jo Brand had co-ordinated the invitations so the room was full of celebs and wealthy potential donors. My challenge was to make them open their wallets wide. I was three months post chemo and rocking the Sinead O’Connor look with hair grown enough just to cover my scalp. I was part way through a seven week course of radiotherapy so I put on a posh frock, levered myself into an upright position, smiled and told them like it was.
The treatment for advanced womb cancer was, I said, gruelling and it was brutal. I would not wish it on my worst enemy. A touch melodramatically – but not untruthfully – I told them that even after all this treatment the cancer would be back. You could have heard a pin drop.
A year ago, I stood here at this service to do one of the readings. My hair had grown and I was now in what I call the Leo Sayer phase of post chemo hair styles. The hair was spiralling out of my head and there was no option but to sit it out and hope for the best. Chemo curls. Who knew that was a thing? I had been through testing for the BRCA1 gene mutation that brings with it a high risk of developing breast and ovarian cancer – and proved positive. I had been through the mill of breaking that news to my two daughters, four sisters and a brother, two nieces and a set of cousins. Many of them had a 50:50 chance of inheriting the faulty gene.
I was also living with the knowledge that the cancer had indeed returned. Just a small spot in my abdomen. My consultants were cooking up a plan to zap it to kingdom come with a new type of highly focused radiotherapy.
So now I am here today, standing in front of you all once again. The zapping was effective up to a point – that point being it held the node back and stopped it growing for a few months. But in scanning to check the progress, the radiologists found evidence of new tumours. My lovely oncologist very gently told me and my husband that it was now incurable and that the point of treatment was to relieve symptoms. As I had no symptoms, she did not propose to offer any treatment just yet. I have had better days.
All of which, I realise, risks sounding rather bleak. But hey, it’s Christmas. A time of peace and goodwill to all men (and women); a time of hope. So I want to talk about what has helped me move to a place of peace, hope and goodwill.
They say that when you have cancer you find out who your friends are. And wouldn’t you know it? It turned out to be my friends. They, along with my family, have jollied me through hours of waiting and treatment They passed no comment as I skipped into the chemo unit like a spring chicken and crawled out a broken woman. They told me my bald head looked amazing; that my chemo curls were great. They made me cakes and dinners and mowed the lawn. They listened to me rant and rage.
There is no way through cancer without healthcare professionals. Time and again I have met with nurses, doctors and radiographers who have gone out of their way to help me. They have rushed things through on my behalf, argued my case, worked outside their regular collaborations. There was the nurse who recognised how scared I was and, against all the guidelines, reached out spontaneously and hugged me. There was the consultant who never should have agreed to testing me for the BRCA gene – but did.
And then there are the researchers. I am already benefitting from new treatments that are creating hope for women like me. Just last month I started treatment with a new type of drug that I hope will deliver a year or more of life that I can live to the full.
So today I count my blessings, I learn from the kindness of others and I try not to worry too much about tomorrow because tomorrow surely is not worried about me. I look at myself and realise – this is what someone living with incurable cancer looks like. And I look at the world and realise there are more like me out there and I had better meet strangers with kindness and live the message of peace and goodwill in my daily life. Because I know what being met with kindness at a time of vulnerability feels like.
But as I look to my daughters and nieces I wonder what will their future look like? Tell me they won’t face the same treatment options or cancer prevention choices as my generation. I mean, really, please tell me.
“So that’s why I support The Eve Appeal. The research funded by the appeal may bring a new set of choices for my daughters, for your daughters and granddaughters. That’s my fervent hope and my Christmas wish.”
Thank you and Happy Christmas.