Terminally Fabulous, you've made my life unique, you certainly have opened my eyes to the strong and the weak. I started this blog under a little duress, not to say that anyone can make me do anything I do not want to do........believe me, those days are gone, gone are the days where I would go clothes shopping and think to myself " I couldn't wear that, "Casanova" (let's call my ex Casanova today, I'm feeling rather exotic) would lock me in a room in a dungeon filled with moths, until those little suckers had eaten the said please of clothing into non existence......ok......perhaps this is a little exaggerated, he was too cheap for that, he would have just went on and on at me about how slutty it looks and made me feel like a disgusting excuse for a woman, until I returned it, but you get the drift.
You wanna know the fucking irony of it all? I had a grade A fantastic bunch of coconuts, yes they all stood in a row, more than a handful, but not too much, pretty good nipple/areola to boob ratio, but of course they were never allowed out to breathe in public. Now I look at the limited photos I have of my pre-cancer jugs with envy and a longing, even though I haven't had breast cancer, my poor boobs have gone through the ringer with all the weight loss and gain I've had during treatment and surgeries, they've literally been empty sacks of sagging skin to size 10-12 EE, my natural size was and always had been 8DD-E, pretty good for a 5 ft nothing 44kg chick, if I do say so myself! They've had more name changes, religion changes, career changes and size and shape changes than that Kate Fischer or Zephfriggingdilawullaphora from "Celebrity" Get Me Out of Here has had, they've gone from Swedish milkmaid to the bottle in the fridge door with a dribble of milk left in the bottom that nobody wants to drink. When I reluctantly take my top off (remember I have empty sacks of skin for boobs and a belly that resembles a 6 month pregnant skeleton, so the image looking back at me is the worst one yet and blah blah blah, I get it......the old "but you're still here" brigade start chiming in, I love you, but please kiss my sagging skinny ass whilst I complain about it, it is after all a woman's prerogative and beyond all of this terminal cancer shit, I like to think I'm at least still one of those. So upon my reluctance to take my own top off I have a tendency to hear the Aussie version of the song "I've been everywhere Man" playing as I disrobe and believe me they have! They've been up, they've been down, they've been dragged along the ground, they've seen east and west-at the same time-no less and the most talented skill of them all, would be their resilience to it all. Yes they may look strange and yes they may be wrinkly, but fuck they're tough little buggers and for that I salute you, my wrinkly, slightly unidentical twin boobs, because even through it all, the left one may still be a little bigger than the right, but at least I still have them, when so many others have lost them in the fight!
Now as usual I have gone completely off track, when I write that I was "forced" into writing the blog, it is more that I was convinced. I had a whole jinx thing going on in my Irish jinx guilt ridden head that if I start a blog it might hurry my process along, I know it's a weird thought to have. I suppose I was concerned that bringing attention to my illness, would bring other people with cancer or terminal illness to MY attention and did I really want to get to know people that had the same fate as me? Make friends with people that were inevitably going to die and remind me that I was dying too. Consoling family members that were losing or lost their loved one or consoling both patient and loved ones just dealing with this shit fullstop when I don't even know how to deal with it myself. You start a blog and people sometimes think you're some sort of authority on the topic matter. Believe me, just because Gwenyth Paltrow posts a paleo raw chocolate cake on her blog, does not mean that she sources the ingredients, technique and recipe and the thought that someone may write to me asking for advice about really personal and medical matters, scares the shit out of me. I always tell people that I'm not an expert, I don't have a psychological or medical degree, so I never would give advice that could get you or I in trouble, but any thoughts I do give are my own and I give them with love and hopefully they leave you feeling more heard and less confused and ignored.
I started writing this blog today because the fear I had about starting the Terminally Fabulous blog last February and it making me accept my reality and face the pure scariness of it all has come to fruition. I've made friends with strangers, we've built a community that supports one another and in doing this I've let my walls down, in turn allowing this disease in and reminding me whose boss. As much as I want to stomp around acting like this cancer is my bitch, it's not, I am it's bitch and as the disease progresses, the tighter the restraints get. I spend most of my days at home waiting for appointments that are basically the same meetings on replay, I sleep sitting up (I haven't lay down in at least 4 months, bedsores are becoming a common fixture now, sitting on my tailbone is like sitting on blades of glass) when my disease lets me, I go out when my disease lets me, I eat when my disease lets me digest food and the list goes on, the disease dictates my days.
I'm writing today from a place of inevitable sadness, the fear of losing those I've connected with has started to become a reality, no longer a fear, it's happening. People who've had terminal cancer the same or a similar length of time to myself are dying around me, we've been each other's supporters and listened to each other's fears and now we're starting to drop like flies, the stuff that we've spoken about as if it was in the third person, it couldn't really be about us.....could it? We're too young, we've achieved nothing, we're good people, stuff like this happens to bad people, not a married man in his 40's with growing children and a penchant for a nip of Jack Daniels and long Sunday drives with their wife, nooooooo this happens to people who drink a bottle of jack a day, cheats on their wife on a drunken Sunday drive and doesn't give a fuck who they hurt, not us. I know we're not suppose to say, "this isn't meant to happen to us and we're not meant to say things like bad things should happen to bad people" and the truth is we don't believe that, we wouldn't wish this on our worst enemies, but sometimes we get so sick, so scared, so sad, that we say things we don't mean and having each other to say these things to in a safe environment, without feeling judged or wrong, is a large part of why we're there for each other.
