Me, myself and I.

My name is Patient Zero. I say this because i feel like i am the first person to ever have had such shit luck. I am 32 (the beginning of wrinkles and yellowing teeth), pregnant (actually this is bloody awesome but see next few words) and i have Breast Cancer. (mother fucking wank!) 

I dont just have standard lumpy breast cancer that comes with well examined statistics and a fairly good prognosis. Oh no, i have Inflammatory Breast cancer, the one that involves lots of head tilts and strained smiles from medical people and lots of looks of 'what the fuck is that' from general Jo public. Its nasty, its aggressive and it spreads quickly - not unlike an angry prostitute waiting for her next fix of crack. 

Now, can i just say that i actually hate the word Cancer. It sounds crawly and something that rots old people in their beds. Therefore i would now like to banish this word and refer to my Cancer as Volder-tit. 

I don't want to bore you with the ins and outs of who i was before this happened but i think you may like me more if you know a bit about me. Or you can at least realise that i am a human being who is not completely defined by this situation.

I am brilliant. I don't say this as because counsellors would tell you that reminding yourself that you are brilliant makes you feel brilliant. Nope, i say this because I've always believed it and will continue to believe it for the rest of my life, and when I'm gone, people will say 'oh she was brilliant'. 

My friends will tell you I am great to talk to and excellent for giving advice. My work mates will tell you I'm incredibly strong and positive. My family will tell you I'm independent and kind. My chap will tell you that I'm infuriating and self centred. My kids will tell you I'm 'beautifully and gracefully' because Peppa Pig makes it impossible for them to think for themselves; and everyone will tell you I'm funny. 

The very basics of my life are that Im a Police Officer in the Metropolitan Police. ( For all my international fans, that is in London, England). I have recently moved back to my original town not far from Bristol. I have two children, one Scouse chap, and a manky tit. I have a large family and a lot of very excellent friends who are currently driving me nuts with all their bloody questions (please don't stop giving me attention - and/or food) and I've got a bun in the oven named Chocolate Mousse. (Again kids judgement clouded by the most influential things in their lives)

So, before i start the next chapter, I'll give you an introduction. 

So picture this....You relocate from London to your home town as you're desperate for some free child care as you want to go out more and get drunk. You find out you're expecting child number three by some complete fluke of nature. That'll be three kids under three. Fucking hell if thats not bad enough eh! You are taking some long maternity leave and are due to start a masters in Real Estate Management when bam!!!!! The Volder-Tit train drives full force into your life. Emptying its chemical toilet all over your face!