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Pretty again, mummy

Cruel fate was threatening to take everything from me


Published by: Sarah Veness
Published on: 20 October 2011

As a woman, your looks are a big part of what makes you who you are. But I was about to change my looks forever. After my aunt and two cousins developed cancer, doctors found out I was at risk, too.
‘You have what's called the BRCA1 gene,' the doctor said. ‘It increases your chance of getting breast cancer by 80 per cent, and ovarian cancer by 40 per cent.'
There were two options - yearly scans after I turned 30 to check for cancer, or a double mastectomy.
For me, there was no choice. My son Jacob was five, and I'd given birth to our daughter Poppy two weeks earlier. Aged 26, I owed it to them to do whatever I could to stay alive. ‘I want the surgery,' I said.
‘I think that's a bit drastic at your age,' the doctor warned.
‘I don't care,' I said. ‘I don't want to worry about it every day.'
‘Are you sure?' asked my boyfriend Keith, 31.
‘Yes. I couldn't bear the kids seeing me sick and losing my hair.'
I put on a brave face, but I was terrified. Would I still feel womanly? But did it matter so long as I was there to see my family grow up?
When Poppy was nine months old, I had my breasts removed and reconstructed. It was painful, but I knew it was for the best. Anything to reduce the risk of cancer.
As the doctor removed the bandages, I looked down. ‘They're okay,' I nodded. Yes, the stitches and scars looked nasty, but my new boobs were a good shape.
Two weeks later, I had my stitches out. Keith and the kids came with me. ‘Do you want Keith to come in, too?' asked the nurse.
‘No, it's fine,' I smiled.
But as we walked down the corridor, the nurse took my arm. ‘You do realise we sent your breast tissue to pathology?' she asked.
‘Yes,' I nodded.
‘Do you know what that means?'
I stopped, turned to face her. ‘You've found something, haven't you?' I gasped, legs shaking.
‘I'll let your consultant...'
‘No, tell me,' I whispered.
‘I'm sorry, but they found cancerous cells,' she said softly.
I was stunned. I'd had both breasts removed to avoid this ever happening. ‘Please, get Keith,' I muttered, head spinning. Jacob had gone off with a nurse to play.
As Keith walked towards me pushing Poppy in her pram, I could see him trying to read my expression. ‘I've got cancer,' I said.
‘What? But you went through all this to stop that happening.'
‘I know,' I said, tears in my eyes.
The cancer in my breast was grade three - one of the most aggressive. Six months later, and they wouldn't have been able to treat me. ‘Thank God I was so insistent about the mastectomy.'
I needed chemo, so started an 18-week course. The sickness was horrible, but I stayed strong for the kids.
One morning just before her first birthday, Poppy was in bed with me when she lunged for my hair. ‘Ow,' I said, pulling her hand away. Looking down, I gasped.
There, in her little fist, was a clump of my hair. I uncurled her fingers and took the hair out.
‘Look, Keith,' I whispered.
First I'd lost my breasts, now my hair. Within a few days, I had virtually none on the top of my head. ‘I hate this,' I sobbed.
‘You still look beautiful,' Keith said, but it was hard to believe. As a woman, your hair's part of your identity - its colour, whether you wear it up or down - it reflects you.
I decided to get my hair shaved and started wearing a wig. I hoped I'd feel more like a woman. But it made my head itchy and sweaty.
‘I wish I could find some nice headscarves,' I moaned one day to my mum Goretti, 52.
‘Why don't you make one?'
‘Make one!' I snorted. But she got me thinking. Next time I was in town, I saw some turquoise chiffon. I bought some, borrowed Mum's sewing machine and set to work. ‘I just want something that makes me feel pretty and feminine,' I told Keith. Finally, it was done.
Standing in front of the mirror, I couldn't stop grinning.
My new creation was attractive, stylish and - best of all - it made me feel normal.
Suddenly, Jacob ran into the room. ‘You look pretty, Mummy.'
‘Thanks sweetheart.'
Others loved it, too. ‘Where did you get that?' asked another patient at my next chemo session.
‘I made it,' I said.
‘Wow,' she said. ‘I'd love one.'
Soon, I was taking orders. It gave me something to focus on when the chemo made me feel so sick, I could barely stand. And soon I needed the distraction even more.
In January last year, I had a hysterectomy after doctors noticed changes in my ovaries. They didn't find cancer, but I felt preventative surgery was for the best.
Soon, I realised there was a gap in the market for my headscarves. So I set up a business selling them, and it's doing well. I sell headscarves, nightcaps and bespoke hats for adults and children.
Many customers are cancer patients, others suffer from alopecia and people even come to me who love my scarves despite having a full head of hair!
I'm doing great, too. I now have a lower risk than the average person of getting cancer.
There's a chance Poppy, three, has inherited the gene but it will be up to her to decide whether to be tested after she's 18. And if she has to make the devastating decision I did, at least I'll be there to reassure her she'll always be a beautiful woman.
Ciara Priestly, 29, Newtownards, Co Down