I was feeling a little lost. I don’t have any treatments lined up or a Doctor’s appointment for 2 months. Assuming all is well and nothing sinister pops up. It should sound delightful, only the regular visits and checkups gave me a sense of security. Is it odd that I will miss them?  

Being diagnosed with cancer has given me the opportunity to reflect, take stock and re-evaluate life in a way that I don’t otherwise think would be attainable.  It strips away everything, at least momentarily, exposing those core things in life that are invariably the only things that really matter.  That’s quite liberating, it’s like having some of life’s shackles removed. I am more open, I definitely wouldn't have poured my heart out to an internet web page or people like I do now. I've been on the receiving end of more kindness than most people will ever experience and I feel more comfortable in reciprocating it.

Whilst reflecting, I keep thinking back to my travels. There are some people I think about almost daily; people who barely even know me or actually don’t even know me, but our lives passed at some point and their stories resonated with me.  I recently began reading through my old journals from my development worker days in Africa and it inspired me to start writing them up.  I suppose I would like to share their stories with others as they may never have the opportunity to share it themselves. It also reminds me how fortunate I am, sat here with access to wonderful medical care, food, water and a world full of possibilities. 

I am surrounded by folders full of emails and letters sent back from Zimbabwe.  I plan to write up a section per week and share on here.  I will put my time in Limbo Land to use. 

The one thing that worried me most about radiation treatment was not the exposure to a radioactive laser beam that would buzz around my head whilst I lay screwed under a head mask 4ft off the ground.  That I found fascinating. The thing that worried me most during treatment was the brass metal bell in the hallway outside the waiting room. It taunted me every time I passed it during my 15 days of treatment. 

I’d be waiting for my daily treatment and ‘ding dong ding’, off it would go.  All us folks in the waiting room would cheer and clap our hands, some of us would get a tear in our eyes.  You see, the bell signifies the end of our treatment journey, when the bell is rung it is done so by a fellow patient who has completed their course of treatment.  It’s beautiful to see and feel; it would send a flood of emotion through me and I would watch the person walk past us to leave, often smiling and crying. One lady, choking on tears shouted to us in the waiting room ‘It will be your turn soon’.

This is what scared me, my turn.  Obviously making this ding dong of a statement to a quiet group of strangers is a tad embarrassing for us shy folks who are trying to be inconspicuous. However it was more what the bell signified that scared me, the end of cancer treatment.  What every person ringing that bell hopes with every fiber of their being is that is the end of their cancer. 

I feel my fear is best described through a mountain analogy. To me, the bell is the peak of a mountain. One which on reaching, I have achieved my initial goal. The past 6 months have all been about reaching this goal, our lives have orientated around it, underneath the smiles and laughter, it consumed us. But it gave me a plan, mapped out a route to achieve the goal. On standing up here, on the peak, I can’t help but scour the horizon through the mist for higher peaks, hoping there are none. I also realise at some point I have to climb down this mountain through this mist to the other-side.  Only I don’t have a map this time, it’s all down to me to make my path and make it a good one.

It was with excited anticipation of this path ahead that I rang the bell. I went alone to my last appointment and was greeted by 6 of the Radiotherapy Technicians. They are some gorgeously lovely people, they whooped as they screwed me down for my last treatment and presented me with a ‘Graduation’ certificate on completion. One of the Doctors, who had looked after me, left me a post it note wishing me all the best.  That little note will always mean a lot to me.  Once I had been checked over, I left for the bell.  Armed with my radiation mask and 3 of the lovely Technicians for support, I made my dong. Actually rather loudly, I smiled and walked through the waiting room. No tears.  I surprise myself often; at my own vulnerability to certain things, mainly people and my strength with others.

So here I stand at the top of that mountain, planning a beautiful route down and trying not to worry about any future mountains hiding in the mist.

In December I received a mystery gift, beautifully wrapped with nothing but a note saying 'Enjoy your gift'. 

I had wondered if I would discover who the sender was, or if it was even intended for me, but weeks went by and the mystery remained. I decided to enjoy my gift. 

It is L'Occitane Shampoo and Conditioner and Oh My Goodness, it is the most divine smelling shampoo I have ever come across. Seriously heavenly. 

If the sender of this gift happens to read this, Thank You! I love it. I think James Brown aptly sums up how I feel after using this shampoo.

goes to Isobel.

If Isobel could accept this award, she would most likely do so by dribbling all over the microphone and use it as a mallet.

What does Isobel do to deserve this award? Aside from dribbling a lot. She eats a lot. She smiles all the time and erupts into spontaneous giggling fits. She is adorable and 8 months old today.


I felt she deserved her very own post. Isobel is the sort of baby that makes you want more babies (deep breaths Nick, wipe your brow, I know, no more babies). She's serene and loves a cuddle. Her gummy smile melts away even the deepest of worries and replaces it with the inexplicable urge to jump around making monkey noises. 


Which is exactly what we were doing to make her smile taking these pictures. 


We love you Isobel. Here's hoping you always find our monkey dancing so funny. 

I’m so very happy to see you.

Goodbye 2014, you were bittersweet. You gave me the unmeasurable high of Isobel being born, bringing with her more sunshine and love than possibly imaginable and then the crushing low of my cancer diagnosis and subsequent treatment. There have been tears and smiles, fun and trauma, exhaustion and kindness, so much kindness. It’s been emotional.

Life, this wasn't how I’d planned it but it’s beautiful. I have been on the reciprocating end of so much kindness, thoughtfulness and love. Friends, family and even strangers to me have gone to extreme lengths to support us. When I think back on the year’s events, I’m humbled and extremely grateful.  I’m currently half way through my radiotherapy treatment and approaching the lull in treatment where we wait. Wait to see if it’s gone.

Whilst waiting, I plan to take the beauty from last year into 2015 and draw all the positives out of my diagnosis. I will most certainly cherish all the little moments in life that little bit more and hug my girls that little bit tighter. Tell my loved ones I love them, bake, travel and make some exciting memories. I’d especially like to support others the way I have been supported.   

Thank you everyone - I’m a lucky duck. Happy New Year!