Dead Wrong

My mum is awesome! 

She's called Ange. Well Andrea actually. She's also been known as Flange, The Crow and The Old Bag/Bat etc. 

She's a pretty remarkable women.

She brought my brother Jody (yes it’s a boys name too) and I up alone. We both turned out exceptionally well by the way....all credit to her.

My brother - Jody (with a ‘y’) Loughlin 

And me - Who said alcohol and chemo don’t mix?

Mum worked 3 jobs so she could get us stuff and feed us, we went from living in sheltered housing to our own home with a mortgage! She took us to really awesome places across the globe and ran her own business. She even jumped out of a plane last year from 15000ft at age 66!

She did all that. 

She's brilliant. 

Remarkable.

But WOW she can't do technology for shit!

Watching her type a text message out on her flip phone circa 2002 resembles a one eyed robber typing a code into a safe.

Now she has retired she has made the brave decision to catch up with us younguns and get an iPad!!!!! I thought she must have soiled her TenaLady when she made that brave decision. 

I took her to the Mall a few weeks ago and told the Apple hipsters to give her the most basic IPad with really good memory and none of that fancy shite. She left with her fashionable drawcord double lined white bag muttering about ‘what was a wrong with a normal carrier’ and then promptly tells me that I’ll need to teach her how to use it!

Ok I think, I can do that. I have zero patience, no free time whatsoever and am unable to filter sarcasm even in the most extreme of circumstances....this’ll be fantastic!!!!

So the next day she bowls into my house with a 50/50 mix of excitement and fear hanging around her jowls, sits down with the iPad and says “ok, what do I do next?” And I say “well you obviously need to switch it on first you pillock” but she doesn’t move and continues to stare at me then says  “ok” and stares again.

What is she looking at? I quickly glance over my shoulder...clear. I run my tongue over my teeth....clear. I waggle my finger in both nostrils...pretty clear.

And it slowly dawns on me she doesn't know how to turn it on. 

SHE DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO TURN IT ON!!!! 

Remain calm....breathe...you can do this....you’ve bossed life with incurable Cancer....don’t let the old bird give you a heart attack....breathe I tell myself. 

So I remain calm and show her.

Me - “Press here and enter a password.” 

Flange - “What’s the point in that?” 

Me - “don’t ask questions unless it’s extremely necessary and we may both survive this” (End scene)

Then flash forward and hour and she's still slamming the screen with her sausage fingers every time I shout "the home button! The button!!! The fucking home button! THE BUTTON! It's the only fucking button on there for fucks sake!!" And I realise that although the odds are that I'll die from Cancer....there's now a bloody good chance I may be claimed earlier via an aneurism from old lady technology induced stress!  

“Mum, I'm signing you up for a class at the Library for iPad wankers. It starts on Wednesday”

And off she goes. Bless her.

Anyway, what's this got to do with anything I hear you shout?

Well I tell thee...

Mum can now use google and she wanted to read my blog. Isn't that nice? (She'll have forgotten how to find it by the time this ones posted so don't worry) 

So she says one day whilst whipping out here iPad (that’s now incased in a picture of a Giraffe wearing pink accessories)....'look watch me. I do it like this. I press the compass thing (she means safari) and then the colours come up (she means the actual word ‘Google’) and I click the white line below it and I type what I want to search for.’

I'm actually rather impressed. Good ole Brian at the library... that geezer deserves a medal....and probably a month in The Priory. 

So she says ‘I'm searching for you’ and she types in 'Heidi Loughlin' and do you know what comes up my friends? The first search...as in the one people do most? Is this:

‘Heidi Loughlin Death’

Well bless my mum, she says "you're not dead" and I say "I know! The flipping cheek!" 

And I start wondering why people have searched this? 

I mean there could be a million answers. 

It could be that people are looking for pictures of my sarcastic corpse?

