The Toothless Trails - Trail 1: Weymouth

If you had 3 nights of child free abandon with your oldest friends (they aren't crinkly, they have just been my friends for a long time) what would you do? A spa break sipping cocktails around a pool, a city break cutting some dodgy shapes in a Reflex that smells of feet and regurgitated Reef? Perhaps a spot of shopping and a pedicure?

Well we decided to drag our arses across Dorset in the freezing cold, flooding beautiful scenic points with our foul mouths to stand in the shitting rain having our pictures taken with funny road signs.

We my friends, know how to roll.

It all began weeks before the event. We couldn't plan enough!! Day dreaming of how magical it would be:

I can't wait to not have to count down from 4-7pm when the kids are at their most assholeish 

I can't wait to eat crap all weekend

I can't wait to wake up at 6am and then just roll over without a care in the world.

Mostly I can't wait to eat the pork rolls and the extra pork fat we've ordered from the butcher.......

'do you think he'll give us enough fat? I've ordered pork for 7 people, should we order for more as we know what we're like. The pork will need to cook for 7 hours to capitalise on the moisture vs an hour for the fat to make the best crackling. Do you think we should get more fat? We don't want to not have enough pork fat. pork pork pork fat fat fat!!!!!'

Now I don't need to highlight that we are women that like our food. 

It's important that you know we had a 3 carboots full of food. Pre cooked tagines, home made sticky toffee pudding, a plethora of crisps and nuts (the fallout from Christmas) and enough sweets to send all 7 of us into a diabetic coma. (That should be 8 but Tara couldn't get the time off work - fudge da poleece) Not to mention an online shop arriving later and various restaurant and cake outings planned for the weekend. Yes. We like to eat.

So we all bundle into cars at 9am sharp on Friday morning. I have Ally's Dragon 'Toothless' riding shotgun with me. No one is late, everyone has everything as we've been packed for 300 years. There are literally skid marks outside all our homes and the kids can be heard in the distance "bye muuuuhhhhh"...oh well can't hear. GO!

We arrive at the farmers market for breakfast (obviously - sorry I can't bring myself to write 'obvs') all excited, the dreams of food now unfolding in front of us. We que at the Baine Marie salivating at the thought of a farmers sausage in our mouths. (Oi oi) I look at the chief organiser Lucy, as the colour starts to drain from her face. Oh no, what is wrong with her? She's heavily pregnant so maybe her waters are leaking, maybe she's realised she's left the oven on, maybe she's forgotten to drop a sprog at nursery.... I'm concerned.  I flex a non existent chemo-brow at her as if to ask 'what on earth is wrong' as she declares "Oh shit!!! I forgot the fucking Pork!!!"

Noooooooooooooooooo. One job. ONE JOB!

Not the pork!!!! The ripple effect of realisation can be seen across the faces of all my friends. You can literally hear their hearts sinking. 

'That's just great. GREAT! What the fuck are we going to eat now' ....just as a huge breakfast gets passed across the serving hatch.

Anyway, I promise I won't go into so much detail again but you get the gist. We like food. So while we were shoving sausage in our mouths, everyone is quietly gooling to find the nearest place we can buy pork and pork fat. 

We set off again, bought some car sweets and stopped off for our fat. The conversation started again about whether we had enough fat. 

We then drove to the middle of nowhere and all jumped out to stare at a large field with a penis in. This penis appeared inappropriately erect to me but to be fair it can't be  easy to draw a 2D penis into grass. We were disappointed to learn that the large man also know as the Cerne Abbas Giant has now been fenced off as the great British public spent so much time having selfies with the penis that the paint wore off. 

Gemma tries for 5 minutes to get a photo trick of her being tea-bagged by the Giant. The old lady walking her dog was unamused. 

We were happy to have a group shot from afar....

We then made our way to Piddle Lane and jumped out to have our picture taken at which point half of us were nearly wiped out by a Argos Lorry. Ahhhhhh memories.

Next it was onto Shitterton. I shit you not. It's real. This poor town has had so many signs nicked over the years, the locals clubbed together to have a proper stone one made. It's a shame really as I was so looking forward to putting that sign on the bathroom door. 

