FIRST PERSON
Last Christmas Sarah Beeny, 51, was in the middle of gruelling breast cancer treatment, but this year, she’s looking forward to celebrating with her family at home in Somerset, albeit the day will be tinged with sadness after the recent loss of her father
Of all the seasons, Christmas seems to me to be the one that most highlights the difference a year can make. A year ago I was feeling pretty awful. My treatment for breast cancer was supposed to have finished in time for the festivities, but complications meant I was still having chemotherapy. I had decided not to drink wine during treatment and I was completely bald, wearing a hot and scratchy wig so as not to confuse my dad, who I had decided not to tell about my cancer diagnosis.
Very sadly we recently lost my wonderful father, so he won’t be with us this Christmas, but we will remember him on the day for the supportive, fun, lover of life that he was.
This year, it almost feels like we are rolling two Christmases into one. When I make a toast I know I will look, very gratefully, both forward and back, reflecting on a year of ups and downs, while looking ahead to another that I feel incredibly excited about.
I was diagnosed with cancer in August 2022 and my treatment lasted until April 2023. So over the festive season I was in the middle of chemotherapy and was getting very little sleep due to the effects of the steroids I was given.
Getting cancer is a rollercoaster ride. When they say, ‘You have cancer’, what you hear is: ‘Which coloured coffin would you like?’ The surgeon told me mine was 80% curable but had to say it several times for me to actually listen.
I had assumed for 40 years I would get it. My mother died when I was ten at the age of 39. I hadn’t realised she had cancer. I was only
four when she was diagnosed and my brother was six. Her breast cancer spread to the brain and she passed away peacefully in my parents’ bed a few hours after she fell asleep listening to me reading her a book. While there is a sadness and loss that never leaves you, life continues and heads down another path.
Because of my family history I underwent genetic testing and proved positive for the inherited gene mutation PALB2 which meant that my risk of also getting breast cancer was higher. So after chemotherapy I opted for a bilateral mastectomy and reconstruction. PALB2 also gives me a marginal increased risk of ovarian cancer, so, as I have had quite enough children and my ovaries are no longer functioning, I had my ovaries and fallopian tubes removed in October to tick the last box after testing positive for the gene.
The operation wasn’t quite the walk in the park I expected but t
