With the figure of five years hanging over my head until I get a possible all-clear, should I blow my superannuation on shoes?
Like everyone, I know about six people with breast cancer. In fact, I have breast cancer myself. It’s a strange feeling to be hosting a silent enemy within, a demon quietly beavering away at your demise. I’ve noticed that there’s a portion of victim-blaming that goes with cancer, perhaps more so than with other illnesses. You drank alcohol, you ate bacon, you got stressed at work – therefore you brought it upon yourself.
Some religions believe that you have literally allowed the cancer demon entry – perhaps you unwittingly invited it. Seriously, you can’t win. It seemed to me good fodder for a horror story of sorts, so I wrote a book called The Bus on Thursday.
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