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I’m A Mum. I Don’t Have Time For Cancer.
If cancer is cruel then waiting for those results was pure malevolence. But I’m a mum so life went on. I clicked into autopilot – dropping the kids off at school, running errands, supervising homework. I never once let on to my
I didn’t allow myself time to wallow until after 7pm. That’s when the wheels fell off. I couldn’t eat. I couldn’t sleep. Stage 1 and I was in with a fighting chance. Stage 4 meant slashed odds and a long, arduous battle ahead of us. My mind started playing tricks on me. I convinced myself of the worst possible scenario. I composed eloquent, emotional letters to my girls, a new one every year until they turned eighteen. I chose Don Henley and Ryan Adams songs to play at my funeral.
I was so
When I gave birth to Emily in 2011 I found
Thank god it’s me. Thank god it’s not them.
I can’t imagine the pain of having a child diagnosed with cancer. Perhaps that’s why the news has hit my parents so hard? It’s also exposed a
Last week I found myself shaking hands with a colorectal
‘I have good news and bad news. We believe its cancer but we’ve caught it early.’
I fist-pumped the air. I think I may have whooped as well. I couldn’t help myself… I’d just been ‘officially’ diagnosed with cancer yet my face was beaming. The surgeon looked stunned but I could only think in currencies of time. A Stage 1-2 diagnosis bought me major surgery but a 90% shot
I’ve had so many wonderful comments from friends and family since I shared my news. A few have remarked on how positive and brave I’m being. I don’t see myself as particularly brave. I’m just a mum fighting with everything I have to see my little girls grow up. To be there when their hearts get broken, to console or congratulate them on GCSE Results Day, to offer advice when their babies won’t sleep through the night… To be there for them, no matter what.
That’s not being brave. That’s just being