Yes I can steal stuff because I've got Cancer. 

After Shitterton, Anna grew concerned that we hadn't eaten for 3 hours and that we should head to the house rental. It was in Portland, and it was perfect. It had a kitchen, a sofa and wine glasses, and it was opposite a tea room. BOOM. We were straight in that tearoom and I was straight to the bog for poo-Nado 8 of the day (chemo ass) and not wanting me to miss out on cake, the girls came into the toilet to take my order without so much as batting an eyelid. True friendship.

So we smashed afternoon tea and then went home to get the tagine on. The crisps came out and then we played home made quizzes featuring the horrors of our friendship. You should try this....make up your own quiz ie 'who was fingerblasted in the store room at Redcliffe bay hall in year 8?' (FYI not me!) so funny.

The weekend consisted of eating, rehashing old gossip, gasping at the new, and talking about the meaning of life. 

Most importantly we played cards against humanity. (It wasn't at all awkward when one question was answered with 'Jade Goodys cancerous corpse'. ) And let me tell you the farting that took place was beyond comprehension!!!!!!!

I know men like to imagine female sleepovers as ladies clad in white cotton underwear, playfully bashing each other with pillows but what unfolded here was women clad in mismatching joggers and hoodies, whafting farts with pillows. Total bliss. 

On the last day for the majority, we went to 'Broadchurch' or Bridport. This was the town where a young man named Daniel Latimer met his demise. This is important as I feel we owe the poor residents of Bridport an apology. Those nutty women you heard for about 3 hours a few weeks ago constantly repeating 'Danny Lat-er-mur' in the broadest of Dorset accents, were my friends. 

Yes it was hysterical every single time someone said it, yes we laughed just as loud each time and yes we are in our 30s but fuck me it was so funny!!!

I guess you had to be there mind!!! Danny Lat-er-mur. 

So after we stuffed a freezing cold icecream into our faces in what felt like a -10 degree wind, most of the girls left. Myself and my friend Vic remained. Vic is quite a deep thinker and from there came the deep conversations. 

'Are we arrogant enough to believe that we are the only planet in the infinity of space that contains life?'

'So subsequently if we don't know, then we can't dismiss it?' 

Which is how I look at heaven and the question of 'what happens when you die?'

I go to this place often because I absolutely refuse to believe that I will never see my daughter again. 

With this conversation inevitably comes the tears and the never ending guilt. The guilt because I miss her so much and I should be approaching my due date. I should have kept her inside.

It was that night that I read about Natalia Spencer and her 'Walk of Love'.

Natalia is walking around our entire coastline to raise money for The Grand Appeal which assists Bristol Children's Hospital. This walk is in memory of her beautiful daughter Elizabeth Spencer who died the day before Ally was born. 

Upon reading the article it dawned on me that she was here in Weymouth and had literally stood in the same spot as us the day before. 

I needed to meet her, walk with her, talk with her. So I messaged and it was arranged.

The next day was another emotional one. Natalias daughter Elizabeth was 5 years old when she died from a very rare condition. Natalia was renting a house of which she moved out of a week after she lost her daughter and was now just walking. And when I say just walking, I mean that in the purest sense. She is literally just walking but walking has taken on a whole new meaning. As a mother grieving the loss of a child, the darkness is all consuming. It leaves you incomplete and you know you'll never fully heal. I've said before that just breathing becomes effort full. 

Natalia is literally and metaphorically putting one foot in front of the other. She has simplified life to putting one foot in front of the other because sometimes that's all you can do. She will just keep walking as others will just keep swimming. 

You have to navigate life the only way you can. You just do it. You just keep going in the hope that one day you'll laugh again, one day you'll look at pictures of the ones you've lost and smile and one day you may get back to being a little bit like your old self. One day. 

But for now, you make plans and you surround yourself with the people that mean the most to you.... Your friends and your family. And you live. 

After all, that's what's important and really what else can you do?

Danny Lat-er-mur

The BullRing of Fire

(This post is dedicated to the memories of Liam Fairhurst and his friend Jack Wilkinson.