It could be that people have seen me on a live feed somewhere and think I speak so loudly because I’m overcompensating for hearing difficulties (and they, like me, can’t spell and/ or have bad grammar) 

Or maybe it could be that people have noticed I’ve not written much this year and have decided I’ve snuffed it? Now I mention it ..I did have a few inbox messages asking if I was dead, to which I replied "Yes. Yes I am. I'm so sorry to be the barer of bad news, I died 4 weeks ago. PS I'm in your wardrobe".

I wonder if people think that because I've got an incurable and aggressive strain of Cancer (inflammatory breast Cancer) that I must have died by now. 

I guess it’s a fair assumption.

But, I'm not dead!!!  I’m very much alive....look here’s the evidence....

Celebrating Tait’s 3rd birthday in style

Coming second to last with our quiz team at the school but drinking through it....

....and innocently climbing the kids wall on the way home.

Spending time with my favourite man on 4 legs.

Winning Inspirational Mother of the Year at the Butterfly awards.

Halloween dinner party....all very civilised....lots of red wine

Later that night after I’d spewed off my face paint

1 firework every 5 minutes....that’s old school.

Oh and if you want dated proof of life.... here it is....

FYI that train line is never happening 

Let me tell you what I did a few weeks ago....I canoed 22 miles for Stand up to Cancer. Yeah I did that AND I have treatment everything 3 weeks. I had the drugs two days after the canoe trip actually. 

Here are the pictures as proof that I canoed alive. AND I was still alive at the end.

A few days before I headed up north for the challenge I said to my mates that I was a little concerned that I wouldn't be able to do it because I hadn't trained and actually it was a really long way and all the others had trained or were really fit generally as they are celebrities and keep their shit together. 

My mate Emma (who seems to come up a lot in my blog posts and is a hard core spinning instructor) said 'that's bullshit. You'll be absolutely fine because that type of endurance is mental strength and you are the strongest person I know' and you know what, she was bloody right. 

I actually became stronger as the day progressed and finished with a tonne of adrenaline coursing through me. 

I know my little girl gave me an extra push and was egging me on from the start. And I know my boys, although back in Bristol, were also fuelling my determination. 

You see I gather strength from all things around me. The short life of my daughter Ally still gave me some very happy memories, the knowledge that my boys are safe and well and need me as there mum, my husband that would continue to send Noah to school in the wrong coat if I wasn't around, my friends that always say the right things, my brother whose sarcasm and stoicism rival my own and I’m a tough act to follow and my Mum, who keeps going regardless of the obstacles and will one day be able to type like a normal person. 

Heidi Loughlin Alive

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx 

Leg of Lamb

(To vote for me as 'inspirational mother' in the baby loss star awards please Click Here and click on the heart. See bottom of blog for more info. If your phone won't let you click the link then you can also vote on the Facebook page 'storm in a tit cup by Heidi'. Xx) 


I cried on Sunday!

That makes it sound like I never cry...I do.

I cry at every Oxfam or RSPCA advert. 

I cry every time I hear the 'Moana' soundtrack because it reminds me of the moment in the film when the old granny comes back from the dead as a giant ghostly stingray. 

I cry when I laugh so hard my face hurts.

And I cry when I've had a good nights sleep because the following night I'm not exhausted enough to drop unconscious while watching 'Suits' on the iPad and my mind starts wondering.

But this Sunday I cried whilst massaging a leg of lamb. 

Let me paint the picture...last week my eldest, Noah, started Primary school. 

I've been mega excited about this day all summer...particularly when Noah pushed Tait off of the bunk bed and when Tait kicked Noah in the balls. (We then had to have a discussion about 'balls' and whilst I managed to explain like an educated adult that the 'balls' are where boys keep their potions to make babies, I couldn't find a more palatable word than 'balls' for the 'balls.' So they are now officially called 'balls' in our house......" Tait's got small balls!", "daddies got big balls!", "do some people have three balls?", "Where are your balls mummy?" Etc etc) 

So on Wednesday I stood shoulder to shoulder with a playground full of mums and dads waving off their 4 year olds. All these tiny children in oversized clothes dragging book bags in equivalent heights artistically interpreting 'the stone of shame' scene from 'The Simpson'.

