For eight years I ignored my routine invitations to mammograms. Writing this now, I can’t believe my own stupidity. I was like a kid plugging my ears with my fingers and singing to block out the sound of something I didn’t want to hear.
I believed that as I got older – I’m 63 – I had less chance of contracting the disease. I thought I dodged the bullet. Of course, if I had researched or asked questions, I would have seen that I was wrong. But ignorance was bliss.
My mother had breast cancer when she was my age – an extraordinary woman, she’s going to be 87 – but at the time I couldn’t cope with her disease and my strategy was to shut it all out.
On top of that I hate hospitals as I watched my father die in one when he was only 48 years old.
On the rare occasions when I couldn’t overlook the sequence of reminders for my routine check-ups, I booked appointments and then rescheduled them. Then I finally canceled — and just stopped thinking about her at all.
It was a silly thing, which is why I’m writing this now: It’s a cautionary tale, a warning to others not to be too frightened, too obsessed with the demands of work, to go to your appointments.
Kelly Hoppen, 63, had consistently avoided her routine invitations for a mammogram – and was then diagnosed with cancer
I’m having a hard time writing this – it’s private, I feel vulnerable – but I feel compelled to tell my story for the benefit of other women.
And without my executive assistant, Jane, and a wonderful backup assistant named Phoebe, things might have been different and infinitely worse for me today.
One morning last September I woke up and decided to get that long overdue mammogram. I hadn’t spotted a lump; there were no warning signs. Maybe it was just intuition, but something finally made me want to leave.
And I actually asked Jane and Phoebe to make sure I didn’t cancel this time, which in itself was odd for me.
But on the day of the appointment, I got caught in horrendous traffic. I even sent Phoebe a photo of the jam, I was stranded, stationary, texting her that I wouldn’t make it in time. Would she call and cancel?
She remembered what I had said before, called me back and insisted: she had called the clinic and explained my predicament. And they said they would see me whenever I got there. So that’s it. No excuses.
I arrived and sat nervously in the waiting room. Then I finally had the long overdue mammogram.
Everything looked fine, they said, and I left feeling that lightness that comes over us when we lift a weight. But the relief was only temporary. Two hours later they called me back and said they needed another picture of my right breast.
The designer recounts the horrific ordeal of going from one medic to another for answers
I froze and immediately called my partner John.
I immediately went back for the second mammogram and was allowed to go home. But only a few hours later I was called again: They wanted to do an ultrasound scan, which would show any abnormalities more clearly. I booked it for the next day and barely slept.
By now I was panicking.
The next day I came for the ultrasound, this time with John. I felt unnerved, scared.
And there was more. After the ultrasound, further clarification was required. They wanted to do a biopsy. And even though we had reached that crucial point, I didn’t want to continue. But John sat with me, listened to the doctors and asked pertinent questions – because I was too jaded and deaf to ask them anything or record their answers myself.
It was John who urged me to keep going, and the next few days — during which I called my GP and made an appointment to see an oncologist — remained a blur. I could not think clear. But I kept busy with work. It was a welcome distraction.
Next I visited Dr. Christina Choy at the London Clinic, which was exceptional in every way. But by now my fears had turned to terror. My mind was still confused; I didn’t understand anything that Dr. Choy told me. But because John is the most loving and supportive of all men, he stayed by my side, getting me to appointments, listening to the doctors explain when I couldn’t concentrate, supporting me when my strength and spirits were failing; made me laugh when i wanted to cry.
Kelly – whose mother had breast cancer – said she was hoping to avoid the stress of the disease
It was a matter of days before I had the biopsy, a sample of tissue taken from my right breast that felt like a staple gun was poking through my numb flesh. The subsequent five-day wait for the results was purgatory. Fear of the unknown haunted me. I couldn’t sleep, think or eat.
They took two more biopsies before they were sure – more worrying and waiting – and by now I knew something was wrong.
But I kept working, keeping busy, exercising, and when I went back to the hospital for the results – John by my side as always – my heart dropped when they told me I had DCIS (Ductal Carcinoma In Situ). I had no idea what it meant, but I feared the worst.
Then explained Dr. Choy, how lucky I am: DCIS is the mildest form of cancer. It was in two milk ducts and I was booked to have the cancer cells removed from the milk ducts – a horrible procedure that left me feeling very sore.
Then they had to do an MRI scan to check everything. After that, there would be precautionary surgery to remove the tissue around the cancer and make sure it hadn’t spread.
Again I resisted the MRI but John kindly and patiently persuaded me to do so and was allowed to stay with me while I had the scan.
Kelly says “cancer was her biggest battle” because suddenly something was completely out of her control
It also showed something potentially worrisome in my left breast, so the surgery was postponed and I underwent another biopsy. Luckily, the results came back clear.
A week later I came in for surgery to remove the tissue from my right breast. John was with me, of course; even by my side as they brought me down to the anesthetic. So many doctors and nurses asked me my date of birth that I joked, ‘You better buy me a good birthday present.’
Waiting for the test results was purgatory. Fear of the unknown haunted me. I couldn’t sleep, think or eat
I tried to stay positive, but the laughter masked the fear. I was worried sick. I said to John, ‘Will it look weird if they have to cut some of my chest?’
