I was initially angry at my body for letting me down; I’d always relied on my sturdy self to keep me going, a ‘good do-er’. I wasn’t going to win the Olympics with my athleticism or indeed the local 5k, endurance is more my bodies line of work. When I’m tipsy I for some reason randomly talk of having Scottish highlander legs of my Granddad, much to the amusement of my husband who rolls his eyes and crosses his rather fine Scottish legs.

My body has endured going on a hundred falls off horses, several nights shivering outside in Scandinavia when hitch-hiking failed, a bout of malaria in Zimbabwe, a sickly sweet teenage spell of overindulging in Bacardi breezers and our life’s proudest, most earth shatteringly amazing achievement, the birth of our two girls. Who I really do look at in awe every single day; even when Evie is wagging a squidgy toddler finger at me going ‘no no nooo mummy, I don’t like it’ and Isobel decides to wake happy as a clam at 4am for the day. Charming. Anyway, I digress. I was shocked when I was told my body had failed and I had cancer.

My chemo journey is giving back my admiration for my body and it’s endurance. I almost feel sorry for it, as the effects of the toxic chemo creep in, my body begins to fight. Usually I sleep at this point but last night sleep eluded me. Perhaps this is because Nick is away and Zola the cat is taking advantage, purring sweetly whilst sprawled out over three quarters of the bed. I sat on my little quarter of the bed in the dark stroking her furry belly and feeling the inevitable heaviness overcome me. I get hot, my stomach becomes uneasy and my limbs go slightly lead like. My body gets to work and by morning I tend to feel back in working order albeit with a chemo hangover. Thank you body, you are serving me well.

Yesterday during chemo, the lady next to me started to have seizures. It was heartbreaking watching her husband standing hopeless next to her twiddling his hands as the team of paramedics transported her out. That image stuck with me. It had less of an effect of my other chemo neighbour who was chowing down enthusiastically on his burger king. He seemed hungry. Quite surreal, I think we all develop of ways to cope. This is mine, maybe his is burgers and fries. I hope the lady is ok.

Chemo 6 down, fingers crossed 2 more to go!! Here’s my chemo 6 picture and the picture that brightened my day whilst being infused, Evie found my Clinique red lip balm. Ooo la la. 

If there is one thing that would unite all Brits, it is a cup of tea and a biscuit. The other day Nick and I were enjoying a nice quiet cup of tea with a snippet of shortbread when our little Evie decided to join us, ‘Hey Guys’ she announces as she twaddles into the room. We exchange glances and Nick gulps down his mouthful of tea, ‘Urrrm , Hi Evie’. Looking at me he says, ‘Did she just call us….. Guys?’

Yes dear, yes she did. Noting our plate of shortbread, she continues ‘I waannnntt cookie… pease’. Ach Evie, this is a biscuit. Not just any biscuit but the biscuit of the motherland. However, Evie is undeterred by our astonishment and repeats the request until we relent. She is a little American, clearly her ‘Guys’ are not.

Despite my fondness for tea and biscuits I’ve always felt more comfortable abroad and fell in love with Chicago.  It’s gritty and polished, grand and cosy, unassuming and badass. The people are warm and genuine. My home is here and it’s where my heart is but being so far from family at a time like this has worn on me. I began filling this void with motherland comforts, most of which can be fulfilled in the food world food isle of our local supermarket. Pig that I am. There are however a few cravings I have failed to overcome.  Evie’s ‘guys and cookie’ moment reminded me that these will be foreign to her and Isobel, so I thought I’d write them down.

1.       Back Bacon – The bacon mutt; part loin, part belly. Sandwiched between two thick slices of springy white bread = delightful.

2.       Winding country roads and hedgerows – the grid layout of US cities does have the benefit of making me feel like a navigation super power however windy roads are charming. During those occasional sunny spring mornings when the wild flowers are scattered in the hedgerows, the sun is shining through the mist and there’s a chorus of bird song, I think it may just be the most beautiful place on earth.

3.       Custard on puddings – Can’t quite believe our love of hot custard didn’t make it in the US. Is it an acquired taste? Perhaps the exported Birds custard powder got it a bad rep.

4.       Sausage Rolls – I have yet to meet a meat eater who does not like these little morsels.  Evie naturally already loves these but she has yet to experience my Nanny Youngs crumbly creations.

5.       Walkers Sweet Chilli Sensations – washed down with lots of white wine. Cheap and cheerful.

6.       Crispy Duck – slow roasted and basted duck served with cucumber slices, spring onion, hoisin sauce and rice paper pancakes.  Perhaps not exactly a British creation but I have scoured menus for it here and never discovered it. My craving for it became quite extreme during my pregnancy with Isobel, to the point I drove out in a snow storm during the polar vortex to an empty Chinese restaurant. I was disappointed.

As you can tell, chemo has been no match for my appetite. Speaking of which, chemo tomorrow so off to bed for me. 

