Help me support New Zealanders living with breast cancer.

13 May 2026

Win a Blue Footed Booby

Dawn is raffling off this amazing painting of a Blue Footed Booby. Tickets are $10 and are available in store at Dawns Atelier, Main St, Upper Hutt or you can DM her through Facebook (link below or search for Dawn Duthie Art). Her work is really beautiful so this is a fantastic raffle prize. https://www.facebook.com/share/1CxzpiBxL7/?mibextid=wwXIfr

13 May 2026

Thanks Woolworths Upper Hutt

Woolworths Upper Hutt has kindly provided $50 towards our treats for our Crafternoon Tea. We will be able to get a whole bunch of lovely noms for that 💕🎀😍

Thanks so much Wooly’s UH.

11 May 2026

…Sarah is also the Queen of self-care (including naps)

11 May 2026

Sarah is the queen of pink …

11 May 2026

Sarah’s Story

Although Roisíns diagnosis was the catalyst for this Crafternoon Tea, she is not the only “why” behind it. This is our friend Sarah’s story.

Kia ora koutou from Ōtautahi Christchurch

Back in October 2021, I saw an old high school friend share on Facebook that she had breast cancer. I reached out and probably said something really unoriginal. It was also Breast Cancer Awareness Month and my friend was sharing some Breast Cancer Foundation NZ info. This included the recommendation for women from 40 years old to have breast screening done. Whilst we only fund from 45 in NZ, that's not the recommended age. "From age 40?" I thought, "that’s me!"

I thought I was pretty tough. I have a brain tumour - called Donald - which has meant lots of brain MRIs and a few brain surgeries. Iwasn't scared of no mammogram. So I decided to get a referral from my gp and to pay to get a breast screen privately. I had no family history and hadn't felt any lumps. In my funny brain, I was planning to waltz in, get screened, waltz out and pop something on social media. Who knows? Maybe that post will nudge someone along who has a family history, or has found a lump, but they’re scared to get a mammogram done. I certainly intended to feel smug.

A few weeks later, I waltzed in, got my mammogram, had a really long ultrasound session where they kept going over this one spot, called the radiographer in, had a chat about surgery and insurance, booked a biopsy, started crying, asked them to call my mum… then waltzed/staggered out with her. Crushed it!

After a very strange Christmas, I starte posting on social media about my tata tragedy. Brain tumour and breast cancer? No one can shut me up now! Thankfully I caught my breast cancer at stage 1 and was recommended lumpectomy and radiation. Yes, getting the news was a bit like a "In 2021 you'll learn that you should get a mammogram, and it's very important that you do".

What did I post about? I posted about my diagnosis and my lumpectomy, the stress of waiting for results, getting my results and discovering I needed chemo, having chemo during Omicron, and having radiation - including radiation on my birthday! I posted about shaving my hair, all the amazing support I got from family and friends, pink ribbons, the delicious treats and handmade goods that Kirsty and other crafters sent me, early menopause, returning to work, fundraising, and wearing a lot of wigs. Nowadays, I might just post a reminder about pro active self care, being a squeaky wheel and not having too much of a "she’ll be right " attitude.

Obviously, doing every recommended health test would take time and money and energy. I have very little energy! So I prioritise and habit stack. Donald is checked every 9 months - my Donald seems to be shrivelling up! I also have a mammogram every year and do a self check each month. This way I know my normal. My breast cancer lump - Ivanka - was small and easy to remove. But the lump was deep in my breast, by the chest wall. Although I didn't do regular self checks, I never would have felt Ivanka - at least not until she was a monster! After my lumpectomy, we discovered Ivanka was grade three and about to spread, hence adding the chemo. I was 40 and happened to take action. I might have shrugged off thatFacebook recommendation. I might have figured I'd be ok to wait for a free screen at 45. I'm now turning 45 next month and I'm so glad Ivanka isn't with me! She would be out of control.

So, who should do self checks? It's not about family history or even about having tatas (men can get breast cancer too). Ask yourself this: “Have I got a chest?” If the answer is “yes”, start doing self checks. I check on the first Monday of the month - that might work for you. I check for lumps, pain, discolouration, nipple dischage... you’re basically checking for change in and around your pecs and underarms. There's great advice online on how to do a self check, like working around your period. It's all about knowing your normal.

