I know you know what it is but until about 8 months ago I just thought it was an online diary written by upper middle class people about 'upper middle class problems' such as Porcha's allergy to pomegranate or Tarquin's newly discovered love of roasted red pepper Humous.
Nowadays I am well aware of what a blog is because I write one. Ooooooo get me. Arguably it's crap in places and then not so crap in others. It's very sad but also maybe a bit funny, or so I'm told.
I'm good with whatever really because when i first sat down to type, I typed for myself.
In the beginning of September last year I was just like a normal person. I had two young sons, crows feet to rival the San Andreas fault line and potty training shit stains in my bog.
Peppa pig was my arch nemesis, oinking about the joint with her bad attitude and head that simply screams pink hairdryer or penis. My youngest Tait was biting anything or anyone that came near him with a gob like PacMan and my biggest concern was how to lose weight and still be able to inhale all food in a 25 mile radius. Yes my friends.....I was just like you!
I was about to return to studying and had relocated to my home town in search of free child care and I was pregnant with my 3rd child who I would come to learn was a girl.
Then, the day after PacMans 1st birthday I was diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer with a typical life expectancy of 2-5 years.
Yeah just let that sit there a minute.............
Well shit.....that wasn't fitting into my life plan. I was now looking at a death plan. Not only that but the best way to save me was to terminate my pregnancy. Now how's that for the modern version of 'Sophie's choice'? Be here for your boys or be here for your girl?
I was 13 weeks pregnant when diagnosed and I'd peed on that stick long before, so there was no other option in my head.
I would do right by all of them.
I would give my daughter the best shot I could and then I'd give myself the best chance to be here for all three of them.....
I wanted to read about others who had been in a similar boat via one of these Blog things....
I found myself online typing in searches such as:
'Inflammatory breast cancer in pregnancy'..... Nothing
'Humourous blog / cancer in pregnancy'...... Nothing
'I'm fucking fucked and need a funny blog about cancer...help me!'.... Nothing
Now there were some blogs that did encompass cancer treatments and living with dismal prognoses but my god were they depressing!!!!!!!!!!! (Understandable given the nature of the subject). But I guess I'm weird and I needed to laugh or the crying would have taken me down. I did find one blog... I read it until the bottom where it ended with her husband announcing that she'd died.....that was motivational I can tell you. Of course, I'm not blaming her. She didn't do it on purpose. But i'd lost her. She felt like the only one that thought like me and she would never write again. I needed to read something that wasn't all doom and gloom and yet where would I find it?
So I thought bollocks to it and wrote my own.
I'm one of those sad people that finds themselves funny and I thought, I want to rant about Noah's allergy to pomegranate somewhere. But actually what I wanted to create was a diary for my children to read when they are old enough that showed everything mum had handled when they were young. I wanted to laugh because every fissure in my humanoid structure was screaming...... HOW DO I SAY GOODBYE TO MY CHILDREN? How do I live with this towering over me and what will I do when I realise that I have zero control over what is happening to me?
So, I documented and I laughed at myself and I cried at myself and then things got very very dark.
Things got so much worse then Cancer.
If this is your first time with me you'll be wondering how? But let me tell you categorically Cancer is now just an inconvenience in my life. There is a much more profound pain that I wear every single day and will continue to wear when it's threadbare and reeks of mothballs.
But I continue to document... I continue to 'blog'.
I do it for me, I do it for my 3 children and I do it for you.
And now some of you nutcases somewhere thinks it might be worthy of an award. A MAD Blog Award (FYI MAD means Mum and Dad not confused to the point of space hopping backwards with your arse flaps hanging out) which is incredible. (The nom not the arse flaps)
This made me so happy for so many reasons but ultimately, it means you're doing some of this with me and man I could use some company!!!!!
So if you think the writing in Storm In A Tit Cup is 'best' please vote for it as best writer. And instead of me saying 'click here' and then you click here and a form appears, Click here....... shittybumbumbutthole
Thought that would be funnier. No? Just me then