It's fair to say that there were a shit load of tears in this playground not coming from the eyes of children! 

Actually my friend Emma had been crying for three days straight prior to Wednesday (accounting for the 'yellow' weather warning for Bristol) and had forced her husband to take secret photos of her meltdown as evidence...

(Disclaimer: Emma wanted me to make it quite clear that this was more period related then child starting school...personally I call bullshit.)

So there were many playground tears and I recalled a conversation I'd had with one of the mums at the 'settling in' day who was also crying and she said to me 'is it weird I'm crying'? And I said "of course not" as I also had a few tears start to prickle at my eyes. She said 'I'm going to miss her and it's the end of an era' and I thought 'I'm crying because I'm so relieved I'm not dead'. 

So Wednesday came and all I could do was grin from ear to ear like I'd slept with my face pinned back with drawing pins! To others in the playground that saw me that morning they must have thought I was just so bloody glad to have one of them off of my hands or that I was simply beaming with pride! Well to be fair both are true.....I love him dearly but I'm glad he's starting this amazing adventure and that someone else may be able to answer his one million questions without having to google. 

But mostly I was beaming with relief. 

I remember the night 2 years ago when I was told I had Inflammatory Breast Cancer whilst pregnant with my 3rd baby. I came home and I checked on Tait who had just celebrated his first birthday. He looked so peaceful and I felt immense guilt that things would never quite be conventional for him and that because of his young age that he would never look back on a time in his life when his mum didn't have cancer. I felt bad that this would be his 'normal'. I shut his door and went into the next room where Noah was sleeping. He was 2 at the time. I climbed into bed with him and cried desperately into the pillow. I felt I was going to miss out on his life. I was going to miss all his milestones and I would never get to share one of those pictures of my little lad starting school in his oversized uniform baring the logo of his new life, of his independence and really the beginning of his pathway to who knows what. 

I wouldn't see that. I wouldn't know what that felt like.

And now I do know what that feels like. 

Both feelings of course.

I know what it is like to take my son to school.

I also know what it's like to not have the chance to ever take my little girl to school.

But Wednesday was about Noah. 

I didn't actually think I'd make this. 

This is one bucket list item that I'm ecstatic to tick off. 

I got to walk my little boy to school and chuffing hell was i proud! 

Add caption

And so, the lamb. 

Noah had started school that week and Sunday was Taits 3rd birthday. Keith had taken them to 'comic con' in Bristol while I prepared the boys favourite meal of lamb with a shit tonne of mint sauce. I was 'thinking' because I'd had an actual full nights sleep and the house was empty so I guess my head was too. 

This is dangerous territory for me. This is when the thoughts start to creep in. I knew that with Taits birthday followed a milestone of diagnosis. It would be two 2 years the following day that I was diagnosed with Inflammatory Breast Cancer and was staring at a life span of 2-5 years. 

As I delicately massaged lemon juice into the decaying carcass of a sheep, that fucking tractor song came onto 'Spotify'. You know the one....'I'm rumbling in my JCBeeeee. I'm five years old and my dads a giant sitting beside of me' ( even as I'm typing this I'm welling up ) well it's something to do with struggling to fit in at school and the boys dad works his bollocks off on the farm all day but no matter how tired he is he's always got time for his son. They're rolling up the bypass, him and his dad having a top laugh. And I started thinking about my funeral!!!!! POP! Straight into my head, just like that. I thought what a lovely song this would be for the boys to listen to to capture how fantastic their relationship is with their dad, Keith. And because it would have been chosen by me it would become even more poignant. And this would be the song they would remember me by and although they'd be sad they'd also have these little smiles on their faces too! 

AND.......well of course then the tears and snot came flooding down onto the fucking lamb. The lamb that had been enjoying a deep tissue massage for the last 10 minutes.

Then I cried because that lamb also had a family once and maybe it to had longed to drop its kid off at sheep school or something. 

Oh it was awful.

And then I had to kick myself right in the ass! 

