We looked at each other and laughed. But we weren’t really ‘laughing’. No, behind our convivial smiles, we were secretly scared stiff. Sat in a hospital ward crammed with moaning, screaming patients, what we were really thinking was: “Please, God, never let this be us.” My cousin and I were at the bedside of another relative who had slipped and broken a hip. Let me tell you, it was awful - prompting me, at least, to consider bone health as an extension of my beauty routine.

Being told I’d only need to swallow a tiny pill called Letrozole once a day for five years after a mastectomy saw me leave the consultant’s office literally punching the air. The fact that I wouldn’t have to subject my body to radiotherapy or chemotherapy filled me with more than a sense of relief. Almost five years before, I hadn’t been so lucky. I’d endured a 16-month chemo-first treatment plan for a much more serious breast cancer. This new 1.3cm primary was minor in compa

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