For eight years I ignored my routine invitations to have a mammogram. Writing this now, I can't believe my own stupidity. I was like a child plugging my ears with my fingers and singing to blot out the sound of something I didn't want to hear.
I believed as I was getting older — I'm 63 — I had less chance of developing the disease. I thought I'd dodged the bullet. Of course, if I had done the research or asked questions, I would have seen that I was wrong. But ignorance was bliss.
My mother had breast when she was my age — an extraordinary woman, she's soon to be 87 — but at the time I couldn't cope with her illness and my strategy was to blank everything out.
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