Lazy Sunday Lego day

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I’m laying in my bed, legs weary from walking around LegoLand all day yesterday, with a sunburnt nose despite lots of factor 50 SPF application and a general feeling of contentment.
James is playing with his new lego and is amazing us that he’s put a Spiderman character together already, but we’ve also encountered our first Lego injury….I’m just waiting to step on a piece and start the swearing tirade of s*it, *uck, t*at, ba*ls.

I foresee a very expensive hobby about to unfold.

It’s been a full on week at work and I can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel and in amongst meetings and testing and times where the project was scrapped, I got some news.
The good thing about being busy is that you tend to forget about impending results from hospital. For the first time in a LONG time I didn’t focus all my energy on a tumour that may or may not be there.

And the distraction paid off as my MRI was clear. A lovely call from Dr Powell herself and a no need to attend clinic until August!

Happy days.

This morning I woke up still exhausted from the weeks events with feet so sore and achy, but a lightness in my heart from being so relieved. Maybe I won’t cry in the swimming pool again for a little while.

Oh and the pain…well it could be linked to an intolerance to a type of food. If it’s wheat, I’ll deal with it even though I love bread and bread loves me. But if it’s cheese/dairy I shall cry and cry until I’m sick.

You can take my French baton stick, but you’ll never take my Raclette!

How ridiculously middle class did that sound? Soz.

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The resemblance is uncanny, non? Yes I’m wearing my dressing gown, I’ve just told you tired I am!

I don’t wanna talk about it…

…how you broke my heart.

So I joined a gym and those of you who follow me on Facebook or Twitter will know of my quest to get fitter and how I have been doing couch to 5k etc, but I love swimming. I am part fish being a Pisces so I can swim through the water with the greatest of ease.
I can get into a right little stride and wade on through. Last night I managed 64 lengths for the first time in about 10 years.

My arms cannot go above *here*.

Amazing, right? This time last year I couldn’t have done that. Aces.

Except, the reason wasn’t because I’m improving my strength and stamina, it was down to embarrassment.
No, my top didn’t float away and I didn’t belly flop into the pool (you’re not allowed to do that anyway, didn’t you read the signs??) and I most certainly didn’t do any heavy petting.

No, I decided to cry.
In my defence it Magic FM’s fault. Who the fuck plays Sad Magic FM in a gym? At least play some Hall and Oates or something a bit more upbeat.

So, it went a little like this…

This is Magic FM
Farking hell, time to go underwater
I can tell by your eyes that you’ve prob’bly been cryin’ forever,
Oh crap. I love this song. *starts swimming, pick an apple, put it in your pocket, pick an apple, put it in your pocket*
and the stars in the sky don’t mean nothin’ to you, they’re a mirror.
*tears start stinging eyes* Stupid Everything but the Girl song.
I don’t want to talk about it, how you broke my heart.
If I stay here just a little bit longer,
If I stay here, won’t you listen to my heart, whoa, heart?

I wish I had goggles, I look like a dickhead.
This continues for the entire song which may or may not have included sobbing whilst trying to sing the song and swim.
*Reaches end of lane to horrified look on fellow patrons face*
Stupid non waterproof mascara.

Maybe it was the chlorine. Yea definitely a reaction to the chlorine.

And before you all club together to have me committed, I’m ok. No seriously, I’m ok. Once August is here I’ll be better and until then we’ll just wait for the lottery win.

Just imagine how many lengths I’d do listening to Hall and Oates…

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Hiccup.

How the mother flipping is it July? How are we closer to Christmas now than Easter and why is time moving so fast?

I guess this is what happens when you’re busy in your life. Time just seems to evaporate into thin air. Routines are the norm and with the introduction of nursery, that desire to know what you’re doing at any given time is even more paramount.

But as you coast along watching the hours whirr by with your project deadlines looming and your Son’s childhood flashing before your eyes, there will always be something that stops you in your tracks.

A hiccup in your path to moving on.

Such a tiny hiccup is occurring at the moment. And I call it a hiccup because it’s an insignificant blip on the radar.
It’s an annoyance more than a game changer. But it should be noted, because things like this happen. In my journey of being a cancer warrior you need a couple of conflicts to keep your army strong so that’s how I’m thinking about this.

On Tuesday, I’ve got a little MRI just to check on ‘that’ area again after some pain I’ve encountered. But it’ll be fine. No biggie. I’m even going to go on my own so you just KNOW that there will be a hilarious hospital gown selfie picture that will surface.

Do I think it’s anything sinister? Nah.
Am I scared though? You betcha. If you’re not scared, you don’t care.