Liam was born on 26th February 1995 and in 2005 was diagnosed with a rare high grade soft tissue Cancer called Synovial Sarcoma. 

Liam met Jack whilst undergoing treatment and they became fast friends, swapping treatment stories and spending hours laughing together. 

In 2006 Jack sadly died at age 12. 

Liam was subsequently driven to fundraise for others whilst undergoing aggressive treatments for his illness. Never once did he give up. He was selfless beyond words.

In 2009 Liam sadly died aged 14. 

His family set up a foundation in his name liamfairhurstfoundation.com and Liam's brother Callum is currently cycling around America for his brother. Their mother Sarah asked me about this story and I feel today is the right time to share. 

Happy Birthday Liam. I hope you like a poo story. Share it with Jack. You can laugh together. Aren't friends amazing.)

When Will from 'The Inbetweeners' shat himself, his friends didn't offer him a hug or comfort, they laughed and called him 'Bumlog Millionaire', 'Vladimir Pootin' and 'Brad shit.'

Some might say this is cruel and unkind. I say this is true friendship. 

When I was pregnant,  I was having 'baby-safe chemo', as you know, and one of the side effects is 'loose bowels.' Loose bowels??? Who I am kidding.... I mean the trots!! Ass cannon, bum wee, Poo-nado. Or medically; diarrhoea.

Anyway, whilst mid cycle of the first chemo that didn't work; my oldest friends and I went to Birmingham Christmas markets. 

Lucy sat with me while I had the drugs pumped into my arm and the minute the tubes were disconnected we were hauling ass out of hospital and into the cars for a night of carefree living in a Birmingham travel lodge. 

We spent most of the first day stuck on the M5 and when we eventually arrived we made the somewhat stupid decision to have a Thai. 

This Thai was hot. 

And when I say hot, it was tantamount to wearing a ski suit whilst licking the sun. 

Yeah that hot!

The next day whilst en route to the Bullring for a spot of sophisticated shopping, I got the pre 'poo-nado' warning siren in my guts. 

Oh crap. Literally. 

The good people of Birmingham were currently in the process of remodelling all their roundabouts so we were stuck in the mother-of-all traffic jams. It's ok. I can do this.

Then came the hot sweats and the panic that usually accompany the realisation of imminent soil-age of ones under crackers. 

Try and think of something else they said.

We are nearly there they said. 

So is this poo I said. 

As the threat of a full outfit right-off descended, the hub caps of the Bullring came into view and thus the promise of a public toilet...mind you I'd have settled for a long drop in central Deli at this point. 

Unfortunately the sweet sensation of imminent release had traveled to my bowels as I uttered the immortal words 'oh no. I think I'm guna shit myself!'

With driving skills to rival Jenson Button and re-enacting one of those chase scenes out of a Bond movie, Anna took a very hard left into what looked like the parking lot of a mechanic's business set to the backdrop of the film Deliverance. 

A war cry of 'don't worry I've got wet wipes' blasted out from the back seat as Anna breaked hard and I yanked on the door handle ready to do a moving exit stage left. 'Someone come with me' I cried as Gemma was already running out of the back shouting 'Me! That's me! I love this shit.' 

I bolted for the edge of the car park, dodging car part after car part to run into a corner of hell that can only be described as a crack-den intermingled with that toilet out of trainspotting. 

I was already 'dropping trou' as the departure gates were opening. As I began to squat I couldn't even consider that I might be reversing onto a heroine needle left by last nights tenants. I just needed to feel the air hit my bum and all would be well. 

The trousers were down, the pants were clear, Gemma's face was lit up like a Christmas tree when it came! 

The words biggest pooNami. 

And MAN , did it hurt!!!!! 

Squatting whilst pregnant is bad enough without having to fire the entire contents of the worlds hottest chillis out of your ass. It really gave a whole new meaning to the word Bullring. 

So, there we were. Me, my hysterical friend Gemma (who was laughing so much she nearly had to join me), and my bum contents. Just chilling in a car park.

That my friends, is friendship. 