Why did I pick to do my self checks on Mondays? It’s easy for me to remember. Also, if I find something I'm worried about, I can ring my clinic straight away. I know that waiting sucks. I don’t want to be anxious all weekend - and I don't ever want you to be either!

Thanks for supporting this awesome Pink Ribbon Crafternoon Tea and good luck with those self checks!

Mauri ora and tata!

Sarah xxxx

5 May 2026

First goal met. Whoop whoop

Woooo hoooo. 🎀🎉🥳 We have hit our first goal of $500 raised. Thank you SO much to everyone who has donated and helped us get here

Now… Let’s see if we can make to to $1000!!!!

5 May 2026

It’s important to keep laughing with friends

A bunch of us headed out to a very silly burlesque show and laughed until our faces hurt

5 May 2026

At the beach with Mark

Mark, Roisíns partner, has been by her side every step of the way.

5 May 2026

Feeling like a “science experiment”

5 May 2026

Roisíns Journey

In spite of the high instances of cancer in my family, I never imagined I would have a reason to learn so much about breast cancer. It always felt like something that happened to other people, until suddenly it didn’t.

My diagnosis started in a way I definitely didn’t see coming. I had just bought some new light coloured bras and noticed what turned out to be blood spots inside the cup. Not exactly the kind of excitement you hope for with a new purchase. So I booked an appointment with my GP.

At the time, Mark and I were just about to resign from our jobs and pack up our lives in Aotearoa New Zealand to move back to my birth city of Belfast for a few years. I messaged my GP to explain why I wanted to come in, half expecting him to reply telling me I was being a bit dramatic and didn’t need to see him. Instead, he apologised that he couldn’t fit me in that day, but booked me in for the following day.

In that appointment, he told me outright that he suspected breast cancer. And if we hadn’t booked our flights yet, he gently recommended we hold off.

There’s a strange moment when everything shifts. One appointment turns into more tests, more waiting, more questions. And then you hear the words you weren’t expecting to hear about yourself. You have breast cancer.

From there, life became a series of blurred steps. Appointments. Scans. Biopsies. Waiting for results. Then more scans. More biopsies. More waiting. Decisions to make, while still just being a person trying to get through the day.

Although it doesn’t always feel like it, I am one of the lucky ones. I had a vast area, in the tiniest boobs, of pre cancer, and two small areas of invasive cancer, both different types. My boobs may be tiny, but they are certainly overachievers.

First came surgery. On 15 October 2025, I underwent a single mastectomy and said farewell to my problematic left boob. Leaving hospital with chest drains tucked into a shoulder bag, emptying and measuring them daily like some kind of science experiment, was a lot to get used to. Sleeping upright and binding my chest at night with a scarf to minimise fluid build up and swelling quickly became the new normal.

The hardest part was the wait for the pathology results from my breast and 11 lymph nodes. All up, it took six long weeks. Those weeks were emotionally the toughest on me and my whānau. Each day felt heavy with not knowing. I went to a pretty dark place during that time.

I called Breast Cancer Foundation NZ to find support with a counsellor who could help me through it. Instead, I found something even more valuable.

On the other end of the line was a specialist breast cancer nurse. Calm, kind, and incredibly patient. They listened. They heard. They didn’t judge. They explained everything in clear, plain English, cutting through all the medical jargon I had been given. They offered counselling sessions and checked in with me weekly to see how I was coping and whether I had received my results. When I finally did, they talked me through them and removed so much of the fear of the unknown. They did a much better job than ChatGPT 🤣!

My Breast Cancer Foundation nurse also helped prepare me for what came next. Practical advice, like what to pack in your bag for chemo, what your first session will look like, and what to have on hand for comfort during treatment.

I started treatment on 6 January 2026 knowing it would be tough, but not fully understanding just how much it would ask of me. I didn’t have the severe nausea and vomiting I had always associated with chemo from TV and film, but it has still been one of the biggest parts of my journey. It is something you are grateful for, while also something that takes a lot out of you.

