Reality Tits and Tumour Humour (the pictures)

So here it is....a collection of real women, living the real life of cancer and they've been brave enough to let you see everything......

I am Vicki Coventry. I am real.

I'll get the hubby to take one tonight! Lol so much for a page 3 career 😂😂😊

I am Christina Bray. I am real.

Motherhood with chemo

Chemo like a boss.

I am Laura Gough. I am real. 

Lumpectomy and node clearance (lumpectomy failed to get all cancer so bilateral mx pics coming)

Bald patches and total hair loss (no minge pics though!!)

Admitted to hospital neutropenic just hours later 🙁

Bi-lateral Mastectomy with pathetically tiny implants. Nipple removal.

Last one! Fake titties, no nippies! 😂😂 xxxx

I am Zoe Fidler. I am real.

I am Fiona Carr. I am real. 

Found the green foobies!!

I am Miranda Ashitey. I am real. 

As nosebleeds are an annoying side effect of chemo, you can take the mature approach or the immature approach. Guess which one I settled on…?

Having Zoladex injections cos my breast cancer is ER+ - not the massive prick I wanted to be poked with

Cat nurse. Looking back at this pic makes me realize how ill I really was. I didn't really let that sink in at the time. It's like looking at a different person, almost an outer body experience.

I am Michelle Johnson. I am real. 

My radio burns

Baldy and wiggy x

I am Melanie Johnston. I am real.

Melanie: Rats. I could have shown you my tuna encrusted portacath site but the dog ate it.

Heidi: I was a little sick in my mouth then!!! Awesome!!!!!!!!!! Xxx

Melanie: Heidi he didn't really eat it........I did.

I did actaully drop some uneaten tuna on my site, looked in the mirror about half an hour later. Freaked out thinking I had some grim growth. Nope. Just a blob of tuna in chilli sauce.

Portacath sans tuna.

I am Daniele Atkinson. I am real. 

Here's my baldy ones. I didn't take pics of anything else horrendous as didn't really want to remember it, but looking at these posts I feel bloody lucky.  I barely had rads burns despite being really fair skinned and my scar is really tidy (sorry!) X

I am Nicola Jane Halsall. I am real.

Nicola: I've got pics of blue & red wee. Blue boob from sentinel node biopsy & picc line in situ if they're any good to you?

Victoria: Blue and red wee??

Nicola: Red wee from chemo & blue wee from the sentinel node biopsy 😀

Victoria: Nice!!

Nicola: The joys of BC 😂

Heidi: Yes please!!!!!!!!!!! Send me the wee!!!!!!!!!! Xxxxx

 Homer hair drawn by my daughter

The cocktail of anti nausea drugs

Picc line in situ

Blue boob from sentinel node biopsy

I am Rachel Ferry. I am real. 

Radiotherapy armpit x

I am Sammy Browning. I am real. 

Baldy MaGee

Fiona Carr - I actually thought the caption was baldy minge!!!!!! Was a little worried about scrolling down to the pic..... Lol

Sammy: Hahahahaha imagine! I know we're all very open but that's a step too far!!

I am Michelle Webb. I am real. 

Balding with coldcap

Chemo burns after my 1st Tax (chemo can escape cannulas and land on skin...this is what it does)

DIEP wound 6 days later

My left side DIEP wound

Road to recovery!

I am Marie Heyes. I am real. 

Hair falling out

Pink wee (

epirubicin)

Sammy browning:  Ah takes me back!

Marie: I know, fabulous times!

Sammy:( I had the dye injection too another time so had a full spectrum of wee colours...funnnn!

My dog ear has a nose full of seroma X

Christ, we've been through it and are still undergoing such huge trauma to our bodies. We are amazingly brave and strong and sometimes we cry and feel overwhelmed but we keep going. Always. Love to you all xxox

I was all gung-ho and healthy when I started on chemo. So I made these date and carob balls for healthy snacks. They tasted like poo rolled in coconut. I ordered a plate of hot toast & marmalade instead.

I am Kim Smith. I am real.

