Breast cancer is the elephant in the room for many women. Ignorance through fear often seems preferable to the unpalatable truth that one in nine women will, at some point, develop the disease. Add to the mix a family history of breast cancer and a couple of faulty genes, and the liklihood of developing the disease rockets to 80 per cent. For Dawn – whose mother and great-grandmother both died of breast cancer as young women – these statistics must have seemed terrifying. But this very personal documentary two-parter is about much more than scare tactics; it both reinforces the message that knowledge is power and shows there can be life beyond cancer.

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Dawn Porter’s TV exploits have managed to pass me by up until now. Frankly, I’ve had little interest in her explorations into lesbianism and don’t really need telling how traumatic it is becoming a size zero as I get the sweats at the mere thought of giving up my daily Twix. I was sceptical, too, when it came to My Breasts Could Kill Me, mainly because the title inspired thoughts of being chased by a pair of giant boobs with murderous intent.

The first part of this double-header (part two is on Tuesday 7 July, Sky1 9pm) left me conflicted. There were some truly touching moments, like the reassurance Dawn was able to offer a terminally ill mother that her young daughter would remember her – just as Dawn remembered her own mother. There were also inspirational moments, such as the remarkable strength shown by a 23-year-old breast cancer sufferer who had been told by her doctor she had nothing to worry about when she initial found a lump, only for the cancer to spread to her spine.

But this is very much Dawn’s story about her own relationship with the disease, and we were constantly reminded of this with pieces to camera musing on the ifs and buts of her situation as she contemplates her upcoming mammogram. While this did bring home what it must be like to live in the shadow of the disease, it also detracted from the stories of those coping with its day-to-day realities. The lack of tact shown in dealing with the male sufferer was particularly painful to watch, as it only served to reinforce the prevalent belief that this is a ‘woman’s disease’.

What cannot be argued with, though, is the programme’s attempt to shed the cloud of mystery surrounding breast cancer. I had no idea what chemotherapy actually involved and the different affects it can have on patients, and – ashamed as I am to admit it – I had little appreciation of the ‘proper’ way to examine myself. If this message alone can be got across to viewers, then Dawn should be congratulated.

[Miriam Brent]