TO A BEST FRIEND WITH BREAST CANCER

It was Friday 13th, you were 31 and you were diagnosed with breast cancer. I never knew how good you truly smelt after I held you in my arms with my face brushing against your cheek bone. I’d never seen your beautiful blue eyes so full. The three of us had never embraced the way we did that day in the churchyard garden. We knew the journey ahead would be tough, but if anyone can ride it out and get through it, it would be you.

Naturally, we needed to give this new part of you a name. It didn’t take much to find one, and as the three of us know all too well when searching for a new name (for anything), it cannot be a rushed decision. It must come naturally.

“Elvis! Because his greatest hits album needs to be put to rest once and for all.”

You have not once seeked pity and you have even apologised for crying. On the day you found out, you justified spending £150 on the most beautins silk dress you had been eyeing up for weeks.

“This is going to be my ‘Cancer Dress’.”

Our hearts dropped to hear you say that out loud, but your big smile after saying it just shows that even during times of despair, you still manage to deliver your treasured sense of humour. In that moment, I was proud you called this your 'Cancer Dress’ because not even cancer can hold back your sass.

They say unfair things happen to good people. I say unfair things happen to the best people. There are those who have strength and then there is you. Your bravery and empowerment is an inspiration to us all.

With Elvis gone, just before your thirty-second birthday, it was time to see your fabulous new boob. We bowled into your bedroom, laughing, clanging and crashing around like little girls seeing their favourite distant cousins at Christmas. You had a glow, you did not look unwell. It was your angel glow, shining through.

“We’ve named her Tina. Tina the tit.”

She was very swollen and your slow pace reminded us your body is wounded. But you looked more powerful and beautiful than ever.

Throughout all of this, the pivotal moment that will stay in my mind forever is when you said, whilst you will have surgery, fertility treatment, chemotherapy and now potentially radiotherapy - you can’t get your head around the fact that none of this is a guarantee. To put your 32 year old body through this, relying on the facts and figures that give hope, the percentages, the other cases, what the potential outcomes will be, and yet - it isn’t black and white. It’s grey.

Us three aren’t used to grey.

BUT …on that day, it was your negativity getting the better of you. You have every right to be a negative nelly. It’s about time you took a break from the positive halo that radiates from you all day long. Can angels take a break from their halos?

Our place has been, is now, and will continue to be taking care of you, my friend. In a maddening and surreal time, where unknowns are overwhelming and the certainty’s we can’t always comprehend. We will be there - to bring the normality back into your life. We look at you with love every day for 50+ hours a week. Yet the beautiful thing about this is that we look at you and love deeper. Thats not out of pity, or because you have cancer. It’s because something like this has heightened our emotions to a whole new level. It reiterates life is precious, you are precious to us and to many. You are precious to yourself. To fathom something deeply beyond your skin, causing harm to you, unseen to others and yourself, is what makes this surreal.

Our friendship is no different. Cancer or not…. you will continue to hear the morning drama’s of my clothes tearing, the detailed description and pattern of our bowel movements, how much we hate trains, how much we dislike people who aren’t…well…us…You’ll continue to hear how busy Nicola is on a Friday at 5.30pm and if I washed my hair that week. We will continue to drink copious amounts of red wine, beers and fishbowl G&T’s (when you are better, thank you). When is our next cheese night?

I now understand that when you delve deeper, cancer isn’t just cancer. It is the demon inside your head saying to you “enjoy wearing that dress for the last time. You’ll never feel sexy in it again.” We will be there to crush that demon, stroke your hair and tell you how Zara’s new collection is like opening a giant can of fucking debt worms. Goodbye bank balance.

I’m not the one with cancer…what do I really fucking know?! I’m not the one laying there in physical and emotional pain, trying to find the strength to jump over the next hurdle on this somewhat, lets say…..inconvenient journey. But I know that what you go through, we go through - because that’s what friendship is.

When an english rose wilts it needs a little help from her gardeners to stand tall again. And those gardeners are us, Erfan, and your friends and family darling.