In my Grandmother's boots.
- HIGHCROFT WRITING
- Oct 23, 2018
- 4 min read
Trigger Warning: Aligned with Breast Cancer Awareness Month 2018, the piece gives a personal reflection on Breast Cancer fears. Please consider your personal well being before continuing further.
It is nearing the end of the month and it has slightly weighed on me that I hadn't written for #BreastCancerAwarenessMonth.
When I started writing again, I knew I would write something this month. If you’ve delved through this section before, you may have read about my grandmother and her dementia journey.
If not, it’s here:
As a family, we saw her deterioration and death as so inextricably linked with her dementia journey that to us, in our hearts, it was a cause of death. The truth, is that her death certificate actually cites breast cancer.
In the way that a granddaughter never really knows the whole detail, if I were to write her story, it would be paraphrased, third and fourth hand and only half remembered. In essence, ‘my memory’ is that grandmother took an approach to her health concerns in the way that if she didn’t tell anyone, didn’t see a doctor, carried on as normal, then she could pretend it wasn’t happening. My grandmother had breast cancer for years. Untreated, but likely not ignored. It will have played on her mind every day. When it was eventually known about, there was no point in addressing it. It would have done more harm than good.
From the point I knew, I swore I would not be one of those people. I would try my hardest to not sweep something so incredibly important under the carpet out of my, understandable but unhelpful, fear.
When I gained lumpy breast tissue, in the lead up to my wedding many years ago, I had it assessed every month. I went regularly, sometimes crying as I left, so that forewarned was forearmed. I told myself that I was not going to walk blindly through life, as my grandmother had. It was three months after my wedding that they realised it was likely a reaction to the hormones in the contraceptive pill I had recently started taking.
Life moved on, has changed in so very many ways, and I have the most amazing daughter. I love her with a love like I have never known and am fiercely protective.
Six months ago, I started experiencing pain in my breasts. One more so than the other. It became hard in places, warm in places. I’ve seen the memes, I know the signs. I knew what wasn’t normal for my body. Yet it took me three months to book an appointment. From the moment I made the decision, after looking my daughter in the eye, admonishing myself and making the call, I was seen and 'done' with in three hours. Peri-Menopausal hormones have a lot to answer for.
I had spent three months walking in my grandmothers shoes. Those shoes I swore I would not walk in. There was always something. The excuses were many and varied, including the doctors surgery telephone line being engaged, but essentially it came down to my daughter. It was the summer holidays and I’d have to arrange childcare to go in and have it assessed. A lot of hassle for something that ‘probably wasn’t a problem’. If they found something and I had to have procedures, the school holidays was really not the best time - for a million practical, and also emotional, reasons. I knew that I wanted to, needed to, be here for my daughter long term, but needing to be here for her short term gave me enough of an excuse not to know in that period.
Yesterday, I literally walked in my grandmothers boots. Her 'old ones', that were old when she gave them to me, and that was way back in my student years. These boots are shockingly at least 40+ years old now. I had them re-soled and re-heeled last year at a cost that was probably higher than buying a new pair. It was the first time they’d been re-soled and re-heeled since the were made. They had lasted, have lasted, as tired as they may look and be. Yesterday, they literally took me to the heights of a hill I did not want to climb, that was in parts painful for me, but gave me a view I could appreciate.
Essentially, even with one of the greatest lessons my grandmother could have given me, I was still someone who put off the appointment - basically out of fear. What I learnt this year though, was that it wasn’t about fear for myself - it was fear of the impact on others. What I learnt, what I wanted to write today, for myself and for #cancerawarenessmonth, is that it’s human to have the fear. Whatever your fear is caused by, whatever or whoever it is you’re really worried about, don't punish yourself for having that fear. It’s not even about punishing yourself for listening to the fear. Like climbing that hill that I did not want to climb, but chose to climb for others, take the steps when you can, with self care, with support, and you'll eventually push forward regardless of the fear.
Sometimes you can see things clearer when you look from a different viewpoint.
If you have been affected by any of the issues raised in this piece, please consider whether you would benefit from accessing relevant support.
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