Yesterday I had the most fun I’ve ever had on a walk, Lighting up the Night.  I loved it, I’m so happy people make the effort to organise events such as this as I felt at home; around people like me, girls like me, only some wore Survivor shirts. That’s who I want to be, that beaming women pushing the pushchair in her Survivor shirt.

As blood cancers commonly affect young and old alike, it was very much the family event. Full of happy dancing kids, laughing adults and then of course tears. During the welcome speech a Survivor spoke of his story; my throat tightened. I turned my head and caught sight of the lady next to me, she was crying, tears rolling down her face. I saw a young teen proudly sitting in the wheel chair, smiling and laughing, only the hair giving the cancer label away.

It really was an uplifting atmosphere. I think the 80’s punk rock tribute band added fuel to the fire here. I was so surprised when my shy girl Evie, grabs my hand, starts wiggling her shoulders and then pulls me to the front of the stage to get down with the best of them. And when I say best of them, I mean all the other 2-5 year olds dancing up a storm. They dance how you dance when alone in the house doing housework or in my case, not alone in the house and probably avoiding doing housework (sorry Nick). You know, arms flailing, heads banging, booty shaking kind of thing.

I also got the opportunity to meet a beautiful lady I will call Bessie. She has been one of the rainbows on this journey and has gone above and beyond to help our family. So I got lots of hugs from Bessie and I achieved my goal of crying within 5 minutes of my arrival.

After a little bit of housework dancing, crying and carb loading (any excuse) we started the walk. All armed with our lanterns. Evie really made the night, she held her lantern and 3 glow sticks high for half the circuit. At this point we decided to speed things up a bit, burn of some of those carbs and move from a shuffle to a walk.  Ambitious I know. The sea of lanterns bobbing around the park was really very beautiful, red = support, gold = in memory, white = survivor. I held a red for now but next year, that white one has my name on it!

Here’s some pictures, you’ll be relieved to note there’s no housework dancing or carb loading images included.

Thank you again for all those who sponsored me and cheered me on from afar. Lots of love!

“Do your little bit of good where you are; it's those little bits of good put together that overwhelm the world.” – Desmond Tutu

Today is the day of our Light the Night walk.  I’m a little nervous, I recall doing a run for breast cancer a few years ago and finding the group atmosphere very emotional. Only this time, it’s me in the midst of the journey with cancer and everyone around me is walking to help families like ours. I’m allowing myself to be an emotional mess. There are times when the uncertainty of the situation become a little overwhelming. My babies tend to fill those moments with mundane wonderfulness; such as Evie crumbling into a red, tear faced mess over me putting her juice in the wrong cup and baby bel impressively exploding from her nappy…Boom! I escape into those moments and any fear of uncertainty is zapped. Today, unless the babies see it fitting to fill the moment with a little zap, we will be facing our challenge and be surrounded by support and love.

As cliché as it sounds, the world is full of so much kindness and beauty.Sometimes through the blur of politics, war, finance and fear mongering, it’s easy to lose sight of it.  Thank you to everyone who has sponsored our walk and showered us in love and support. Every message, donation and thought has brought a smile to our faces. 

With everyone’s help, we’ve raised $2400 for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. How awesome is that! From the bottom of my heart, thank you. 

Let's do this! Chemo 5.

Another Monday and another round of ABVD. Which also means I get to sit for several hours reading a book and eating something tasty without Evie pawing at me for a bite or 10. Silver linings! I have the routine down to an art; after my blood work and doctor visit I set up shop in my chemo chair. It's quite the process - I pop a picture of the girls up, my notepad, books and my stuffed cat. And yes, I am a 30+ year old who still has a stuffed cat. He's travelled a lot of countries with me,sat through exams and been the slobber fest victim of over-friendly dogs. No shame here. Of course I also slip on my fancy ultra soft Union Jack socks to finish off the look (thank you Leah, they've become my much loved lucky charms). So, here I am, eating Roast Chicken and Mango Chutney sandwiches (thank you Mum M - very tasty), reading a book about two assasins during the gold rush era, wearing union jack socks, accompanied by my girls picture and a slightly mangled stuffed cat toy.

'Awww, is that cat your daughters good luck toy, how sweet' says my chemo neighbour.
'Well, it's actually my cat toy' I reply.
'Oo I see' replys my neighbour
...conversation ends...

 All whilst been infused with chemo. Stay classy my friends or crazy. 

It’s 10.30pm and I’m waiting for my man to get back from his travels.  My Mum left today after a month at my side. I’ve loved every minute of it, watching the girls bonding with their Grandma, having chats about all manner of randomness and most importantly having her tell me it’s all going to be ok.  On saying goodbye, Evie looked at me and with concern and said ‘oh no, mummy tears’ followed by ripping two petals off from the remains of the flower pots and presenting them to me with a pat on the back, ‘you’re ok’ she said. Thank you my sweet girl.

