I know, shocking headline, right?
Because there was you thinking I was JUST like Angelina Jolie.
Well I’m not. And I’ve never been more delighted to announce that.
On June 1 my mum started a course of chemotherapy. Six rounds of basically having her body flooded with poison to ensure the cancerous mass they removed from her abdomen doesn’t spread it’s lethal tentacles elsewhere.
It has been a really really rough ride for her. She lost her hair, her sense of taste, the ability to walk at times.
She hit rock bottom. The absolute depths. My brave, amazing mum reduced to a bed-bound shaking mess.
She has endured when at times she didn’t want to. When despair was etched into her face.
And all that time her other half Drew has been by her side, making sure she found the strength from somewhere, any bloody where, to go on.
You hear about how rough chemotherapy treatment can be but you don’t have a clue until you go through it with someone; have to watch them suffer. Drew barely slept. He looked as exhausted as she did.
But what it did do was bring them even closer together. Life is too short etc etc. They are the cliche and they don’t care who knows it.
In the midst of all this mum was told she could be carrying the faulty BRCA1 gene – the gene which places you at high risk of developing breast cancer, and an elevated lifetime risk of ovarian cancer. Pretty scary words.
This is the same faulty gene Angelina Jolie wrote about so eloquently, so passionately and so beautifully two years ago.
My mum lost her mum to ovarian cancer. She also lost her most beloved aunt at a very young age. If tested positive it would mean I could have it; and my 10 year old daughter Mia could have inherited it too. That’s a pretty heavy load to carry around with you.
Anyway, the tests have revealed that mum doesn’t have the gene. I am not like Angelina Jolie. Her granddaughter is strikingly beautiful, but she’s also not like Angelina Jolie either.
And much as we love Angelina Jolie, we could not be more delighted.