Reporter
leeanna.maharaj@guardian.co.tt
When Melanie Parris was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer at the age of 28, she struggled to reconcile the news with the world around her. Nearly three decades later, at 57, she is living proof that a cancer diagnosis does not have to mark the end of one’s story.
“I think I was in that kind of mental denial. I didn’t think, ‘why me?’ I thought, ‘why now?’ I really didn’t think at the time that it would happen and I would be this young. I thought if anything bad was to happen to me, it would be later on in life and I would be older,” Parris recalled.
A diagnosis at 28
In 1998, the Guyanese national discovered a lump in her breast and sought medical advice. The first doctor she consulted recommended that she wait and monitor it, reasoning that she was too young to have breast cancer.
Unconvinced, Parris decided to seek a second opinion. This time, the doctor advised her to have the lump tested, despite her age.
“He said even if I’m young and it’s not usual for people my age to develop breast cancer, he advised me to have the lump tested. And I was grateful that he did that, because when they tested it, they said it was at stage three,” she said.
The initial recommendation was a double mastectomy and a hysterectomy, procedures the doctors believed would reduce the risk of the cancer returning later in life. For Parris, the prospect was overwhelming.
“I didn’t know what they were talking about. I stepped out of the office, and the sky was still blue, the sun was still out, the birds were still singing. And I thought, the world is supposed to end. My world has ended, so how come the world isn’t ending?” she recounted.
Uncomfortable with the proposed treatment, Parris travelled to London for further medical advice. There, after surgery and further assessment, her cancer was classified as stage two, with no spread identified during the procedure. Her treatment plan was consequently less extensive than the one initially recommended.
She underwent a segmental mastectomy, a procedure in which the affected portion of the breast is removed, along with the removal of lymph nodes. Chemotherapy and radiotherapy followed, as well as five years of Tamoxifen, a medication used to treat hormone receptor-positive breast cancer.
Family support through treatment
The physical and emotional demands of treatment were considerable, but so too were the financial pressures. Throughout the ordeal, however, Parris found that the people around her were willing to make sacrifices to help her get well.
“I don’t think up to that point I would have considered us very close. We were okay, but I think the crisis kind of made us all bond. We started to say ‘I love you’ to people. We weren’t rich by any means or anything, but everyone chipped in. My sister mortgaged our house. My cousin in the UK gave me his credit card for a little bit to kind of get around,” Parris said.
When treatment in the UK became too expensive, Parris moved to Zimbabwe to stay with her brother and receive treatment there.
It was there that she received chemotherapy but also encountered a frightening complication.
“By my second dose of chemo, I had caught a cold. I didn’t tell anybody that I caught a cold because I really wanted to be done with the chemo. I pretty much fell into a coma because of it after I took my second dose. I was out for a couple days, but eventually I woke up and they told me the first thing I asked for was mango and ice cream,” Parris recalled.
Nevertheless, Parris continued with treatment and adjusted to a new way of life, eventually working as a bank manager.
She later met and married her husband, who was working in Trinidad and Tobago. In 2001, she moved to Trinidad, where she found that access to familiar medical expertise and support made the next stage of her journey easier.
“Actually, the treatment available in Trinidad made life a little easier. Here, there were doctors who were familiar with breast cancer and treatment. People who knew what they were doing, and understood the assistance needed, not just physically, but emotionally,” she said.
The bittersweet reality of remission
In 2008, Parris was in remission and considered cancer-free, a milestone that brought relief but also forced her to face a harsh reality.
“It was bittersweet. I didn’t have to worry as much anymore, and instead of doing testing every three months, I had to do it every six months and then later annually. But then it took a few things away from me. Initially, I thought, okay, so I’ll have children now, but when they did the test, they advised me that I shouldn’t have kids because the type of cancer I had was oestrogen positive. So any rise in my oestrogen can bring back the cancer,” she said.
While it was difficult for her to process, she said she accepted it and found a different kind of fulfilment in the relationships she cherished.
“I always say that I’ve been blessed because I have a really good family structure. I have 11 nieces and nephews, and I love them all to bits, and I spoil them when I can. That’s as close as I get to motherhood, and that’s fine, because they go home back to their parents,” Parris said with a smile.
Finding strength in shared experiences
Although her marriage eventually ended in divorce, Parris remained in St James, Trinidad, where she had established a life and a support network. She also came to appreciate the importance of connecting with people who understood first-hand what it meant to live with a cancer diagnosis.
At the radiotherapy centre in St James, she became involved in a group whose members met regularly to share their experiences. The conversations offered something that family and friends, despite their best intentions, could not always provide: the reassurance of speaking with someone who had been through a similar ordeal.
“It was helpful because there were people you could talk to who went through the same thing, people who are going to go through the same thing, and you can help. And that’s always been helpful to me, to be able to get assistance, have somebody to talk to,” Parris noted.
She later joined the T&T Cancer Society, continuing to find value in the sense of community that came with meeting other people affected by the disease.
For Parris, these connections became more than a source of comfort. They gave her an opportunity to help others navigate the uncertainty that had once consumed her.
She recalled reaching out to a friend, Anne-Marie, after being asked to contact her following her diagnosis. The experience reinforced her belief that people facing cancer need to know that a diagnosis does not necessarily mean the end of their lives as they know them.
“One reason I’m relatively okay with doing certain interviews and having certain discussions is because people figure that once you’re diagnosed, that’s the end of your life,” she said, “And I like to say, hey, I’ve been here for 28 years. I’m counting, hopefully. So it can be done. There can be life after.”
Living beyond cancer
Today, at 57, Parris works as an administrative assistant at an elevator company. Beyond work, she has also found joy in activities such as ballroom dancing, which she said helped her along the way.
Her approach to self-care took on added significance after she suffered a stroke in 2021. Having already navigated the physical and emotional challenges of breast cancer, the experience reinforced the importance of looking after herself and being mindful of her stress levels.
“I ensure every two weeks that I have a massage therapy session done to help myself stay relaxed and calm. My doctor recommended that I don’t watch horror movies or the news very often. And I try not to be stressed, because I believe that everybody can develop cancer,” she stated.
Having lived through cancer herself, Parris has a message for women facing the diagnosis and the loved ones supporting them.
“Doctors are not God. Always try and get a second, third or even a fourth opinion once you can afford it. Don’t take anything for chance. And by the way, your hair does grow back. My hair is almost to my ankle now. For family members and friends, always remember that unless you yourself are going through it, it’s hard for you to understand where somebody’s head is at. So, the most you can do is just to be there for them,” she said.