The Bucket and Spade list - AKA The Toothless Trails

1. camping – regularly. Get all the kit and camp around the UK. As my treatment changes in the blink of an eye and I read in some 'middle class problems' article somewhere that kids who camp have a higher IQ I've always wanted to become a 'camp site wanker' and will be able to do this as a last minute trip.

Your job: recommend me UK campsites that are great with 1 and 3 year olds. Tell me what kit I need and general tips.

2. Disneyland Paris at Christmas - this is because my cousin goes every year and loves it and we are planning the worlds biggest road trip with the kids next year to USA and will take them to Orlando so his could be the warm up. I'm concerned Tait will just whinge though and bite people and it'll be a 'why the fuck did we bother' trip. Thoughts?

3. Lapland - would love to take the boys to meet santa in the snow. You can do a day trip to this but as we always seem to get delays I think a night stay would be great. In a log cabin.

4. Road trip USA - this is the big one! Scouse and I love America. We have both been separately and together. When I was younger I travelled the world alone and I covered a huge part of the west coast USA and a few southern states but there are still quite a lot I haven't seen. We have always said that when the boys were about 9, 8 and subsequently Ally at 7, we would go for a huge trip. We thought that was about the age where they could experience everything. This was the trip I thought about constantly and if I could only do one thing on this list it would be this trip. So we decided that whatever happens we are bloody doing it. It'll be around May/June next year just before Noah starts school. It's going to be for about 5 weeks and we will start in Florida and make our way up to Chicago and then across to Niagara Falls.

Your job: tell me what you have done or would like to do in Florida, Georgia, Tennessee, South Carolina, Kentucky, Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Pennsylvanian, New York.

5. Should we get married? - see that question mark!!!!

6. Get the kids christened.

7. A weekend with my mum to a spa or something similar

8. A weekend or trip with my brother and Tripe (my sister in law - she looks like a cows udder)

9. Trip with my BBB ladies (these are the incredibly sweary breast cancer tribe I am part of.) These girls have really bloody helped me and I can't wait to meet them all one day.

10. Get my blog into a book and sell it!!!!!! Learn how to re-root money to Monaco and avoid tax = live the dream

11. Write a children's book and get it published.

12. Visit friends and family more often. Old friends / New ones.

13. Legoland

14. Watch someone give birth.... At the business end!! I'd be really great as a birthing partner!!!

15. Thomas land

16. Ceebeebies world

17. skiing - with or without kids? I love skiing and would love to go again. It's been a while.

18. Australia. A road trip would be amazing as well as just chilling out. Take the kids to the Whit Sunday's and Uluru.

19. Meet The Unmumsy mum. Hopefully she'll then become my best friend = bonus!

20. Stay in a treehouse

21. Weekends with my best friends. These are of course child free but fuelled by wine. - completed Feb 2016.

22. Meet 'Counting Crows'

23. Sky Dive

24. Be a voice on the Simpsons

25. Take the boys horse riding - teach Noah to ride 

26. Walk up Glastonbury Torr - I live not too far from here but have never done it.

27. Drive around Devon and Cornwall in a camper van. The kids would love this!!!!

28. Take Noah in a cockpit of a plane or in a helicopter.

29. Ride horses on the beach again, galloping through the wet sand.

30. Cage dive with sharks ( I have advanced open water SSI qualification but never got near a shark - probably for the best)

31. Wing walk..... Think I might be too heavy for this though.

32. Camper van around Canada. Searching for bears.

33. An adventure playground garden at our house for the kids complete with a She-Shed thingy to drink wine and hot choc in and camp out overnight.

34. Boat trip in Alaska.

35. Actaully travel in the posh part of the plane.

36. Be dragged under a helicopter like they did on Bear Grylls, or go in one if not.

Now the very important ones

* See Noah start school (sept 2017).  Walk him to the gate in his uniform and be there to meet him afterwards

* See Tait start school (sept 2019).  Walk him and his brother to the gates and listen to them compare their days when I pick them up.

