I clinked my champagne flute and smiled at the bride.
“Cheers, gorgeous,” I said.
I was Ashleigh’s bridesmaid, and we were wearing matching green pyjamas along with the four other bridesmaids.
Music blared from the speakers as we got our hair and make-up done.
I’d met Ashleigh, 28, when I was at uni in Wollongong, NSW, and we’d been best friends ever since.
.jpg?resize=380%2C285)
.jpg?resize=380%2C285)
It was an honour to be a bridesmaid on her big day – Good Friday 2022.
The wedding was taking place at Gabbinbar Homestead in Toowoomba, Qld, and my partner Mac, 25, and I were staying in an Airbnb in town, but I’d come to the venue early on the day to get ready with Ashleigh.
“The photographer’s on his way,” Ashleigh said. “Get your dresses on.”
Our bridesmaids’ dresses had low busts and thin straps, so I put on a strapless underwire bra and put on my green bridesmaid’s gown.
“Let’s get a selfie,” I said to Ashleigh.
We grinned at my phone and took a beautiful pic of the two of us.
The discovery
Then the official photographer arrived, and we gave him space to get some pictures of Ashliegh on her own.
I took the opportunity to rearrange my boobs inside my bra.
I placed my hand down and scooped my right breast into the bra’s cup, and my heart jumped as I felt a distinctive lump. I was like one of those small bouncy balls you get in a gumball machine, around 2.5cm in diameter.
My stomach dropped in panic.
This can’t be happening, I thought.
My head swam, and I needed to sit down.
Should I tell anyone? It would ruin the wedding.
When Ashleigh walked in, beaming happily, I forced myself to focus on her glittery dress and plastered a smile on my face.
Before long, it was time to walk down the aisle.
It was a lovely ceremony, and afterwards drinks and canapés were served on the lawn in front of the homestead.
Sneaking off to the toilet when I could, I messaged my mum, Debbie, 59.
I found a lump in my boob, I wrote. Do you think it’s fine to wait until I get home to get it checked out?
Mum’s own mother, my nan, Helen, had died from breast cancer in her 50s.
Mum messaged me straight back.
Where will you be on Tuesday? she wrote, because it was the Easter long weekend.
Port Douglas, I replied.
The bridal party were all going on a ‘buddymoon’ for a week after the wedding.
Mum said it’d be better if I saw a doctor sooner than that, so I promised I would.
Back at the party, I told Mac what I’d found.
“I’ll help you find a doctor tomorrow,” she said, hugging me.
Keeping up appearances
That evening, I said my speech, and when the dance floor got going I told Mac I was ready to leave.
“I won’t tell Ashleigh, let’s just sneak out,” I said.
As soon as we got into the Uber, I burst into tears, thinking the worst.
Next morning, Mac and I found a walk-in centre and a GP inspected my breast for breast cancer.
“I’m pretty certain it’s a benign fibroadenoma, but we don’t muck around with these things,” he said.
He told me to get an ultrasound back home in Sydney, straight after my holiday.
So I did, and both the technician and my results suggested it was probably a benign fibroadenoma, too, but I was sent for a needle biopsy to be sure.
Breast cancer diagnosis
Mac came with me to my GP for the results a week later, and I knew from the serious look on his face that something was wrong.
“I’m afraid it’s breast cancer,” he said.
I didn’t cry. I think I was in shock. But Mac did.
We went to the Chris O’Brien Lifehouse centre in inner Sydney where I had surgery to remove the lump.
It was a solid papillary cancer, a slow-growing cancer usually found in post-menopausal women.
I was only 28, and mine was aggressive.
It was so rare the doctors were scratching their heads to work out what treatment to give me.
I was put on three months of chemo followed by six weeks of radiation.
The type of breast cancer I had fed off oestrogen so I froze some eggs and was put into a chemical-induced menopause.
During chemo, I wore a cooling cap to prevent hair loss, which thankfully worked.
They even let me bring my Japanese spitz dog Wolfie in for moral support.
“Would you like a blanket?” a nurse asked one day.
I looked up to thank her and realised she was offering it to Wolfie!
“What about me?” I laughed.
The treatment was a success and I’m now back at my job as a lawyer.
Breast cancer free
Thankfully, my last scan was cancer-free.
I have monthly injections to stop my ovaries from producing oestrogen and suffer from hideous hot flushes.
I need to be cancer-free for five years before I can think about having kids.
“You’re my spare uterus,” I joked to Mac recently.
“And you’re cheeky!” she laughed.
She’s been my pillar of support through all this.
Getting breast cancer in my 20s has given my life more meaning, but I’m fearful of it returning. I think about that every day.
I was lucky my strapless bra forced me to make the discovery, but even more fortunate that doctors sent me for a biopsy to be sure.
Many young women are made to wait until they’re older to be taken seriously and then often it can be too late. Always be your own advocate.