But it’ll be fine. It has to be.

And until then, we will watch the hours whirr by with project deadlines looming and your Son’s childhood flashing before your eyes.

Because this is just a hiccup.

To be or not to be…now I have my answer

15 months…check. Boom.

Today I had the pleasure of meeting Dr L (damn I knew I should have name checked you!) who after introducing herself, promptly told me how much she liked my bag. The Mulberry had its first hospital outing today.

We chatted for a bit and the usual questions came up;
‘Bowel ok?’
‘Yep’
‘Bladder?’
‘Well, actually, the urgency to go for a wee is a bit more now but manageable’. She explained how this was a lasting effect of the radiotherapy I had and completely normal. Also doesn’t help that I have had a baby and any Mama knows your wee patterns are never quite the same after you have had your little darling…

It was then time for the main event…the physical examination.
Whilst chatting about how cheeky our ‘threenagers’ are especially when it comes to ratting you out about your alcohol consumption, Dr L, did a thorough internal (which still has me wincing despite all the treatment I have encountered – you never get used to a doctor with a plastic tool up your hoo-haa) and made a couple of comments (which I will spare you dear readers, but it was very reassuring) and gave me the delightful news that the fuckwit, cervical cancer, was still being kept at bay…for another 3 months at least.

Boo – fucking – ya! 15 Month check – nailed it.

And actually breathe again and nearly pass out from holding it in.

Throughout my appointments, throughout all the questions I am asked by doctors, nurses and other medical professionals, there is one question I have been been too scared to ask. I’ve not wanted to know why because knowing would take the last smidge of hope away.
But today, today I had the courage to ask because I need to move on to the next part of my life and stop tormenting myself.

I sat with a tissue in my hand, my head concentrating on my lap and with Dr L leaning forward to try and hear what I wanted say through the tears already falling from my eyes.

‘I know I can’t have anymore children, but I want to know why’

I know its a silly question, we know why, but I needed to know in black and white. I needed the facts, however hard it is to hear.

‘There are two parts; part one your ovaries would have been in the radiation field and therefore the eggs would be damaged; part two your womb would also have been in that area and not able to accommodate a baby’

As soon as she said that, it was as if a weight was was lifted.
A simple clarity to assist in dissipating a lifetime of heartache.
That horrible thing your body does, tricking you into thinking something could be happening because you recognise a niggle that ‘ooo might possibly’ be ovulation pain…can be just swept aside now.

We have a very amazing friend, so amazing that she offered to be a surrogate for Pete and I, but now, knowing what I do now about my eggs, its made it easier for that decision to be discounted, but be forever in her debt for thinking of doing something so selfless.
Even Dr L got a bit emotional about that. I love Dr L. She’s a Mama. She knows.

So the next step…maybe now we can actually talk about the next step. Whatever that maybe.

And maybe now I can take some comfort in the fact that I might not carry anymore children, but I am here and I am well.

Once the tears have dried of course.

To be or not to be…now I have my answer.

Comfort

I’m sitting here in my chair, admiring the nails I’ve just had done and their gorgeous purple hue.
I’ve got some purple stocks gracing a vase and some Sweet William to add to it with the most violet petals.
I’ve planned my purple outfit and in my head are the words I’ll put as Facebook statuses and tweets.

Tuesday the 20th May will be the day when I see my fabulous Bart’s team again for my 15-month check.

15 months??? How is that possible? I very nearly forgot this appointment. We went to book a holiday and it popped up in my calendar. Although it’s never really far from my mind, I am beginning to let it go and not dominate my life as much anymore.

I’ve had a few people ask why I like people to show me there purple clothes every 3 months; the truth is I can’t really remember how is started, I think it was a tweet about being part of an army when I started my treatment and it just gathered from there. And now I ask people to do it because it brings me comfort. For one day every 3 months, I get people send me messages, tweets, Facebook pictures and emails with all the creative ways they can conjure up purple for me. From babies in handbags to lilac badges to purple knickers. Yes I have had several underwear photos sent to me. All done tastefully of course.

It makes no sense and the cynical realist I have become knows it doesn’t really mean anything to any tests that I have, or , to the outcome of that little appointment that I have on Tuesday.

But for a few hours every 3 months, I have a group of people (#purplearmy #fransarmy) who are willing to let me know they are thinking of me and support me. In all seriousness, it’s those few hours that help me forget the build up of tension and anxiety each appointment brings.

It’s my army who get me through.

And I want to thank you all for doing it in the most imaginative ways possible!

I love you all.

