I knew that losing my hair and the risk to my fertility caused by chemo could jeopardise my marriage

After going through chemotherapy and heart failure, Kreena was told she couldn’t get pregnant. She shares her story

What people don’t tell you about breast cancer: in honour of Breast Cancer Awareness Month, we will be talking to people who have been affected by the disease – from a survivor to a widower to a fundraiser. Meet the fourth in our series, Kreena Dhiman who was diagnosed with breast cancer in 2013 aged 33. After suffering heart failure and infertility, she went on to have a daughter and triplet sons through surrogacy. Now 45 she is an advocate for the South Asian community’s perspective of breast cancer and an ambassador for Estée Lauder Breast Cancer campaign.
One day I noticed my nipple had inverted. I said to my husband: “I must have worn a really weird bra, because look at what it’s done!” We both laughed at it and left it. After two weeks my husband said he thought I should go to the doctor. I Googled it and it immediately came up as a sign of breast cancer. I called the doctor the next day and they said we’re not worried as you’re only 33, just book the next routine appointment. 
By the time I went 10 days later it had become more pronounced but the doctor dismissed it as a blocked milk duct. I pushed for a referral and was given an appointment just over a week later. That day I left my laptop on at work and told my colleague I would be back in an hour. The breast cancer consultant examined my breast. She told me she could feel two lumps in my breast, behind my nipple. She was worried and started arranging a biopsy and mammogram.
I felt like the floor had fallen from under my feet. I went back to my desk at work, trying to hold it together and staring at an empty Excel sheet. And then two hours later they said we’ve got a mammogram appointment. 
A week later when the consultant gave me the diagnosis of breast cancer he said “I have to tell you you’ve got some naughties in your breast.” I said: “Are you trying to tell me I have breast cancer?” and he said yes. I wished he’d used the proper word. He said my treatment would be to take the breast off the chest wall followed by radiotherapy and ongoing endocrine therapy. 
I cried when I found out I had to have chemotherapy as well because the cancer had spread to my lymph nodes. I knew then that I couldn’t keep it a secret any more. I knew I would start losing my hair – and for South Asian women, the beauty and richness of our culture is embedded within our hair. I really worried that this, plus the risk to my fertility, would potentially jeopardise my relationship and my marriage. Ours had been a ‘love’ marriage [as opposed to an arranged marriage] but having children was always part of the plan.
I was put into an induced menopause from day one which meant that pregnancy would be an issue, so the week before I started chemo, I went through an urgent round of IVF. We put the embryos in the freezer hoping that a couple of years into post-diagnosis I’d be able to get pregnant. Sadly in 2016 I was diagnosed with severe heart failure which meant I would never be able to carry a pregnancy.
I also started looking at surrogacy, signing up to forums where I explained our situation – that we really wanted children but my breast cancer treatment meant it was looking impossible for me to carry my own child. While I was unwell with heart failure I received a message from a lady who was a surrogate that said: “I’ve read your story and I would love to get to know you better.” I don’t think she ever realised the power of her words at that point, but it gave me hope. In 2018 my daughter was born through surrogacy and now, 11 years after my breast cancer diagnosis, I am in remission.
We wanted more children so we decided to go for an egg donor which is unheard of in the South Asian community. I found a donor but our previous surrogate had health issues and couldn’t carry a pregnancy. We were so sad about this but within months, I met my second surrogate and in February 2020 we transferred two embryos after asking ourselves, are we happy to raise twins and asking the surrogate, are you happy to carry twins? 
Eight weeks into the pregnancy our surrogate rang from a scan and said are you sitting down? I was so ready for it to be bad news. She said, “I’ve got something to tell you, but please don’t swear. You’re expecting triplets.” That was the most beautiful but also the scariest moment in my life. They were born at 30 weeks in August 2020. 
A lot of people don’t see cancer as a young person’s disease and the thing I want to communicate is that this does happen to young women, and it does happen to young women of colour, and as a community, we have such an association that cancer means the end of life. But I genuinely believe it was the beginning of my life – I’d never go back and rewrite history to take the diagnosis away from me because everything fulfilling I have, including my work and children, came from the adversity of that diagnosis.
As told to Miranda McMinn
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