I usually enjoy my own company; I can be quite the adept daydreamer. However since my cancer diagnosis I’ve avoided being alone if possible.  So much so that I was actually HAPPY my 2 year old chose not to nap today so I’d have company. Anyone with a toddler knows how absurd that it.

Being alone means my mind is free to wander. At which point I have that urge to do something naughty; open up my laptop, hesitantly click that innocent white glare of a web page that is google and begin feeding my wandering mind. Before you know it I’m gnawing my nails and purchasing frankincense or wheat grass juice and throwing a few baby toys in the basket for good measure. I suppose it could be a worse google habit but either way it’s not healthy for my mind at this moment in time.

My mind seems to wander more innocently when outside, so I spent this afternoon outside with the girls. We walked, played in the park and sat under the tree having pretend tea with a monkey puppet and Evie’s pet tangerine.  All was seemingly wonderful until I made the fatal error of peeling the pet tangerine. The lack of nap and mutilation of tangie meant for a sharp exit and resulted in both girls snoozing in the push chair. The most adorable sight ever! I ended up having a lovely long walk, devouring tangie (sorry Evie) and enjoying the autumn night.  Sarah 1, wandering mind 0.

My man is now home, so I’m no longer alone. 

I mentioned in my last post I am walking the Night the Light Walk to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. I'm doing it as a positive activity for myself and for others affected by blood cancer. It's now just over a week away and it's on a chemo week for me so I'm a little nervous. Don't get sick Sarah! I may be becoming a little crazed with my hand washing and even have a stash of surgical masks incase illness hits the house but I really really want to walk this walk. 

If anyone would like to help with a donation, please see my link below. The video below gives an overview of The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Cue the sob fest! It looks amazing and reminds me I'm not alone in this. 

http://pages.lightthenight.org/il/WSuburbn14/SMowat


Thank you and bye for now, Sarah

‘We are all failures – at least the best of us are’ – J.M. Barrie

When my sister and I were 5 and 8 respectively, we would occasionally be given the wonder of 10p to spend on sweets on the way back from school. It goes without saying we loved it, the white paper bag filled with red shoelaces, mock sweet fried eggs and pink shrimps of all things. However, this was not enough for us, what we grew to crave were the Juicy Fruit chewing gums in the bright yellow foil packets. Those beautys were not allowed; the stuff sweet 8 year old dreams are made of, the forbidden chewing gum.

One afternoon, Louise (spurred on by myself) clumsily attempted a robbery of Juicy Fruit.  Only we failed to plan our exit strategy, Louise stood there red faced in the middle of the shop with two handfuls of Juicy Fruit not sure what to do. The rather busk shop keeper shamed us, grabbing Louise as we attempted to shuffle out the door. The real shame however did not hit until we were home, I will forever remember the deep sense of failure I felt as my mum battled to control sobs whilst cooking dinner, undoubtedly worrying about her own failure in raising two law abiding children.  

Robbery was not our forte so Louise and I decided to pursue other careers, our mother clearly did a fabulous job. The reason for my reminiscing is that feeling I felt as an 8 year old was very similar to that of when I told friends and family of my cancer diagnosis. I feel like a monumental failure; a failure as a Mother, Wife, Daughter, Sister, Granddaughter and Friend.  I also felt a little ashamed; they did not expect this of me. I felt they didn’t deserve this, the most treasured people to me in the world and here I was, failing in front of them.  These feelings were cultivated solely by me, as everyone around me has rallied with so much love and support for me I could burst. I also know I am not a failure, but our feelings are irrational phenomenons.

So, I’ve decided to tackle this failure, face my fears of being judged and hopefully turn this journey into something really rather beautiful.  I began by starting this blog, and in two weeks I will go on a walk to raise money for the Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. Take that irrational phenomenons.

Aside from contemplating the premise of failure this weekend, I did also have fun. Kid sized fun with kites, pumpkins and pig races.  Here are some pictures of our shenanigans.

 

I just ate the most delectable Butternut Squash Risotto; a mound of sweet roasted butternut squash and rice topped with crumbled bacon, parmesan and pinenuts. Not only did I eat this but I cooked it whilst wearing my brand spanking new Wonder-woman apron and doing what best be described as booty shaking to Afro Strut. Baby Bel chortled away happily so I can only assume she approves of either my exquisite dancing or Afro Strut. 

The Wonder-woman apron was a present from a friend, she said I should wear it anytime I'm in need of a pick me up. Today I felt that need so I popped it on in search of it's powers. Perhaps it's just that the apron gives me a fantastic figure but it perked me up. I had my neulasta shot today which helps counteract the effect the chemo has on my precious white blood cells. That tiny little pin prick was just enough to take the wind out of my sails.

Wonder-Woman and Risotto to the rescue!