With a threat of cancer, worry has a way of creeping up on you

A concern about her breast turned into an agonising journey, filled with waiting and fear, for the author Denise Deegan

I WAS worried about my breast. I told myself not to, that it was nothing. I’d had it checked out years earlier and received the all-clear. I ignored the fact it was getting worse. Then a dragging sensation started and I couldn’t talk myself out of worrying any more. That did not result in an immediate rush to the doctor. My daughter had to get sick for that. I made an appointment to follow her’s.

I was examined. And told, in passing as though it was an accepted fact, that my breasts were small. Small? What? I was also told that there was probably nothing to worry about but should be seen at the breast clinic at St Vincent’s Hospital to be sure. The following day, I received an appointment for a fortnight’s time. I was told I’d have a mammogram, ultrasound, and, if warranted, a biopsy. I parked my worry in their hands. I did not tell my husband. Why worry him until there’s something to worry about?