I feel that in parenting, optimism is treated very carefully -- mainly because those 'ah ha - nailed it' moments where you feel like a Jedi Mother Master, can be replaced very quickly by 'holy mother - have I just ruined this little person for life' type situations. Take for example last week; I read back on my last post and think 'ahh, how cute - she has no clue'. On Wednesday I was taking an evening walk, the two girls were babbling happily and I had that thought,'this is just delightful, maybe I'm excelling in the business of child rearing'. 

Well that was silly. That night, Evie wakes up coughing. A little pat and she's back down - sorted. The next morning she wakes up a little grizzly, her temperature wasn't too high so we continue play as usual, I tell her off for taking Isobel's toys, she cries hysterically and then slinks off. On hunting for her I find her laid out on her bed, roasting hot and asleep. I feel the mother guilt but I also feel a new sensation. I feel scared, for myself.

Evie then spends the next few days battling this cough/cold before Isobel comes down with it on Saturday. Isobel also has not one, but 3 teeth coming through. I feel this is a fairly ordinary cycle with children and majority of parents take it on the chin -- accept there's going to be a few sleepless nights, keep working, take some pain relief and power through without giving it much thought. It's what I did, before becoming a cancer patient, before being the owner of a compromised immune system.

Now I'm aware of my body's every ailment - hmmm, could that be a patch of dry skin? slight itch of my foot? I honestly could not tell you how many times a day I check my lymph nodes or I trace the scar on my neck suspiciously. I had been feeling good so I had started to become a little more confident and easing off my once overs. Then on Monday, it hit. I felt a slightly scratchy throat. No problem, drink lots of water, take it easy, have an early night. By this morning I could only but whisper. I'm not going to lie, it's terrifying. Thoughts race through my head -- could this cold be the chink in my armor that allows the cancer to get busy? Why did my immune system not fight this off? I quickly dispel those thoughts. I take my temperature, 98.1. Phew. No raging fever. I use the head lamp method to check my throat, too busy blinding myself in the mirror to draw any conclusions here. I take my blood pressure, because yes, I have indeed created my own home mini clinic. I wasn't joking when I said I was missing my Oncologist and nursing team. I drank lots of tea and tried to draw from my inner zen not worry too much. It may just be a sore throat, which would most likely be extra sore on a post radiated throat. 

Evie is now back to her happy self. She's clearly enjoying my lack of talking. From across the dinner table she looks at me and demands, 'I Need Yogurt'. I attempt my best Jedi Mother Master glare and just about manage to whisper 'asssk niiiiccceellly', which sounds like I have taken a turn to the dark side. She smiles and looks at Daddy, 'I need Ice cream, Daddy'. Clearly I'm not as scary as I think.

I could tell Nick was worried when he came home today. He brought me flowers and dessert. After the girls went to bed, he looked at me and said optimistically, 'would you like dessert?'. 'Yes, please Nick'. He looked relieved, so am I. I know that if I'm still eating dessert, I'm 'A Ok'.

Any Brits landing in Chicago for the first time this week would be pretty awestruck by our incredulous zest for life. That or just be a tad scared as we have been crazy friendly. What they may not realise is that for the past 2 months we have scanned the tv for frostbite warnings before leaving the house; choosing between looking like a big polar bear or smaller mountain bear and keeping socialising to a minimum. Our lives have been pretty much devoid of outdoor activity. 


Which is why, on Monday, I was walking on sunshine - or at least not ice. It was so beautiful. It was still mountain bear coat weather but you could feel the warmth of the sun on your face and it felt good. The Chicago summers are amazing; it's hot, there's a beach, art fairs, food fairs, free music in the park, and a lot of festivals. I love them.


Eager beaver that I am, I have spent majority of the last 2 days outside; watching the ice melt on the Fox river, playing with sticks and jumping in puddles...... don't worry, I bring my toddler along to validate my activities.  


We chatted to every person we passed on our travels - a teenage boy complimented me on my coat, some runners picked up some sticks to add to our collection and a man gave Evie some bread to feed the ducks. Even the dogs seemed to be smiling. I know there's that possibility of it snowing again next week but that's ok. You can't have a rainbow without a little rain and I love life's rainbows. On that note, I'm going to take my crazy friendly self to bed. 

I was text chatting or otherwise known as 'texting'(wait, what..how old have I got?) a lovely friend today on the subject of hair. I'm lucky, she happens to really dig short hair styles and frequently sends me style ideas.  I've been watching my hair grow eagerly in the anticipation of our girls day in a months time when I'm hoping to have it cut. Although I think maybe styled maybe a more realistic goal. 

She mentioned I should document my hair re-growth in styles. When she mentioned this it seem really rather obvious. Of course I should, I've documented every other side of this journey, opened up about all sorts on this webpage but my hair journey has somehow feels so exposing. 

Naturally is is physically exposing, there's no feminine hair to stroke behind the ear or wisps of hair to frame around the face. It also felt exposing in terms of holding the 'cancer label'and lets face it, nobody wants that label. I didn't loose sleep over loosing my hair, but I was very aware of the effect it had on others. Particularly family, Nick. Treatment was on the most part a relief, I did well. I got up every single morning as usual, dressed and applied blusher, concealer and lipstick. I looked and acted normal, or as normal as I get. That was, until my hair thinned beyond saving.

One evening, about a month after I finished chemo, I accepted I needed to start afresh with my hair. I was fine with this, I was happy watching the remains of my hair get cut to about 1cm long. It was a relief, until Nick walked in, his face fell and with it his guard. I think for him this was one of those moments where reality checks in and you're momentarily lost. I saw all the emotion on his face, he was sad and I could see a little pity and pain. Then he was back, smiling and stroking my furry head. Maybe it was him seeing me so strong and happy whilst completely exposed allowed him to drop his guard, which he rarely does. My guard then became my wig. Not because of Nick's reaction but because I love it. It's styled and easy. I can hide happily under my luscious locks. I love it so much it never occurred to me that I could stop wearing it. I still wear it, I'm wearing it now but I decided I want to photo journal my hair as it is. Exposed and all.