Because actually this was an amazing milestone (not the leg of lamb, I'd cooked it before like). Noah had started school! I'd been there! Tait had turned 3! I'd been there. I wasn't dead! I was alive! And I'll be there for Tait to start school too because just you try and stop me! 

And the lamb, even when marinated in snot, still tasted good.

I'm up for an award ladies and gents, others. I've been shortlisted as 'Inspirational Mother of the Year' by the Butterfly Awards. I'd love it if you would take a few seconds to follow this link and vote for me by simply clicking the red heart I would be so greatful. But equally you don't have to either. I'll still like you all the same. But you'll be top of the haunting list if you don't!!!!

It's a very special event that recognises mums, dads and support networks around parents who have lost their babies. We will all be attending an award ceremony on October 14th and it goes without saying it will be a very emotional event. All these mums and dads are inspirational and talking about our babies to others is so important so I'd urge you to vote for someone whether it's me or not. Thank you xxx

People really fuck me off sometimes.

Cockwomble

People really fuck me off sometimes. 

For many different reasons. For instance, people that don't say thank you when you hold the door open for them... I find myself muttering 'you're welcome' or 'my pleasure' or 'fuck you you ignorant fucking ass wipe' (I wouldn't actually say that).

The same applies when you let someone in during traffic and they just breeze through without even lifting a hand in acknowledgement! Then I'm driving going 'bloody regret letting him in now....look at his arrogant hair-cut and he's in a Range Rover and blatantly doesn't live on a farm.'

Then there's the people that think they can say what they like about anyone because it's from their phone. Like the screen acts as some kind of shit-shield. Then when you question the 'Warrior Screen' they go all quiet as they realise they are a complete haemorrhoid. Let's take Klaus for instance. 

Case study 1: Klaus

Klaus is a cunt.

Last week the NHS and NICE (National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence) announced that Kadcyla (TDM1) would continue to be readily available to women with secondary breast cancer. This may not mean much to you as a) you can't pronounce Kadcyla b) you don't know what secondary breast cancer is and c) you want to get to the story about Klaus quicker. Well Kadcyla is the drug that is keeping me alive. It is currently stopping my cancer from spreading any further within my body. It gives me a relatively conventional life. It buys the average patient an extra 9 months of life. 

Secondary breast cancer is cancer that has spread beyond the breast through the lymphatic or blood system to other parts of the body. This makes you incurable. Never free from cancer. Always in Cancer land. Touching cloth every time you get an ache or pain somewhere. Always having appointments, forever. Infinity. Continuously. A Life time. Full stop. 

Anyway, there was basically some beef over whether Kadcyla would be dropped from the drugs menu because it has a hefty price tag. After all, it only buys 9 months on average. That's not much is it?

In 9 months my eldest son has learned how to dress himself, to recognise numbers, to recognise his name in written form, to brush his teeth without protest, he's gained a place at primary school, knows how to apply sarcasm in the correct fashion, has learned to ride a bike, he's travelled America, been to Finland, to Disneyland Paris, he's punched his brother in the face, managed to not poo himself, to tell me he loves me, to swim unaided etc etc etc. 

Yeah 9 months is bugger all eh?

So Kadcyla. Well, as I was already on it, it was never to be taken away from me but it would no longer be available to ladies newly diagnosed with secondary breast cancer.

This was not a case of 'I'm alright jack' this was a case of 'we are not alright Jackie'. 

These fellow breast cancer ladies deserve to know that they too will have the opportunity to access Kadcyla should they need it. 

When I read that it could be axed from the list I was gutted for these ladies. I was gutted for my past self who in September was given the conclusive proof that I will always have cancer. That I am now incurable.  What if Kadcyla wasn't available to me then?  I'd already gone though several drugs that had failed to tackle my cancer. I'm not sure I'd be sat here typing this if Kadcyla wasn't given to me.

So the charity Breast Cancer Now and a lovely lady named Bonnie Fox (she lives up to her name by the way) fronted a campaign to raise awareness of Kadcyla and to fight to keep it. They set up a petition and I know that a lot of you that read my crap signed it. Thank you my lovers. 

