Thrills, pills and a headscarf

I love an inspirational quote. I'm a bit of a sucker for a nice little line to pick up my mood. As some of you may have noticed, Alice in Wonderland is a particular favourite of mine. However there's one line I see quite regularly that I just can't abide - the "This too shall pass" phenomenon. Something about this one really winds me up. I think it's the naivety of it. The truth is, not everything does pass. I got diagnosed with cancer over three years ago. Initially I thought I would take chemotherapy pills for two years and then I'd be done. It would pass. That was naive. Once you've been diagnosed with cancer it doesn't pass. Even if you recover and get the all clear, it doesn't pass. You get to live with the knowledge that you can be attacked from within your body, without knowledge, at any time. I would say for the majority of people who have had or have cancer, you live with a heightened suspicion of everything you feel. It wasn't...

A couple of weeks ago I hit a point I had hoped I wouldn't. I've had a lot of treatment since diagnosis and we've always, in the background, known immunotherapy exists. We've chatted about it a few times and always found some other option. It has remained the card up the sleeve and that's how I liked it. Until two weeks ago. That's when the world went for another spin and a spectacular crash for me. I went for my scan result and was informed the chemotherapy isn't working. Sure, the two smaller spots are shrinking but the big bugger (Stephen Shitbag) who's wedged himself at the back of my liver and is trying to buddy up with blood vessels and stuff, he's not having any of this chemo crap. While the rest of my body is busy falling apart from it, he's thriving and has grown two centimetres since the last scan. The shitbag. Well, we can't be having that. Me getting sicker from something that's supposed to be killing him. So chemo is off ...

"Tired of trying to cram her sparkly, star-shaped self into society's beige square holes, she chose to embrace her ridiculous awesomeness and shine like the freaking supernova she was meant to be." My aunt posted this quote months ago and I just had to save it, knowing it was exactly what I want to say in this post! This post is probably the most important one yet for me. I've known I've wanted to write it for sometime, I've spoken to large groups of teenagers just scratching the surface on this topic and I feel like now is the time. It's the time because this is the month of my 32nd birthday (I know many of you will be shocked I'm not turning 24 again this year!), and it's also the month I'm going to start the process of losing my physical identity again as I begin back on intravenous chemotherapy. To be honest my physical identity is starting to feel so fluid I'm not really sure I know what it is anymore. It's also the tim...

I recently sat in a bar in Manchester chatting to a friend who asked me about my blogs and how I write them. I explained that I don't blog to a schedule, it has to be when the time is right and I have the right topic. For that reason this one started in Madrid and is ending in New Zealand because I wasn't going to do it until I could really focus on it. There have been a lot of clues to point me in the direction of this topic lately. A lot of events or statements that got me thinking about how easily we neglect ourselves as we get caught up in "life", often forgetting that life is living. To set the scene of this blog, it started sat in a little apartment in Madrid at 7.30am, having given in to the jet lag that had had me awake since 5.15am. I finally decided this time before the city really comes alive could be used far more productively (and more enjoyably than tossing and turning trying to sleep). I opened the balcony doors (the only time it will be cool enough...

12am 1st of January 2018 I sat on that questionable terrazza in Chile, saying Cheers to the New Year with a non-alcoholic cocktail and a slice of pizza. The stray dog at my feet lay quite happily, unfazed by all the noise around us, and I laughed as I began my commitment to saying Yes to my year, to my life. We're now halfway through this commitment and I really want to consider what saying yes has done for me and those around me. To start with I want to apologise for saying yes to making the word yes a verb; it just feels appropriate this year. So as anyone who has read my January 1st blog knows, I started by saying yes to the circumstances offered to me. Not just accepting these circumstances but embracing them. I laughed at every level of imperfection in that moment and thought about how perfect it actually was. I could have chosen never to have taken on the challenge of going to South America for four weeks, with cancer, after two major surgeries and while still takin...

I like to think I was a fairly present person before this cancer diagnosis. I like to think a lot of things.  What I can say is this diagnosis has made me a far more present person, in so many ways, than ever before. Even with that wonderful chemo brain that makes me unbelievably forgetful, with the fatigue, nausea and tendency to space out (particularly when I'm low on blood sugars) I believe I'm learning the art of being more present. Note I say learning, not have learnt. (If we ever think we've reached perfection then we've failed ourselves - a hangover from my Learning and Development days) Something I realised after being told I may have less time than many is that I wanted my family and friends to know just how much they mean to me. For my nephews and nieces to know that as long as they continue being the wonderful people they are and never hurt anyone I will always think the world of them, that they are amazing and I couldn't ask for anyone better to...

"I used to think time was a thief. But you give before you take. Time is a gift. Every minute. Every Second."  - Alice Kingsliegh from Alice through the Looking Glass. This quote really resonated with me the other day when watching the film for the second time (the first time thinking I was perfectly healthy and had decades left in my life). It made me really think about my appreciation of the time I have and the people and opportunities I have or have had in my life. About a month ago I took another blow to my already "not great" diagnosis. My treatment plan is out the window and lots of question marks started flying around my medical teams. What did I do in response to this news? Insisted we had dinner by the waterfront and the next morning I went to the beach. Sitting on the beach I was happy. Not a feeling many people might expect me to feel the day after that news but I felt so fortunate to be able to take myself to the beach, feel the sun shining do...