A letter to…A friend who knows
We found hilarity in the harshest of subjects
Dear Jen,
Meeting you in March 2020, I knew I’d found a friend for life. We were at a retreat in Bristol, for women like us. We were both 34, married, with a boy and a girl. I was a nurse, you a teacher.
We had the same outlook, the same sense of humour.
And the same incurable breast cancer…
As we got chatting, we shared our stories.
I told you how, in May 2011, I’d discovered dimpling under my left breast, aged 26. The diagnosis was a shock. Starting chemotherapy, then radiotherapy, I put my Nursing degree on hold.
But after a tough year,
I was in remission, qualifying in July 2013.
Thinking my battle was behind me,
I married Mat, then 34, and we had Dylan in August 2015, Poppy in December 2017.
Only, routine tests in March 2018 revealed the cancer was back, had spread to my bones and liver.
Now there was no magic cure, I’d live with cancer for the rest of my life.
Dylan was 2, Poppy just 3 months. I wanted to cherish every moment.
But some days, fear of not seeing them grow up overwhelmed me.
How could I talk to loved ones about the unspeakable?
Then I met you, Jen.
You told me that you’d first been diagnosed in 2019, at 34.
Now, like me, your cancer could only be kept in check with daily drugs.
They thinned our hair, exhausted us – yet they gave us time.
And as we bonded that first night, we shared a dark humour.
You had me in fits, telling how your toddler son Albie had seen you in the shower, asked where your boob was.
‘Why did the doctor steal it?’ he’d frowned.
We found hilarity in the harshest subjects. Cancer, chemo, our own mortality.
Fears that we couldn’t share with our husbands Mat, and Richard, 36.
Because only we understood. You lived 40 miles away, but we spoke daily.
We often discussed how to talk to our kids about cancer.
‘I don’t want to be too emotional,’ I admitted. ‘Not too serious,’ you said. So we created colourful flashcards, with drawings and text to gently explain each part of our journey.
From tablets and injections to hospital stays.
What the future may hold. The cards helped Dylan, 5, Poppy, 2, and your two, Eliza, 9, and Albie, 5, understand.
By September 2020, they were being sold commercially.
Now, our friendship is stronger than ever.
Together, we’ve learnt how to live with cancer, help our families live with it, too.
I couldn’t have done it without you, Jen.
So thanks for being my breast friend.
Love Nic x Nicola Owen, 35, Dartford