We received the awesome news last week that Kadcyla will remain available on the NHS and the petition had a large part to play in that!!!! You helped!!! This may not mean much in your world, but it means the world in mine. Thank you.

So, this leads me to Klaus. 

My local paper 'The Bristol Post' have been a huge supporter of Storm In A Tit Cup since it began and so they posted an article about the wonderful news regarding Kadcyla. They did make it sound a bit like I'd singlehandely saved the world...all I did was share the petition and explained why it was important to me. It was Breast Cancer Now and 'The Bonniest Fox' that did themselves proud. 

But they (Brizzle Post)  were celebrating with us in what is a great achievement and helping us to raise awareness. 

So this is how it went down.....

And then this.....

So I replied this......

It really fucked me off because it's so nobby and basically thick. 50 percent of the population will get cancer at some point in their life. 50 percent!!!! He might not have any friends but I'm sure he's got family right? We all fell out of someone's fanny. He must have someone he loves.

Then his comments were deleted as he'd obviously realised what a complete asshat he was. 

And then this was shared (thanks go out to Saranne and Trudi)....

Which cracked me up...

And then people commented about Klaus with words such as: 

Cretin

Dick

Bellend (a storm in a tit cup favourite) 

Klaus Dick Weed 

Cock monkey - about 7 times

Cockwomble (in word form this time)

Tosse - all the way from Denmark

(You lot love a phallus) 

And Mingeknuckle!!

MINGEKNUCKLE...I love it!!!!

What an outpouring of support for me and my fellow Cancer-Landers!!!! 

And it reminded me that for every Klunt (see what I did there) there are 99 legends. 

Then I thought that Klaus is just some silly Mingeknuckle with a packet of Wootsits next to his PC, cock in one hand (gradually turning yellow from cheese dust) with his pile of un-researched opinions piling up next to him like a stack of crusty porn mags. 

He didn't think about the consequences of what he wrote. He didn't realise that we are real people with real lives and that actually we might read what he's written and we may actually reply. And that we didn't ask for cancer. We just want to live. 

Can you imagine that being the dominating thing that flies around in your head?

 'I just want to be alive for as long as I can.'

And then I felt sorry for him, only a little like. 

It must suck to be that much of a shortsighted bellend. 

For Klaus xxx

Chasing A Bubble

Before we left for America on the 1st May I'd updated The Storm In A Tit Cup Facebook page to tell you that I'd be posting loads of stuff while we were away. We then had a traumatic start to the trip which I shall tell you about shortly, then I wrote a bit and fell asleep. Then time flew bye and then Manchester happened and i just didn't feel like talking about myself. It's so trivial compared to what others are enduring. And now London has happened and the atmosphere is so tangible. There is  some kind of energy. Something in the air. I can't label it but I feel I could grab it from the sky, which I appreciate makes no sense or sounds strange. I'm not saying we are all running scared because we are British and that's just not how we roll, but there is a real sense of 'something' that is hard to pin point. Is it fear? Rage? Hatred? Or is it defiance? Strength? And the strongest of our emotions, love? 

I'm not writing this today to talk about the abhorrent murders that have taken place this year by a group of blood thirsty narcissists. (And yes, I purposely do not use the words 'Muslim Extremists.' They may think they are Muslims...they are not.)

I'm writing this because it's business as usual right? I feel sick for all the people that are hurting from what has happened....including myself. I don't know any of these people personally but these are my people. These are our people. These are British people. 

So FUCK YOU!! (Not 'you', you but YOU!) 

Lets crack on...

I'm going to tell you about the first day of our trip through 10 American States. 

This is the big one. 

In terms of 'bucket list' items this is the one that means the most to me. A road trip across America. Keith and I are huge fans of America. 

I always thought 'when I've got 8 year olds I'm definitely taking them on an American road trip' but then Cancer came to town and pissed on my 'future-living' chips. 

