In 2013, Tarryn Fowler watched her older cousin Michelle battle and beat breast cancer, only for it to return five years later and take her life, leaving Michelle’s young children without a mother.
Tarryn promised herself that she wouldn’t let her cousin’s death be in vain.
Then at 33, with two babies of her own, Tarryn received the same diagnosis, and watched dread creep over the faces of her family. They were devastated that this was happening again. Tarryn knew what lay ahead of her.
“Right, now that’s two reasons that we need to get the message out there to get checked early,” she said, and promptly became an ambassador for the National Breast Cancer Foundation.
“I’ve always tried to find the silver lining in everything,” said Tarryn. “For me, this was that.
“If I can get one woman to check her breasts more regularly, or one person to donate, at least something positive has come out of me getting breast cancer.”
Tarryn watched on as women in her life who survived breast cancer seemed to recover better emotionally if they maintained hope throughout the process. She clung to her positivity, even and especially at her lowest points.
“Chemo to me wasn’t the hardest part. Losing your hair, losing your identity, isn’t easy. For six weeks your life seems to revolve around chemo. But for me, the hardest part was when it all stopped. The appointments stopped, you weren’t seeing someone every day or every week … you’re on your own. And now that your hair is growing back, and you’re getting back to work, everyone’s like, ‘Oh, you’re better now’.
“For the next 10 years I’m taking hormone blockers and I’m currently going through menopause at 33 years old. I’m very lucky that my husband and I had finished our family, that’s not always the case for everyone. People say it’s life back to normal, but your body is completely different.”
After grieving the loss of her former self, Tarryn picked herself up and dusted herself off. She came to terms with not being “the patient” anymore.
“I was never a very good patient anyway,” she smiled.
“I was lucky because I had the ambassador position, so I had something I could throw myself into along with work.”
Tarryn’s son was two and a half when she was diagnosed, and her daughter was not yet 18 months.
“When I was first diagnosed, I’d tell myself ‘it’s okay; they’re young, they won’t remember me being sick.’ Then one night, I was putting my son to bed. As he’s dozing off, he likes to tell stories. He looked at me and goes, ‘Mummy, I’m going to be a doctor when I’m a big boy.’ I said ‘Oh, that’s great, sweetheart, you can be whatever you want’, and he says, ‘Because then I can help cut the bad stuff out of you.’
“I’ve cried three times during this whole thing, and that was one of them,” Tarryn said.
“On the worst days, you’re lying in bed, hearing them squeal with delight, or laugh, hearing those amazing things happening, and realising what you’re missing out on. But it hit home what else I could miss out on if I wasn’t here fighting. Watching them start school, grow up, get married – I don’t want to miss out on that.
“So, anything I can do to be here for the long haul, I’m all in.”
Tarryn’s support network came to her aid during her recovery.
“I work with an amazing bunch of women who put together this massive gift basket of all the things they researched that someone going through chemo might need. My best friend came over and worked next to me for a day when I couldn’t get off the couch, just so I had company. My mum came to every radiation session. It was what she felt she could do, so she did.
“My dad really stepped up and helped look after my children and made sure that their life felt as normal as possible. My husband, who used to go to the hairdresser once a month and spend a ridiculous amount on a haircut, shaved his head when I had to shave mine. Then all the guys in his work team shaved their heads too in solidarity, and I haven’t even met these people!
“When something horrible happens, amazing things can come out. People reminding us of how important we are as human beings.”
Tarryn finished radiation in May this year. Further tests will follow. She looks forward to hearing the words “No. Evidence. Detected.”
To support the National Breast Cancer Foundation, visit nbcf.org.au/donate
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