Heidi Loughlin: First wig fitting? I remember that moment. So fucking sad. Xx

Kim smith: Yes first wig fitting ! Most of my pictures show me laughing or messing about but my friend took this when I didn't know ....think my face says it all we all know it has to be done but the reality is like a freight train regardless of how we try to keep it bottled up and pretend it's ok

As I live in France my friends here and in the uk had a collection before chemo and they wrote me a lovely card and bought me a Jaccuzzi mat for the bath ....I think the photo hit me hard because with this card I felt for the first time the realisation of the cancer and forthcoming treatment and I realized I was truly loved and the impact it was having on my loved ones ....

I am Rachel Ferry. I am real. 

My back op

The scar on my back where cancer was cut from - 2 Tumours in a place "where cancer never goes to"

The Bruce Willis stage

Last Ever chemo / THE SECOND TIME! I've had 6 more since then and god knows how many more are still to come 😁

I am Denise Taylor. I am real.

Fuck knows why I look so happy. 😂😂😂

Marie Keyes  - I love this, maybe the cold froze your smile but you look like a hot lady jockey xx

I am Ella Mason. I am real. 

Biopsy bruise

Failing DIEP flap

I am Alison Flouri. I am real. 

10 days post mastectomy with adm/temporary expander recon

Catheter bag, glam

More cannulas

Drains

New family pets - drain worms

Losing hair

Bleeding arm post picc line insertion

Fourth drain!!

Keyes: Raspberry J2O x

Alison: lol X 

Failed cold capping 😢

Hair...clippered off

Double mastectomy scars, tissue expanders

Adio 'good' boob

A typical days medication

I am Caroline Issac. I am real. 

Hair which came out on 26th October. Note use of rubber duck for scale.

I am Alison Danes. I am real

I am Cimberlee Milam. I am real.  

No nipple! 😟

I am Annemarie Cotton. I am real. 

Yucky paclitaxel (chemo) nails on the mend

I am Theresa Scollan Cowie. I am real. 

Someone said I looked like Frankenstein when they saw this, others said, oh at least yr getting a tummy tuck... no, this was done to reconstruct my new Foob....12her surgery, 5hrs drive from my home, 3 hrs in recovery then in high dependency...alas four days later I was back to theatre as it had failed and had it removed in another four hour surgery and replaced with an implant x

Allowed out of hospital after suffering sepsis n unable to have my last chemo, for my daughter's 10th birthday...friends pulled together to sort her party for me <3 x

Why paint a boiled egg at Easter when you can paint mum's bald bonce!!

I am Sam McBride. I am real. 

I am Charlotte Short. I am real.

I'm a bit late to the party but here's mine... Scare is the result of 4 operations and above is my sexy port.... (a port is a little tap under the skin you attach your chemo too)

I am Hayley Purnell. I am real. 

Hate mine , double mx with recon permanent expanders , still bruised after nearly 6 months . Shouldn't be so ungrateful I know but finding this hard to get used to x

From this

To this when told I needed chemo

Fun for son

So hard not to cry , but needed it to be fun for my son who has autism

I am Victoria Allan. I am real.

When your hubby has to shave your head for you

Cancer face and very sore eyes.

A few hours post surgery (Mx and immediate DIEP recon)

DIEP tummy wound/scar plus new belly button (much prefer the old one!)

Losing a toe nail!

Swollen tax feet.

My normal feet for comparison.

Swollen tax tongue

very sore tax eyes

I am Jennifer Morrison. I am real. 

Mx on right side with immediate recon and delayed recon ld flap x

I am Joanne Hunt. I am real. 

The day my hair grew back....and i could put a clip in it

I am Clare Percival Ducker. I Am real.  

Fun playing pin the nip on the tit

When people stare at your fluffy head whilst your shopping so you might as well give them something to stare at

Glow stick boobs

I am Kim Feast. I am real. 

Those cold caps were attractive weren't they Jen!

Last chemo!

I am Lisa Judge. I am real. 

Hospitalised because I had infections through pic line ended up rocking the golem look ha ha

I am Sarah Perry. I am real.

Me and Penny at chemo at Christies. This was my first round of 24 Kadcyla chemo. Penny came to hold my hand. Penny died a week or so after this.

Real breast cancer isn't pink and fluffy and not everyone gets better. Penny was my friend who also happened to get cancer. Indiscriminate fucking disease killed her not me. Whenever anyone tells me how BC doesn't kill I show them penny's smiling face and pictures of her two little boys.

I am Lorraine Sleator. I am real. 