* Make my family and friends proud (this was previously number 24)

* Live to see the kids start secondary school

* Live to see the kids start Uni or travel or jobs etc

* Live to see the kids get married

* Live to meet my grandchildren

* Live

Living now vs the future

This is a boring post for you to read but I do need your help so suck it up. 

What would a child's bucket list look like? This is not a rhetorical question......

When we had the boys, both were treated to a bear from 'build a bear' courtesy of their Nan. For those who have never encountered this shop, it's one that you get cute teddies from and then you dress them as a transvestites or a dominatrix and give them to your kids and say "it's great to be individual. Check out the whips and chains elephant I bought you". 

When I was pregnant with Ally, Scouse and I went to 'build a bear'  to choose Ally's present to be bought once she was born. Sad to say I was not drawn to 'lap dance leopard' or 'trailer park tiger', I was drawn to something far more suited to a little girl. 

I wanted the giant black Dragon with no teeth from How to Train your Dragon. No outfits or rocks of crack with this one, just a huge fire breathing destroyer called Toothless. Scouse agreed. We took a picture and showed my mum what to buy when the time came. 

There was never time for Ally to meet Toothless as he wasn't bought in time.

Last week I decided it was time I bought new clothes and whilst dragging my fat ass around the shops wondering what the point in looking less like a Muslin cloth was (covered in snot and spit to the point I could refer to my limbs as 'snot legs' etc) I found myself wondering into 'build a bear'. I walked out with Toothless and a birth certificate for him that stated he was for Ally Louise Smith. I smiled. 

I got home and the boys were all over him like a tramp on chips and I thought 'welcome home Ally's Dragon'.

                                      Tait and Toothless

Anyway there's a reason why I'm blabbing on about this. It had been decided that Toothless is now the family mascot to what is about to become the family 'fuck it' list. 

Or the bucket and spade list - a list of things I want to do with the boys before I shuffle off to marry Tom Hardy in a parallel universe. 

You see I'm a fucker for living in the future. I constantly used to say we would do things once the kids were x age. Well it's starting to look like my future may be a bit shorter then some so it's time to start living now. 

So I've sat down to write this list and decided that you guys might want to do this 'journey' with me (I agree with the Unmumsy mum about the word journey! I recommend you read her book). Therefore, as well as the posts I usually write, I'm going to keep - separate one as an active one. I'll tell you what I've got planned so far and then I want you to tell me what you would add to the list and if it's feasible I will add your suggestions to my list and credit you with it when it's achieved. You'll notice it's not quite all about them, some of these are just my goals. The bucket is me (you've got a filthy mind!) and the spade is them, the kids, or skids as I call them.

So tell me what you'd do with your kids, and without , if you were lying in the road waiting for the proverbial bus to hit you but it was delayed so you had time to plan a few last things. 

Ask your kids what they'd like to do if they could pick a list of activities. I bet Peppa pig world will come up A LOT!!!

I'm going to document all the trips we take, the vomit spewed in the car journeys, the whinging, the anticlimaxes, the highs and the lows.... All with Ally's Dragon.

And even better it starts tomorrow!!! But without the kids!!!! Pork rolls and quiz nights as I head to 'Shitterton' with my school friends!!!

So, what would you do if you were me? 

I'm going to live!!!

Yippe Kai yay mother fuckers!

Hurricane

Today hurricane Imogen is whacking us around the head at full force. The fence has blown down and the chimney is howling like the wizards sleeve of a hooker. An act of nature sent to remind us just how puny and insignificant we are.

I've had 3 rounds of the new chemo, the most recent having been on Thursday and I'm sitting here with a mouth like Ghandi's flip flop and my guts turning over in preparation for 'poo-nado' number 170. 

Noah is at his Nan's, Tait is asleep upstairs and we have just chosen the headstone  that will sit on top of our daughters grave. 

Our daughters grave. There's something I never thought I'd say. 

When I started this blog in October it was to merely update friends on my progress. 

It was later shared on disgracebook and as a result awareness has risen around Inflammatory Breast Cancer, I've got more twitter followers then Scouse and my family have learnt lots of alternatives for the word clunge. 

Raising awareness is now part of my goal and continues to be a little extra nugget that motivates me to be positive even when I'm drowning. 