“It does not matter. I’ve always preferred the other,” he joked, reminding me what really mattered.
I had surgery to remove tissue around the ducts and although I was in severe pain for many weeks afterwards I felt on the home stretch.
I’m usually the most optimistic person. I jump out of bed every morning happy, ready to face the day’s challenges. But cancer was my biggest battle: I suddenly had to deal with something I had absolutely no control over. I’ve only told my closest family—my daughter Tash, stepdaughters Savannah and Sienna, my mother and brother, and a few close friends. I didn’t want to talk about it until it was all over.
One thing I really missed was the comfort of having my mum with me more – who doesn’t want their mum to be sick? – but she is in a bad way, and I found that very difficult.
As my thoughts became confused, my radiologist, Dr. Susan Cleator, amazing, and it was reassuring to have John there and say to me, ‘Kell, be grateful. You are thorough.’ As always, he was right.
He was my rock; always positive. That’s why I love him so much. And his daughters Helena and Erika sent me messages that I will always cherish. Helena meant so much because she was so ill herself as a child. She has always managed countless doctor’s appointments without complaint, and her words have given me perspective and strength.
Suddenly there was something I had to deal with that I had no control over
As tests and procedures followed one another, waiting for the results was more manageable than the waking hours I spent at night reliving memories of my daughter over the years and thinking of all the things I still wanted to say and do for her. Then I would pull myself back into the now and try to be positive and imagine that everything is fine.
I also remember meeting an old friend who also had cancer. He was back in treatment, which scared me, and he said, ‘Kell, keep looking up. Be positive.’
I’m a fixer and organizer by nature, no task is too big, so I struggled with not being in control. But the work helped so much.
Eventually the news came that the cancer hadn’t spread – I was overjoyed. But it wasn’t over yet. dr Choy wanted me to do the BRCA genetic test to find out if I had an inherited predisposition to certain types of cancer.
Even then I didn’t want to know and was almost ready to walk away until John persuaded me to stay.
Despite my fear of knowing the worst, I passed the test. You had to wait ten days for the results. Meanwhile, a wonderful nurse told me I was very fortunate that my cancer was treatable and caught early. “If that table is the ocean that is cancer, you’ve just dipped your pinky toe in the water,” she explained.
Kelly, pictured with Queen Elizabeth and Patrick Cox, says she now wants to know more instead of burying her head in the sand
Then the results of my BRCA genetic test came out on a Friday night I’ll never forget. Because of my mother’s cancer history, I feared the worst. But when I was told I didn’t understand, I felt a wave of euphoria. I cannot describe how happy I was.
There’s something about a serious illness that makes us reevaluate our lives. I don’t waste nervous energy stressing about things I can’t control now; I’m not a workaholic either. I learned to delegate. I never thought I would die, but for those long weeks, my mind oscillated between hope and fear. It was traumatic.
I considered stopping HRT – I’ve been on some form of it for about 12 years – and when my hormonal doctor Martin Galy said to continue, after discussing it at length with my oncologist, I was relieved.
Now I want to learn more instead of burying my head in the sand. I spoke with menopause expert Dr. Spoke to Louise Newson who was also helpful and reassuring about HRT.
Despite my fear of knowing the worst, I passed the test
And meanwhile I kept working. In early December last year I was in Dubai to oversee a major interior design project. Under my pants I was wearing the horrible white surgical socks I was told to wear. ‘Is it ok to fly?’ I asked dr. Choy because I feared a blood clot. She laughed and told me it was perfectly safe.
I feel blessed that I was able to work and stay busy. This tethered my spirit and kept my anxiety at bay.
I had a gut feeling that I would be fine; that the results would come back clear. Nevertheless, every now and then a pang of doubt came over me and I took a deep breath. as dr Choy brought me the good news that everything was fine, I burst into tears for the first time. It was such a relief. At the same time, I was told that I did not need radiotherapy. I was over the moon because the prospect had frightened me.
Then, just a month ago, I had another checkup. Understood. So now I feel safe to say I’m through. The chance that the cancer will return is only 10 to 15 percent. If so, I’ll take care of it, and I’ve vowed never to miss a mammogram again. I have booked my next one for September and you can be assured that I will be there.
I wanted to wait until I was absolutely sure I was over the hill before telling my story, and I’m doing it now to encourage other women not to miss a screening.
My own stupidity will stay with me. Now I want to get checked twice a year. And I challenge other women to follow my example. Never think that you are invincible. Never be too scared.
It’s over now, I’m relieved, but every day when I wake up and see the scar on my right breast, I wonder what would have happened if I hadn’t gone for the mammogram. And I remind myself to be positive and that stress needs to be managed.
I have great respect both for the medical institutions that have treated me – every nurse and doctor has been so dedicated – and for all women who have breast cancer.
In the past I’ve said, “Live life to the fullest. To be present.’ Now I’m more serious than ever. So please don’t follow my example. Overcome your fears and let yourself be examined, even if you are afraid.
I was very lucky. Although I had neglected my check-ups, I was lucky that my cancer was caught early. Had it not been so, I might have had a less fortunate outcome. Actually, I may not be here now to write this cautionary tale.