I remember about 2 weeks before my mastectomy surgery, I was getting ready for a party. It’s was my friend Petra’s 40th birthday so it was a big deal. I was looking forward to celebrating with her. I knew there would great people, tasty food and some bangin’ joints (just to be clear that means ‘extra good music’, not any other kind of joint). I hadn’t been out for a few months prior to this night and I was particularly keen to release some tension on the dance floor (I love to dance) as the last few weeks had been considerably taxing mentally.
I had put on my favourite white shorts playsuit, pulled my hair up into a curly bun and was applying my make up in the mirror. I had DJ Milktray playing in the background. He is a motivational DJ from London who knows how to hype up the airwaves. I was swaying whilst applying the finishing touches to my mascara. My mood was that of excitement and ready to par-tay! “You look good” I thought to myself and I admired the image staring back at my entire being.
Then it was if someone had yanked out the plug from my mp3 player, switched the bedroom light off and a shone a harsh spotlight under my chin. You know the kind of lighting that shows up every bump, lump and blemish? For the first time, I looked at myself seriously as all those wonderful feelings fell to the floor like a broken vase and were replaced by a hunk of dead mass in my insides oozing with the pains of my current situation. “…but you have cancer”. For the first time in 4 weeks, it had finally hit home. I had cancer; it was very real. It whacked me like a mallet to the head.