I did some more news type stuff last week as I realised you guys hadn't seen my new hairstyle which resembles a badgers testicle; and the question on everyone's lips was do I regret anything?

It's a tricky question you see because all of these shit-uations are interlinked.

Is it regretful that Dr Bellend didn't diagnose me at my first appointment in March because then the cancer was at its infancy and much more likely to be curable? 

If he had diagnosed me early then Ally never would have been born. So this I can't regret. I got to meet her.

It is regretful that as well as having Voldertit I also am HER2 receptive which means the cancer is fuelled and I need the drug Herceptin which cannot be had in pregnancy. So I had to risk my life to have Ally as I wanted to keep her.

It is regretful that the baby friendly chemo didn't work and that in order for me to give all three of my children a mum I had to have Ally at 28 weeks where her prognosis was over 90%. 

It is regretful that she was not in the over 90%. 

It is regretful that she died. But it is also so much more than that. Regretful is a fucking stupid word.  

And with regret comes guilt.

I feel guilty everyday that I didn't decline the medical advice and just stay pregnant. 

I feel guilty for thinking that as I also need to be here for the boys. 

I feel guilty for going home the night Ally got ill. 

I feel guilty for having just lost a child and then laughing at big brother when Stephanie left her crusty pants out for all to see. And I feel guilty that Ally died. 

Regret and guilt. These are two things that seem to go hand in hand. 

I could have done more? Could I? 

I'm currently experiencing a very low level of fame at the moment. I'd liken it to the equivalent of that bird on Facebook recently who was photographed drunk posing with her very sexy boyfriend and appeared to be shitting a cat....people know who you are but for all the wrong reasons.  I'm sometimes recognised when I go out but I'm well aware it's because I'm that bald, unlucky woman off the telly.

One lady came up to me in boots a few weeks ago while I was buying vitamins (ironic) and said 'I just wanted you to know that you made the right decision'. 

Now this woman will never know this, as at the time I couldn't quite explain my gratitude to her, but by having a complete stranger tell me this really helped me. I question my choices constantly and to have someone uninvolved reaffirm my decision, was so extremely kind. 

The title of this blog has never meant more to me then it does right at this second. 

A tit cup, even with baps like mine, is a relatively small place to hold a storm. My tit cup houses Voldertit!!!

 Voldertit is so much more than cancer. It is the threat of saying goodbye, the anxiety that comes when living your life with your mortality dangling in front of you and it is fundamentally responsible for the death of my daughter. So a storm? More like a bitch ass hurricane!!!

A mighty mother fucking hurricane. 

The skies are dark, the noise is deafening, the shit from our lives is blown all over the garden. The rain is battering the window's but I do feel slightly cosy on the sofa looking out. A few weeks ago I'd have been sat right there in the mud, with the rain soaking my trousers but right now I'm grateful for the warmth. 

As the storm rages on and the isobars push across the UK, they seem to move in one direction, forwards. 

Time after time

New Year's Eve. What does it mean to you? A chance to plan to melt off your fat by drinking wheat grass mixed with ass? An opportunity to do kind deeds until you realise you don't like anyone? Or the year to make your dreams come true? Well for me New Year's Eve has always just been the passing of time. The sliding of one hand over the other, something that happens numerous times a day, every day. The strike of a clock. 

Facebook was, as per usual, flooded with updates on 2015 being the best year ever or the biggest pile of shit possible. Good riddance vs good to have met you.  

How do I sum up 2015? Well it would read like a heart monitor. 

July - fucking awesome. We moved back to Bristol

August - the stratosphere of immenseness and shock. Baby number 3 is on the way!!!

September - shock and fear - I have an extremely aggressive and rare cancer

September - relief. I can keep my baby as long as I'm aware of the risks to my health. 

October - sheer excitement. Baby is growing well and is a girl!!!

November - fear again. Baby must come now or there's an extremely high chance none of you children will have a mother

December - elation. Ally's is here and she's fine!! She's doing so well. My little beacon of light is here.

December - utter utter heart break and devastation. Ally has died.