That was the night of when I'd had my mx and reconstruction done ( that morning) and I was in Saint Thomas hospital.... Think I put that pic up on Ybcn to say all done and I'm ok.

I am Julie Strelley-Jones. I am real.

Brain blasting souvenir

I am Helen Weller. I Am real.

Surgery get up (hat because it was the first day of snow 2015)

eUGHHH.....losing nails...forgot this one!

 The damage.......

to stop my housemates stealing my milk..

I am Leonie Cox. I Am real.

A chance portrait someone drew of me at a Cancer support group. I had sickness and diarrhoea and she made me feel beautiful when all I felt was exhaustion and baldness.. She found something else and made me feel stronger

I was so embarrassed of showing my bald head in front of people in surgery I made the nurse get me a blue hat head cover the medical staff wear!

Bloated and Ill from chemo me refusing to miss my son playing penalties at Northampton Town Football Club with his club...  Harder than it looks!

Actually trying to look sexy in surgery stockings! 😮

It sounds silly but I have so much more time with my children now... Quality time, full of love and appreciation for life... I have this illness to thank for that.

My superhero brother who as part of his training for ironman cycles 50 a mile  round trip to see me and is raising money for charities that that have helped me. He gives me strength and says I give him strength.

These last 3 are my most poignant..

Running- this was the morning after dx when u really don't know what to do... I got up in desperation and ran Parkrun.. I had hardly eaten/ slept for a week waiting for my results. All the way round I shouted at myself "if you can't do this, you have no chance of fighting cancer" I was terrified I wouldn't get round.

Hilltop pic - the weekend before chemotherapy started. I climbed to the top of Thorpe Cloud and felt this was the first time I really felt alive with the reality of what was to come. I felt like I was saying goodbye to my old world and stepping into the unknown.

Hospital pic - this was day 1 chemo reality...

It was the day of my 40th birthday!! I tried to see it as a positive symbol and refused to be miserable. The balloon kept it light hearted and they do say 'life begins at 40'.

I am Sian Lisney. I am real.

Hi Heidi, no probs. To put it in a nut shell... I found a lump after my usual check I do every few weeks and was referred by the GP, I was diagnosed at age 30 with grade 2 invasive breast cancer. My wedding was planned abroad and has now been postponed by 8 months as chemo will take 5 months. I then have surgery and then radio following that. I was growing my hair for my wedding and it was at its best when it started falling out, but being a hairdresser, I know full well my hair will grow back and look lovely again. I was prepared for it to fall out and was happy to shave it once it started coming out thick and fast. I do miss my hair but really quite like it shaved. Husband to be shaved his too, which was great having his support. I didn't cry, myself and fiancé laughed the whole time and I'll start a fresh when my hair starts growing back. In my eyes, the hair loss is the least of my problems. From experience with clients... It normally grows back thicker and better than before! 

I am Tracy Hendry. I am real. 

Hi Heidi...this was me embracing the head shave. Although I accepted I would lose my hair, I knew my family would find this hard more so my mum. She came along with me. It soon turned to hilarity when the mohickan appeared I looked like my brothers twin xx

My daughters baby bump....something that's seeing me through the chemo xx

I am Sarah Kennett. I am real.

Mouth Ulcers.

Sentinel node biopsy 

Hair falling out. 

I got the cat during chemo, she used to lie on my chest like that when I got back from the hospital. She doesn't do it anymore. I think animals know!

I've found a chemo one, makes me want to throw up!

I am Heidi Loughlin. I am real.

 Just call me Race Track Head. 

This is the reality of my kitchen.

This is me holding my daughter Ally the night before she died. I knew she was dying, I held her for hours. 

My family are all having tattoos of Ally's butterfly. This is my auntie Nadia's

This is the worst picture of me I have ever seen. Chemo puff, steroid cheeks and hair like the Wheetos man.....Noah couldn't give a shit what I look like. He says I'm beautiful. 

Raising funds via a coffee morning - an idiots guide

This is not a standard blog post....it's exactly as advertised so you don't need to read this unless you've come here specially to find out how to organise a coffee morning. Or you're bored and just want to read something. Either way.... Welcome.

I was requested to write this guide by Natalia Spencer whom I, along with my lovely friends, held a coffee morning for a few weeks ago.
We raised £1925 for The Grand Appeal.