Send your prayers, if you pray.
Send your good thoughts and vibes, if you have them.
Send your love, luck and hugs.
And send your pictures of you in purple.
That gesture alone is worth so much to me.

Totes wanting to show off my tiny tan I have…

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Three.

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To my darling James,

It’s that time of year when Mama reminisces of when the trees bloom their blossom while I waited for my Spring baby to arrive. I remind myself how I waddled and paused for contractions to pass as I made my way to the Auntie Giu’s car. It took
20 minutes to walk 30ft.
Every time I go over a cattle grid it takes me right back to that journey to the hospital. I’m pretty sure that sped up the dilating for sure, although I wouldn’t recommend that method.

Today you turn 3.

What do I say to you about you turning 3?
You are challenging, inquisitive and strong willed.
You are stubborn, bolshy yet beautifully kind.

You are my boy, my baby, my absolute world.

How on earth is it ever possible that you are the tiny age of 3, yet 3 is simply a magnificent age.

Off to be a Superhero again....

Off to be a Superhero again….

1095 days ago you came into our lives and simply changed it forever. I say simply because loving you is the easiest thing in the world for me. Being a Mother, now that’s the hard part.

James you’re a threenager in the making with tantrums that can break a ninja.
A wibbly lip that melts me into putty with a tiny tear to guilt trip me for days.
But that smile. Oh that smile makes me fall in love with you everyday.

You make me hap-pea too my boy.

You make me hap-pea too my boy.

You and I can talk for hours and very often we do. You tell me everything that’s in your head and everything around you.
Your imagination is running wild and I hope you never lose it. Having something so amazing will keep you entertained for hours. Trust me, it’s what keeps Mama sane sometimes. Going into your little world, making the mundane around you more exciting.
But everything is exciting in a 3 year olds world. From taking the train to a far away land (Liverpool Street), to going on holiday (staying overnight at Auntie NaNa’s), to jumping off a pirate ship (jumping off the side of the swimming pool).

Your favourite things are:
Gary the Snail
Rockets
Dinosaurs especially Andy’s Dinosaur adventures
Surprise eggs (Kinder surprise)
Racing (running from room to room)
Making tea with your red teapot
Singing
Dancing
Pharrell Williams, Kasabian and Elbow
Your best friend Johnny
Minnie Dog and Lexi-bum
And you love everything ‘dis much’.

Big smiles when you're with your Minnie Dog.

Big smiles when you’re with your Minnie Dog.

As with every letter I write to you, I always say how well you talk and there is no exception here. You love to chat and enjoy nothing more than a natter on your phone. Which is also your hand.

Your manner in which you do things whilst bull in a china shop-esque, is also mixed with the grace of a dancer. Except for when you thump and we have to tell you to be be quiet otherwise you’ll wake baby Molly.

You’re still in love with Baby Molly by the way and you have a soft spot for lots of other ladies too. Flashing your gorgeous brown eyes. I simply cannot think where your flirtatious side comes from.

James, sometimes (I mean this in the nicest possible way) you can be a little shit. You are definitely in the ‘how far can I try my parents patience’ stage and for every wonderful thing you do, you follow it up with ratbaggery of some kind.
But, you’re good most of the time, so we won’t ship you off to boarding school anytime soon.

James, things are changing and you’re growing up faster than I’d like. Soon you’ll be at nursery full time and then before we know it, you’ll be in school.
But never, ever forget that no matter what age you are, you’ll never stop being my baby.

Sharing cheese with Mama

Sharing cheese with Mama


Having fun with Daddy.

Having fun with Daddy.


And as we keep saying to each other and to Daddy, you’re my best friend.

Enjoy being 3 my sweet, darling boy.

I love you more than you’ll ever know

Keep growing strong,
Love,
Mama x


Selfie poser

Tick

There is a lady I would like you to meet…

Ladies and Gents, I give you Dr Powell (or The Amazing One as I like to call her).

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Excuse my tear stained face, but she had just announced that my MRI was ALL CLEAR!
Making it one year cervical cancer free.

*wibbly lip*

We then got chatting about the blog and raising awareness and to hear how proud Dr Powell was that I was doing this, just made me realise how important this message we all need to spread really is.

As ever, my purple army really stepped up a gear and really made me feel supported and loved with all the pictures and banter that everyone shared. We managed to change timelines to purple lines again and I couldn’t be more proud and overwhelmed.

If it’s made one woman get a smear test that she’s been putting off or go to the doctors or got a man to have an awkward chat, then our work is in progress.

I love you all.

One year. Tick.