Alex’s story

Although I wanted to try breastfeeding my son, I also felt an urgency to have my surgery and lower my cancer risk as soon as possible. Six months after giving birth, at the age of 30, I finally went for my initial scans. But instead of discussing preventative surgery, I was given news that altered the course of my life—I already had breast cancer.

Strangely, the diagnosis wasn’t a shock. Deep down, I had always suspected this would happen. It was as if I had been waiting for it, like some unshakable intuition. My maternal grandfather carried the BRCA2 mutation, and it had rippled through my family, generation after generation. The 50-50 chance of inheriting it? I had always assumed I’d be on the wrong side of those odds. Despite this, my first battle with breast cancer wasn’t as terrifying as I had imagined. My oncology team carefully guided me through each step, feeding me information in manageable pieces. I trusted them completely. I never allowed myself to think about the worst-case scenario—I simply focused on what I had to do to get through it.

The cancer had been caught early enough to be removed through surgery, meaning I avoided chemotherapy. However, I did require multiple revision surgeries, lymph node clearance, and a five-year course of Tamoxifen. 

Two and a half years into my Tamoxifen treatment, I became pregnant again. This meant stopping the medication for over a year, but it was a sacrifice I was willing to make. I felt truly blessed to welcome another healthy baby into my life. But life was difficult. My marriage ended, and I suddenly found myself a single mother. I had to rebuild my entire life, finding a new home, a new job, and figuring out how to be both mother and father to my two boys. In search of a fresh start, I decided to pursue my passion and enrolled in university as a mature student to study fashion.

In March 2020, just as we went into lockdown, I found a lump. Same side as my last breast cancer. My heart sank. I was told the new lump “probably” wasn’t cancerous, but they offered to remove it as a cosmetic procedure. However, due to lockdown restrictions, the surgery would be delayed for some time. My university degree became my place of sanity—the only thing in my life that felt right. Then, in August 2020, I was finally allowed to have the lump removed under local anaesthetic (while I was awake).

As my oncologist finished the procedure, he told me he would send the lump for testing. I was confused by that— they had previously reassured me it was nothing to worry about. 

A few days later, the hospital called. The moment I saw their number on my phone, I knew. They had told me, No news is good news—and this was news.

I was scared. I felt completely isolated. It felt different. It felt more serious. The wait for the follow-up scans was horrendous. But I was so lucky to find out it hadn’t metastasized. It was a primary recurrence.

More surgeries followed. Then came 15 intense rounds of radiotherapy and a 10-year course of Letrozole to suppress hormone production. I had my ovaries removed to eliminate estrogen production, throwing me into early surgical menopause.

It’s only when you look back that it truly hits you. You realise, Wow, I really did go through some shit. 

Because of the countless surgeries and procedures my body has endured, I’ve always struggled to find a bra that fits properly—one that is comfortable, supportive, and beautiful, without looking like a medical device or something designed for my gran. That frustration, combined with my lifelong passion for fashion, led me to create my own solution. H.E.R Bodywear was born. H.E.R stands for Heal, Empower, Revive—and that’s exactly what I intend to do.