Step my step guide for idiots like me on how to raise money via a coffee morning. 

1. Book a large hall. 

Think facilities for hot drinks, plenty of seating and tables, buggy room, room for children's activities and stalls. Say it's for charity and you may get it free or for a reduced price. 2-3 hours for event and an hour to set up and an hour to clean up.

2. Rope in friends and family. This is so much easier as a team. Delegate roles and play to people's strengths. The more the merrier. We defo had jobs for everyone and you also need people floating about to say hello to people and move floats about etc.

3. Blag raffle prizes! Local businesses are usually happy to donate something. If they need a bit of a nudge offer free advertising for them via a shout out on social media. 

4. Advertise on all local Facebook sites for face painters, balloon modellers, messy play, disco babies, book people, cup cake decorators. All these people will usually do sessions for free and they can give out leaflets about their businesses. If you can't get face painters then rope in an artistic friend and buy some 'snazaroo' paints off of Amazon. Get them to have a practice before the event. If they are good you can charge £2 a face or get some stencils and do for £1-£1.50. Same with balloon modellers. You can rope someone in to knock together a dog etc. Advertise the event immediately and you can update it with what's happening as soon as you know. Put posters up around the town and contact the local press for a free article. Get on the radio. 

5. Sell the raffle tickets as soon as you rope in the first prizes. Keep updating the list of prizes on Facebook before the event and inform people who they can buy them off and that they can also buy them on the day. Everyone who is organising can be given a some to sell. Make sure people write their name and number on the back if they aren't present for the draw. We sold ours for £1 a ticket.

6. Get baking!!!!!! Get as many cakes in as us possibly can. Sell them for £1 a slice at least or 2 small ones for £1. 

7. Charge adults to get in but kids free. Suggest and entry fee of at least £1.

8. Have buckets dotted all over the hall for donations. 

9. Stalls. We arranged a tombola, guess the sweets jar, colouring competition and lucky dip that we ran ourselves and we had local businesses come in for free and do cupcake making (all decorating items donated by Sainsburys), disco babies, messy play, a spinning businesses brought bikes in for the kids to zoom about on, we had Elsa and Anna from frozen come in for free from a local mascot business. We sold teas, coffees and drinks with straws (no cups needed) and we drew the raffle at the very end of the event. 

By having so much for the kids to do, it kept the adults there and they bought more teas, coffee and cakes. 

At the end of the event if you are left with anything you can ask people to take what they want and drop a donation in the bucket. That way you aren't left with anything and you can collect more money. 

10. Have thank you letters to send out to all business's that have helped and donated.

11. You'll need to buy teas, coffees, plastic cups if the venue don't provide them, plastic bags for rubbish, buckets for money. You'll need to arrange a float for each stand. Delegate a person for each table and they can make posters and decorate their own tables. Ask everyone to bring a cake stand with their cakes to present them nicely. We just gave ours out on napkins and it's good to have sandwich bags for people to take cakes home. 

Blog award MADness

What is a blog?

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

Hyper Aware

People often ask me how do I cope so well with what is happening?

Initially I consider if they are talking about dealing with a rare and aggressive form of cancer with a very dismal prognosis, or, are they asking me about the loss of my daughter Ally? 

What I have established is that 9/10 times they are asking me about Voldertit. 

This is because people don't want to ask about Ally for fear of upsetting me. I totally understand. No one wants to be the reason that tears arrive. However, I feel I should point out that I am thinking of her every second. By mentioning her name to me you are not reminding me that my daughter died, you are reminding me that she lived. 

You are telling me you are also thinking of her and that is important. You see, Ally exists with me, always. 

I want to talk about her, I want you to ask about her, I want her name spoken as often as possible because she is a huge part of who we are. 

Every time I look at the boys I wonder how much Ally would have looked like them, what her personality would have been like and what her first words would have been. Would she have recited the word 'Bellend' as proud as punch after hearing it from her daddy just as her oldest brother did? Would she have had my sense of humour and our rogue ginger gene? 

I'll never know. 

So we go back to coping? How do I 'cope'? 

Well someone told me that everyone copes because what is not coping?