I'm not saying I'll have snuffed it before Noah and Tait turn 8 but just in case we thought it best to stop living in the future and maybe live now?

We are all guilty of 'future-living'....'when I'm 40 I'll go to Vegas', 'I'll fly a plane next year' 'I'll join the WI once the grand kids have started school' etc etc

What if my 'future-living' had been nipple tassels on my right boob'? I'd be screwed now. It's just a big flat floodplain where once a mountain stood. (A saggy mountain to be fair, but a mountain all the same). Hanging a nipple tassel on that now would be more like pin-the-tale-on-the-donkey. 

Now wouldn't that make a great hen party game? (I once got two of my friends to drink a shot of my breast milk at their hen parties so this would be borderline normal). 

(FYI Apparently I use a lot of brackets when I write stuff)((that's what happens when you know nothing about grammar))

Anyway, my point is, if it's something you want to do, do it now!!!!!!!!! No one slides into the grave congratulating themselves on how repetitive their life was and how they always applied caution to making plans. I think maybe they regret the things they didn't get to do? I guess that's the point of 'the bucket list?' Although the word 'bucket' just makes me think of a big baggy fanny to be honest. 

'Bucket list' comes from 'kicking the bucket' which I also don't understand? What's that got to do with death or dying? And now I'm imaging someone with their foot stuck in aforementioned big baggy fanny. 

Bloody hell....How my mind wonders. 

So, USA. We arrived on 1st May for a month of 'Funishment.'

The journey wasn't as horrendous as I was expecting with a 2.5 year old in tow. He did hurl all over the photo blanket my mates had bought me last year before the tit chop so when we arrived at the Gatwick 'meet n greet'  I had to stand in front of cars full of people scraping curdled milk and strawberry laces out of a fleece blanket covered with pictures of my face.

(FYI Gatwick, that horrendous stench in car park 4 was the aroma of a blanket gently marinated in sick slowly simmering in the boot of a black Toyota Prius. Soz.)

So Disney with a 2 and a 4 year old? Yes it's mental. 

May is a reasonable time to go as it's not rammed but the weather is great. 

As I'm a cancerous chemo muncher I qualified for fast pass tickets for me and the clan which did help a lot. 

You present yourselves at guest services and you're able to ask for a fast pass ticket due to a disability. Now folks this has me in conflict a little. 

I am apparently 'disabled'. I qualify for a blue badge and for free cinema tickets for my carer and shit, but it's something I have yet to apply for. 

Why? 

Well I'm not ashamed or anything like that. It's just I've never been more able in my life! I've never been more capable. I've never achieved so much as I have over the last 2 years. So I feel a bit weird having those privileges when I don't feel any different. I absolutely don't feel like I need them. 

The blue badge thing has drifted through my mind a few times when I've return to my car to pay for parking after chemo and it's another £7 as you can NEVER get a parking spot at the Bristol Oncology Hospital!!! I have chemo every 3 weeks, a pre assessment every 3 weeks, a heart scan every 3 months, an MRI every 3 months, a blood test every 3 weeks....that's a lot of parking money!!!! It adds up. Not to mention the amount of time I have to spend getting to and from appointments just so I can get parked. If I had a blue badge I could just roll up and dump my ride on the double yellows like a boss. But something stops me from filling out the forms. For now anyway.

But this time I thought fuck it!!! I'm getting me a fast pass. Because my mental health is at risk if we get to the front of a 1.5hr queue with a two year old that's just potty trained that needs a piss just before the Buzz Lightyear Ride!!! I can't be dealing with that shittery schizzle. 

Anyway, I got the passes and we headed into DisneyWorld. 

We decided to spend our first day at the mother ship....The Magic Kingdom. And as you're about to discover, for me, it was anything but Magical.

We entered the land where dreams come true and stepped straight into a nightmare....our son went missing. 

