This time last year the house was full of flowers and cards. In the preceding four weeks a large chunk of my abdominal contents had made a great escape, courtesy of the surgeons at the ERI, I had been hit with a diagnosis of ovarian cancer, I had cut my hair, chosen a wig and had my first chemotherapy session. It had been an emotional few weeks for the whole family, thrown into the early stages of a ride towards unknown territory. Looking back on it now, from the distance of the first anniversary, it seems like a bad dream. Just to remind me that it was all real, though, this orchid that I was given last autumn has come back into glorious flower. So I think it’s time for me to look back over my year – and then forget about it.
I have recently read Lance Armstrong’s story Continue reading
“Mum! What’s that you’re wearing?” 😯 I can’t quite replicate the tone of total repulsion.
I’ve discovered a wonderful support group of friends. You know deep down they’re there all the time and it really doesn’t take much of a crisis for them all to rally round. G and I sat and chatted not long after the cancer was confirmed and decided my hair had to go. Not completely – its demise would come in its own time, maybe three weeks into the chemo – but as its days were definitely numbered, it would be easiest to start with it short. Smaller handfuls when it goes, you see. And maybe less of a shock. So the girls came round with the tools of the trade and cut my hair by good humoured committee. I now have a stylish new look which shows off all my earrings; it’s just a shame it’s not going to last too long.