I guess it's dying? Some could argue that I'm already doing that... I'm stage 4 with no cure. I'll always have cancer. But then we are all dying right? We all go at some point but maybe we live our lives based on assumption of 'making old bones' and I've been reminded that death knows no rules. It rolls however it wants to. It smokes crack one day and goes to church the next. It does whatever it wants, to who ever it wants, whenever it wants. 

Death is very real to me so I put it to you...

Am I lucky?

My mortality is very tangible and will continue to be this way until I'm switched off or I become the epitome of irony 'Cancer-mum who risked life to save daughter who passed away after 8 days beats cancer only to be crushed by unsecured letter 'V' hanging off of 'VUE Cinema' Cribbs Causeway.' 

........seriously this has occurred to me!

 

Sorry.

 'Am I Lucky?'

I live with the knowledge that I may die a lot sooner then I planned.  Therefore I see the world in a slightly different way. I'm hyper aware that maybe when I do something now it could be for the last time. I don't mean like 'make a sandwich' or 'put the bins out' I mean if I go to the beach it could be the last time. When I take off my shoes and feel cold sand beneath my feet then dust that sand off to put my shoe back on, that could have been the last time I will feel sand. 

Now again, that can be said for any of us. What you are doing right now could be the last time you do it (please don't die reading my blog....that would mean I literally bored you to death) because don't forget that massive proverbial 'bus' driving around the world wiping us out one commuter at a time. 

That bus!!!!!! Remember everyone it could hit you at anytime!!!!!!

That FUCKING bus is getting more air time then this weird celebrity threesome story doing the rounds.... Can I say who it is? I doubt they'd gag me. Not good for PR......'tragic cancer mum who writes shit blog full of grammatical errors names celebrities involved in (cock)gagging order, is then arrested and forced into a line up with Phil Mitchell then subsequently thrown in gaol whereby her cancerous body shrivels into a skeleton on the floor, when found her twisted corpse had an outstretched finger pointing towards some really dodgy plastic coloured glasses and a Dolce and Gabbana carrier bag.'

No I won't say whose involved because really, does anyone actually give a shit?

So, I digress. Everything I do, I'm wondering if it could be the last time. 

It's exhausting but it's also kind of beautiful. 

Taking things in on that kind of level is one hell of an experience. I'm planning all these grand trips with the kids and they are so important to me but it's the small things (cliche ding ding ding) that really count. 

When I put Tait to bed and he has his milk and is calm (normally he's running around like he's being chased by the dude from Texas chainsaw massacre) I look at him. I mean I really look at him. His fingernails, his eyelashes, his hair and I take it all in. I absorb it and store it in my memory. 

When Ally was in NICU I didn't take it all in. 

I took in some things but I didn't really get everything locked down that I should have. 

I can remember when she was poorly that she looked at me and flicked her eyes from right to centre. That was the only time I can recall eye contact with her and it's crystal clear in my mind but why didn't I take in everything else? It's because I didn't observe things fully until I realised that actually things aren't going to necessarily be ok. 

I have been handed a pair of glasses that make me view the world in a different way to this time last year. I was a normal 32 year old with two young children driving her round the bend. Things have changed since then. (The bend driving is still the same)

None of us knows when we will die but we all assume we'll be grey, crinkly and rocking in a chair whilst looking at photos of our great grand children. 

Me? In theory I'll be lucky if I make 40. 

But I still visualise myself as that woman rocking in a chair, so thankful that I defied the odds and  so grateful that I lived my life as a hyper aware. Taking in every detail that matters. 

'Cancer-mums last words on death bed: I will remember it all, always.'

Uno-bap the Robot

Happy Easter just autocorrected to 'happy raster.' Made me laugh.

Anyway..............

A few weeks ago someone I know who also lost their beloved daughter in the latter part of last year said to me that he'd looked around himself recently and wondered when it had become lighter? 

What he meant was that when his daughter had died it had been winter and that time had stopped at that point. He'd now suddenly realised that the nights and mornings were becoming lighter and that he'd lost all concept of time. 

It was at that point that I wondered the same thing. Where has the time gone and also how does the earth keep turning at the point your world implodes? It's very much like that grandfather clock in that song about the old man. When he died, the clock stopped. 

But it's only your clock that stops....everyone else's keeps ticking along. Everyone else keeps going. 

That's because they have too. 

That is the way of the world.

