THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS
Victoria Derbyshire shares her breast cancer experience
Her eponymous show is the very best of daytime TV: since it first aired in April 2015, Victoria Derbyshire has taken the BBC into new realms with gritty, no-holds-barred, not-afraidto-ask-how it-feels journalism. And those qualities came to the fore when, just three months after the programme was launched, Victoria was diagnosed with breast cancer. Instead of taking a leave of absence to deal with it, she decided to document her treatment – which included a mastectomy, and chemotherapy leading to hair loss – in a series of candid video diaries.
In person Victoria, 49, is very much the down-to-earth star we know on screen: straight-talking, sensitive, caring and wise. We bond over both hailing from Bury in Lancashire, and first-hand knowledge of breast cancer, which I experienced a year or so ahead of her. Watching her diaries, 12 months on
from my own treatment, was often harrowing and sometimes took me back to places I’d rather have left behind – but they were always honest, and have helped to demystify a disease that is likely to affect one in eight women, and is sadly projected to increase further.
Victoria and I agree that, before having cancer, we’d never have imagined that you could come through the dark times and live as exciting, fun, and challenging a life as before (sometimes, even better). We also believe it’s important to make clear that early breast cancer, which we both had, need not be life-threatening; but being told you have cancer is a watershed moment. Working out options for treatment, and dealing psychologically with a serious illness, is a game-changing experience.
Our stories were similar in places and different in others; but for Victoria as for me, breast cancer brought a clear sense of what matters most, and that our time is now, because we don’t have for ever.
You appear very open and comfortable in front of the camera and interacting with others. Where does this come from?
Openness feels natural and normal to me. I’m not sure where it comes from, but my father was violent and we didn’t talk about it. Could that be related to being open now? In the end, I’ve realised it would have been fine to open up, and it might have even helped us. Going through something like that gives you a kind of link, because once you’ve had a difficult experience, you know what to say to anyone who’s been through something so challenging. And most people don’t want to skirt around a problem: they want to talk about it.
Did you always plan to share your breast cancer experience with the nation?
No. But as I got more information, I thought: I’ve interviewed so many people who’ve had cancer. But still, when I got my diagnosis I thought: I’m going to die. And, according to Cancer Research UK, half of us who get a cancer diagnosis will survive for 10 or more years. I thought, I want to do some journalism around this. It wasn’t how I was expecting it to be, and I wanted to share that.
In your first video diary you hold up two signs: ‘This morning I had breast cancer’ and ‘This evening I don’t’. Does that simplify it too much?
My consultant explained that surgery is the key part of treatment. Anything that comes after it, like chemotherapy or radiotherapy, is insurance. So that’s why I wrote those signs. I was criticised for it and I felt bad about that – I’m not trying to make it look easy. But the surgery is crucial.
What was the hardest thing?
Losing my hair. It was very, very distressing. I think even if I’d still been working in radio it would have been the same. I’d always had long hair, and hair loss changes the way you look and perceive yourself and the way others look at you. I felt I’d approached the treatment with such pragmatism and energy, and the last thing I wanted was for other people to look at me and feel sorry for me.
What helped you to deal with the hair loss?
Wearing an amazing wig made by an amazing woman called Amy. She enabled me to live as normal a life as it’s possible to live when you’re going through chemotherapy. It was made with real hair and I had to wash it, which took for ever – much longer than washing my own hair.
What were the unexpected things about having breast cancer?
The biggest thing was the kindness of people I don’t know – viewers, listeners to Radio 5 live,
[continued from previous page] people on Twitter and Facebook. There were the most sensitive, sensible, pragmatic messages from women who’d been there and were alive five, 10 and more years on. The best stories are the people who tell you they had it 10, 20 years ago; that’s what you want to hear. The kindness of strangers was beautiful and really humbling – and it gave me such a lift. I don’t know these people, and they don’t know me – and they were being so kind. That’s just wonderful.
How much did you tell your sons Oliver, 13, and Joe, 10?
We knew we were going to tell them the truth, and I wanted to be very low-key about it. We told them about it when we found out some good news, which was that it hadn’t spread to the lymph nodes. A good friend had had breast cancer and as soon as I was diagnosed she came round, so when we told the boys we said, I’ve got what Natalie had – and look at Natalie. She’s a picture of health and that’s what will happen to me.
How are the boys now?
I think they’re fine – they’re pretty robust. The hardest part for them was when I was going through chemotherapy, because they saw me in a way I’m not normally – very lethargic, exhausted, snappy and losing most of my hair. And my partner, Mark, was running everything – he was brilliant, but he was also more stressed than normal because he had so much on his plate. You’re role modelling how to deal with adversity, how to deal with illness, how you don’t have to put your life on hold, how cancer doesn’t mean a death sentence – there’s a lot going on.
You worked right through your treatment – was that harder than you expected?
It felt great. It was so important for my mental health, to be able to do the job I love. Of course there were times I couldn’t go in – the first week after chemo, when I was exhausted and in bed. But what else was I going to do? I wanted to work – most of the time, I felt absolutely fine. Afterwards I had messages from women saying, I never knew you could work through cancer treatment – that’s great news for me, I’m self-employed. So I think it was an important message to get out: it might not suit everyone, but for some people it’s a good way forward.
I tried to chart my own journey through cancer but it became too difficult. Do you think doing so delayed your
psychological healing, which is what I later thought had happened in my case?
I don’t think it was the same for me. I spent several weeks getting used to the idea and reflecting on it, thinking about how we were going to deal with it as a family. By the time of my operation, I was totally in the place where I thought: I can do this. And I knew I wanted to share it and do some journalism on it. I wasn’t in denial.
How do you feel about your new body?
I had an implant and it’s not symmetrical – the new breast is higher. There were other options, like reconstruction, but I didn’t want long and complicated surgery. So the way I look without my clothes on is odd, although I still walk around the house naked – this is what a woman who’s had a mastectomy looks like! In the back of my mind I do think I might one day have some revision surgery; but then again maybe I won’t, maybe it won’t matter. Mark doesn’t give a damn. There’s no sensation there, which is a bit of a shame, but hey, I’m alive and there’s no evidence of active cancer, which is the crucial thing.
Do you fear the cancer will come back?
Much less than I did. As time passes, and I move further away from the diagnosis and the memories, real life crowds in. I’m busy, I’m living for now and I don’t spend a lot of time thinking about or worrying about that. I know the percentage risk in my case is good, and I concentrate on that.
Has breast cancer helped you be a better journalist? There is a video of you hugging a Grenfell fire survivor that’s gone viral. I don’t know. I’ve interviewed a lot of people, and I’d like to think I’ve always been compassionate. I’ve heard a lot of stories where people have gone through something traumatic. Whether I’d had cancer or not, a man describing something that terrible… you’ve got to hug that man.
You seem to live life on your own terms. What allows you to do that?
One hundred per cent that’s me. I’ve always been good at asking for opportunities – the worst that can happen is someone says no. And I’ve always worked hard; I’m not super bright but I read a lot, I put in the hours, I do the research. I am prepared.
You’re not trying to be someone you’re not?
Certainly not! Not at this stage of my life.
Dear Cancer, Love Victoria by Victoria Derbyshire (Trapeze, £18.99) is out now
THIS IS WHAT A WOMAN WHO’S HAD A MASTECTOMY LOOKS LIKE!