After exiting the first ride of the day where Peter Pan had declared 'no one ever grows up here', which basically made me think of Steven Kings IT, we were standing outside in what was a reasonably low crowd and wondering where to go next. Everyone was yabbering away about 'Peter pan' and why the crocodile had swallowed a clock (I explained that she'd probably been up all night with the baby and the last thing she needed was her husbands alarm going off at 6am for the bloody boxing....so she silenced it) and we stood to the side to examine our map and someone asks "where's Noah?". 

It wasn't an instant feeling of Vom because we'd been doing this a 100 times all morning...where's Noah...I've got him...where's Tait...in the pushchair you're pushing....where's Noah....oh he's on my shoulders. 

But this time I look up and he's just not there. All I see is a swarm of humans exiting 'the princess experience' (not as dodgy as it sounds) flying passed us. I looked behind me and see a shop and think he's probably just gone on the rob so off I go. 

He's not in there. 

That's when it hits me.....the feeling of dread. And as a police officer my immediate thought is 'TIME PACE DISTANCE'. Now this will sound extreme to you but this is exactly how my mind worked over the next few minutes... 

...how much TIME will it take for a peadophile/murderer to walk at a PACE that doesn't attract attention, the DISTANCE to the exit of Disney? I'm just north of the castle which leads back to Main Street and the exit. I would estimate in these crowds that it is no more than 8 minutes. Would Noah be convinced by a 'your mum's waiting in the car park' story...yes probably he's only 4 and very trusting. Will he be scared right now? Don't be silly he's going to be fine. A nice mummy or daddy will bring him to the staff. But what if it's the wrong kind of person that finds him? Oh god I'm going to be sick. What was the last thing I said to him? Shit what was he wearing? Where the fuck is he? I'm going to be the mother to two dead children. I can't have another one taken from me. This is all my fault. I'm a terrible terrible mother....

Now we are all running in different directions around the not-so-Magic Kingdom and every time we see each other we lock eyes in hope that there will be a smile. 

There isn't. 

We are running around telling all the staff who to be fair are so calm. I've remembered he's wearing a yellow t.shirt and all the yellow I see I start chasing. 

It's not him. It's not him. 

Now it felt like an hour had passed but in reality it was about 3 minutes. I told the staff it was longer because I know that gets shit moving quicker and it did. The radios start blasting off albeit calmly. Then a staff member tells me to wait where I am as my sister in law is coming over and I look up and see Noah sat on Keith's shoulders looking like nothings happened. Well that's when I go full leak mode. Crying, snot, swearing, I want to vomit again. The Disney lady hugs me and says "oh you poor thing, this happens about a million times a day and we always find them' and I wanted to say 'you don't know the half of it but I will give you my house and the clothes on my back if you don't mind the sweat'. I go over to Noah and I can't let go of him. I almost squash him. "You're squeezing me mummy. Ouch" And I asked "where did you go?" and he simply replies "I was chasing a bubble".

It turns out that when he was stood with us a kid with a Mickey Bubble machine trotted by and Noah ran after her. He was never more than 10 metres away from us but in that crowd....it could have been 10 miles. It was awful. I think we all just assumed that someone else had their eye on him. He evaporated into thin air.

After I'd stopped snotting we got straight on the 'it's a small world after all' boat ride. We travelled around the world listening to the song on repeat and staring at these smiling happy faces and observed the world living in complete harmony alongside each other. 

The the irony was not lost on me. 

I couldn't calm down. I was crying quietly and staring at all these smug/oblivious plastic expressions. Like nothing had happened. Everything was just fucking wonderful and there was peace everywhere. Life is a song and dance. Yippee. 

This was day 1 at Disney and things go massively up hill from here but wow, that first day I felt like a complete failure. 

I'd planned this huge trip across America. I'd been planning it since before I'd had cancer, before we lost our little girl, before Tait was born and even before Noah was born. It just took on a shit load more meaning over the last 2 years. I guess in some ways a lot was riding on it and that day I thought about the immense pressure I was putting on everyone to have the best time of their lives because I might be dead next year and we needed more memories. I felt selfish, scared and basically like a let down. 

Was I too just chasing a bubble?