We now find ourselves in Spring and with spring comes many things. The little bulbs that have been shivering below the surface push through into the unknown showing us their beauty, all the pastey vampires like myself now have to reveal a little more translucent skin and the kids go off the fucking dial when the clocks go forward. 

But nothing beats Easter!!! 

The chocolate from Christmas has started to melt and reform into some unrecognisable blobs that are half diary milk half tin foil and there's something unsettling about biting off a chocolate snow mans head at the end of March.

 It's time to bring in the eggs!!! 

Why is it eggs we give at Easter? Well eggs are a symbol of new life. 

Spring is full of new life. It's all around us. It's time for a change.

So let me tell you about something that's changed for me...

I am now operable!!!!! 

I can have Voldertit removed! 

I can become UNO-BAP!!! 

You might be scratching your heads here for several reasons. I understand. 

'Wasn't she always going to have her bad-bap removed?' 

'Why is someone so happy to have their boob whipped off?'

'Why can't she think of any other funnier word for her fun-bags?'

Well, I never told you but after Ally was born, Voldertit was so strong, so big, so out of control that it wasn't looking good for me. Inflammatory Breast Cancer  has to be shrunk with chemo before it can be removed and my chemo didn't work so it was looking like Voldertit had won. Then Lung nodules were discovered and I stepped up to stage 4 as a result (I'll never be cured, cancer will always live with me but it'll be hiding in that cupboard that no one ever opens for fear of all the shit falling everywhere) and aggressive treatment began to buy me as much time on this turning planet as possible. 

It is not a given to have a mastectomy with IBC, it's something you hope for.

This month was always going to be that milestone we dreaded but it's been and gone and the boat is a pretty good one. 

I rocked up for a CT scan whereby I was handed a large jug of dye contrast to drink. It was bad. I was gagging as it tastes foul. I'd eaten bugger all, all morning in preparation and Scouse was next to me chomping on a double decker ( my favourite). I looked around for the nearest toothpick that I could stick under his finger nails so he'd scream and subsequently drop the Chocolate bar into my wide drooling grid. 

There weren't any! Dam the NHS and their cutbacks!! 

I then went for a Breast MRI. This was where you flop your tits into two holes whilst lying face down on a gurney and you're squeezed into a tunnel. Then an IV floods your body with 'Gadolinium.' It's a rare-earth metal with the atomic number 64. 

What the hell does that mean right? Who knows but I'm lying there practically converting to Robot status.

The noise of the machine is like a repetitive twang at a million decibels and honestly after listening to it for what felt like eternity I swear it sounded like DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE DIE. Honestly!! It made my 'chemical self' start chuckling away at the irony. All the shit I've been through to this point and the scanner which indicates the progress of my illness is telling me I'm screwed!!! The cheek! 

I am one pissed off Robot and immediately steal Bender from Futuramas line and utter to the scanner 'bite my shiny metal ass'. 

As I am now 80% the chemical element GD, I walk out of the hospital and up the hill towards the car. 

Spring is very much in the air. I notice I'm not wearing a coat and I feel warm. When did that happen? 

My companion nods discreetly in the direction of a rather large lady walking towards us from a distance who is wearing jeans with holes in and mutters something along the lines of 'I always think large people who wear holey jeans look like they've 'exploded' them. You know, kind of like the 'Incredible Hulk'. 

'Yes' I say as I'm mentally throwing my holey jeans in the bin. These steroids have made my legs in 'holey jeans' look like a play-dough fat factory. Good times. 

I go in for chemo number 8 and I'm told that after reviewing my scans with the surgeon I can now have my rotten, malfunctioning cahoona removed!!! AND my lymph nodes are bloody well clear!! The chemo blasted them good and proper. If we ignore the lung nodules crap then this is fantastic so I'm taking this as a victory in this battle. 

I've never cared about what this shit storm will do to my looks so having wonky or no baps does not bother me at all. 

Hell I'd surgically attach a penis to my nose and call myself Nellie the Elephant if it would help save my life. 

So see you later tit! You can hang in the bin with my hair, my previous size 12 body and my old untraumatised bumhole.  

So Let's embrace the change that Spring brings us. Let's eat chocolate til we barf and let's keep as strong as we can without morphing into Robots. 

And to my cancer.... Slide down my fist!

(The most up to date Bucket and Spade list

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