There are the physical side effects people talk about, but also the quieter parts. The fatigue that lingers. The days where even simple things feel like a stretch. The mental load of it all.

There have been hard days. Days where getting out of bed felt like an achievement. Days where my body didn’t feel like my own. But there have also been moments of strength I didn’t know I had. Small wins that started to mean everything. A good day. A walk. A laugh with friends. Getting out of the house.

There were a few hiccups along the way. A two night unplanned hospital stay after my portacath got infected and had to be removed. A trip to A&E after spiking a fever of 38.9 thanks to a virus.

I also discovered I am intolerant to chlorhexidine, which is used to clean the skin before accessing a portacath or inserting a cannula. I then had a PICC line inserted into my arm for easier blood draws and chemo access, which came with its own set of restrictions.

But it hasn’t all been hard.

I had a schedule of chemo buddies, so I had a different friend join me for each session to make it feel a bit more social. In February, I shaved my head very publicly in my local pub. If I was going to lose my hair, I was doing it on my terms. I was surrounded by an incredible amount of love and support, and together we raised $11,679 for Breast Cancer Foundation NZ.

I reduced the number of gigs I attended, but I didn’t stop doing my favourite things. I rocked out to Metallica. Danced my feet sore at Leftfield. Laughed my abs sore at Joanne McNally. I road tripped to New Plymouth, Napier, and Picton. I even managed to survive a concussion and an impressive black eye after a yacht crash in Auckland.

Now that my chemotherapy journey has ended, my treatment continues. I will have an IV infusion of immunotherapy every three weeks until the end of 2026, and five years of hormone therapy which will bring on medical menopause.

I didn’t completely lose my hair. At the moment I resemble a kiwi fruit, with a sparse, short fuzz on my head. My eyebrows are thin, patchy, and doing their best. Thankfully, all temporary. My hair should start to grow back in the coming months as the effects of chemotherapy leave my system.

What scares me right now is that once my hair grows back and I no longer look sick, there will be an expectation that I will just bounce back to normal. The same strength. The same stamina. The same clarity and memory. And the reality is, it does not quite work like that.

Cancer has changed me. It has made me sweat the small things less. It has made me realise I want to make more of an impact in the world. I want to do work that matters, that makes me and others happy.

Throughout all of this, I have been incredibly lucky. The support from friends, family, and the wider community has been constant. I was especially lucky that my mum was able to fly over from Ireland to support me. It all makes a difference, more than I can really put into words.

Organisations like Breast Cancer Foundation NZ play a huge role in that wider support network. They fund research, provide education, and help ensure people like me have access to the best possible care. They are part of the reason there is hope, even on the hardest days.

This fundraiser means a lot to me. Not just because it is in my honour, but because it is part of something bigger. It is about raising awareness, supporting others going through this, and contributing to a future where breast cancer outcomes continue to improve.

If you are supporting this crafternoon tea, thank you. Truly. Whether you are donating, attending, or simply spreading the word, you are making a difference.

A massive thank you to Kirsty and Dawn for planning, organising, and hosting this wonderful event.

If there is one thing I hope you take away from today, it is this. Check yourself. And make sure your loved ones check themselves too. Trust your instincts. Never feel like you are overreacting when it comes to your health.

This is a chapter I never expected to write, but it is one I am moving through with resilience, support, and hope.

Win a Blue Footed Booby

Wednesday 13th May

Dawn is raffling off this amazing painting of a Blue Footed Booby. Tickets are $10 and are available in store at Dawns Atelier, Main St, Upper Hutt or you can DM her through Facebook (link below or search for Dawn Duthie Art). Her work is really beautiful so this is a fantastic raffle prize. https://www.facebook.com/share/1CxzpiBxL7/?mibextid=wwXIfr

Thanks Woolworths Upper Hutt

Wednesday 13th May

Woolworths Upper Hutt has kindly provided $50 towards our treats for our Crafternoon Tea. We will be able to get a whole bunch of lovely noms for that 💕🎀😍

Thanks so much Wooly’s UH.

…Sarah is also the Queen of self-care (including naps)

Monday 11th May