If I'd written a Facebook post about 2015 it would have gone something like this "fuck you 2015. You were the worst year of my life. You brought me cancer, gave me a death sentence and you took my daughter. I fucking hate you. You absolute cunt. Cunt cunt cunt CUNT!!!!!!!! 

Then the clock struck 12 and what happened? I felt exactly same. 

As I sit here having these drugs pumped into my arm I feel exactly the same. These are the drugs Ally was born early in order for me to have. Every Time I hear the word Herceptin I want to scream. I should still be pregnant and counting the weeks down until March. Feeling her acrobatics in my tummy. Or I should be going from chemo to cuddles with Ally. She had over 90 % chance of survival at 28 weeks. If I'd waited another 3 weeks for treatment my cancer had a really good chance of spreading. In which case I would no longer have a cure just a preventative care package. I'd then be facing saying goodbye to my three children. 

I honestly believed in my heart of hearts that she would be fine. I thought there's no way someone can have so much shit happen to them in one go. She was born healthy and doing so incredibly well. 

Everyday I went back and fourth from NICU to see my baby I passed a wall that contained loads of pictures of premature babies and how they are doing now. All I kept thinking was I cant wait to put Ally's photo up there. 

Then I went home for the first night and Ally became unwell. One day I'll tell you more but right now I can't. 

A few days after Ally left us a CT scan revealed I have nodules on my lungs too. We will know more about what these are around March time but it's not what we needed to hear. 

All anyone can say about this situation is how incredibly cruel it is and I really have to agree but there's one thing that I'm sure people find hard to digest in some ways which is that I don't regret keeping her. I got to meet her. She was a little person with a personality and the memories we have of her live on and on. 

If you believe in God, then you'll also be thinking that I will see her again. This is something I have come to believe. Is it a desperate mother clutching on to any ounce of hope she can or has the loss of Ally made me confront my beliefs head on? I didn't know I had any beliefs until now but I do know that when I was told Ally would die I smashed my hands together and prayed like a warrior. 

I'm sorry that this isn't upbeat and funny but I can say that I think I'm getting a grip of myself and that all of me is not lost. 

As you know I love an analogy, so here's another for you. 

I can almost see myself swimming in the wake of a ship wreck. The rescue boat is up ahead and I'm making my way towards it. As I drag myself through the icy dark waters I see some of my possessions scattered around me, I grab onto as much of it as I can carry under one arm while I paddle with the other. I feel exhausted and feel that I'm fighting an impossible battle as wave after wave forces me back. Sometimes it occurs to me that if I just gave in and slipped below the water then this would all be over and I could rest. Then Ally's pink hat floats by and I grab that piece of fabric like its a fucking life raft. I look to the rescue boat and I see Taits little hand waving at me and Noah shouting "come on mummy, you can do it". 

Then there's the Scouse one who projects absolute calm but the trained eye can see the lump in his throat as he shouts "keep going".

I look even closer and I can see the boat is rammed full of people all shouting my name. My friends, my family members, the Drs, people from my town and complete strangers and there, right at the front in the most beautiful white dress, is Ally. 

"Come on mummy. We love you. Don't give up."

Sometimes I really want to but I just focus on the boat and I swim. 

Where there is love, there is hope.

So I'm struggling to find how to write at the moment. There is a huge gap in our lives. The way I saw January panning out was trips between hospitals. I would have chemo and I would have Ally. Hospital 1, drugs in my arm. Hospital 2, drugs in my heart. You see Ally was a drug to me. She was motivation, positivity, love and so much more. Now she is gone I'm on a huge come down. I would say withdrawal but that would suggest that I'll be ok at the end.
What I can say with regards to hope is that there is some. I have two beautiful little boys and one large one to look after. I think if I lean right down, tilt my head and squint I can see the light at the end of the tunnel but wow it's hard to see.

My friend Lizzie can tell you a lot more. I've mentioned her before and she is the first person I thought of when it all started to get dark. She is the reason I started this blog and also the reason why I won't stop.

Please read.

Lizzie. Thank you xxxx

http://www.thesunwillcomeup.blogspot.co.uk/