I'm so sad to have lost another friend, a friend whom I have never met, I'm so sad for his family and friends, those that were in his life every day, not just at the end of a beep on a phone. These are the people that don't sleep at night fearing a phone call at 3am telling them their loved one has lost the fight, the ones that are at the hospice at 8am and don't leave until 10pm, wiping their husbands backside, feeding them, wiping the sweat from their pain riddled brows, watching them deteriorate and writhe in pain before them, I honestly don't know whether either side of the cancer gamut is easier than the other, they both suck hairy toe knuckles.
I've known a few people now that have passed away through the blog and at the end of the day I suppose I can't write about all of the fairy floss unicorn moments and ignore the more lifetime movie part moments that happen, whether I write about it or not, THIS is my reality, nothing can or will change that now, just like the people I have met through the blog, I am dying, just like them, no amount of pretending that I'm not will change that. I hate this disease, I hate that it's killing my friends and strangers and I've had enough of thinking about it today, stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼
A dear cancer blogger, someone whom
I would like to say paved the way for the rest of us and set the bar so high that we could never achieve her level of greatness, which might I add is greeeeeat for the self-esteem, was recently given the 6 month mark. Dear Melanoma, Emma Betts first and foremost is not a blogger, Emma is not her Terminal Melanoma diagnosis, she is a top chick with a heart that knows no boundaries, she gives even though life has taken so much from her. This person gives care packages to people who are going through their own troubles, she messages me when she is in Emergency with her own problems to see how I'm doing. Emma is more than her cancer, more than her blog, she is the type of person that if you're lucky enough to meet one person you admire or a hero, you'd be bloody lucky if it were her.
So 6 months, I remember initially I was told weeks or months, but I kept beating little milestones I would set for myself, with each treatment or surgery that would extend my life by mere months or even weeks, I would tick off invisible dates in my invisible calendar in my mind. I had myself dead in the first few days, I'm sorry to be so blunt, but that was the first idiot of an oncologist I had upon initial diagnosis telling me if it came back I was incurable. Just a bit of advice to any oncologists out there, new or long-term practising, because this guy was literally months off retirement, so he should really have known better. DO NOT, I repeat DO NOT advise a patient that has not even started treatment with you, that if this "life saving toxic sludge they call chemo does not work and the cancer returns they are incurable, that shit sticks in a patients head like fake tan to a white pleather chair. Just keep your mouth shut, unless you're asked a question, don't answer or of course feel free to offer considerate advice, not stupid bullshit! Sorry, but it still does my head in that a so-called professional could be so insincere and quite frankly stupid. This idiotic advice hung around my neck like an invisible noose from the first ultrasound I had confirming my cancers aggressive return. I was planning my funeral in the car trip home and crying that I'd never get to see my niece go to school or the next season of Homeland.....I know the big issues.....right.
Anyway I returned to my initial oncologist, because that's what you do right? Bowbow, you look around, you visit different specialists, you ask questions, you do all the things you probably didn't do the first time you were diagnosed, because you just do what you're told the first time and that's why you often don't get the best treatment for your cancer the first time around, rarecancers.org.au have released an app called CANrecall and it's a great tool for people having meetings with oncologists and surgeons, it gives you the best questions to ask and also records the session (at the specialists knowledge of course). I went back to my original oncologist and he was a couple of weeks off his retirement, in between talking about his new tinny and all the retirement fishing he was going to do, I asked for his advice, which was a referral letter to a surgeon that does a very risky surgery.......that was it, see ya later, the fish are biting!
I then looked around and found Prof Tattersall, again an older guy, but he gave me hope and options, bingo, I had my oncologist!
My point to this blog, which probably sounds very familiar to many of my previous, is that timelines are time wasters, all they do is put invisible finishing lines at your feet and even if they don't exist, you will keep tripping over them, they consume you, so first things first, if you can, turn those death alarms off, put them on permanent snooze and live for tomorrow, rather than waiting to die tomorrow.
All easier said than done, people always ask me "How do you stay so positive when you know effectively you're dying? My answer is I don't stay positive, I have my days, minutes and hours. The only thing that has kept me going mentally is the fact that I still don't believe it's happening, somehow I'm going to wake up tomorrow and it's all going to be gone and I've only just now had to start to realise that this shit is real, this breathlessness, this weight loss, this tumour fluid build up in my stomach, this never-ending tiredness, loss of appetite and all of the other symptoms that are recognised as "end of life symptoms" are exactly that, I'm dying, sooner rather than later.
You know I was admitted a few weeks ago and once again everyone thought I'd not be getting out, well here I am at home typing this shitty blog to prove them wrong, but they are just as happy to be wrong, as I am for them to be wrong, every single person in that ward, the wardy to the Doctor, is on my side and boy does that make a difference, having people on your side.
I remember after finding my new oncologist and surgical team, we had exhausted at that stage what we thought were all options and one of my surgeon's rang me late in the evening to tell, me the rest of the surgical team were not on board with performing more surgery, so that was it, you'd be lucky if you got 6 months. I remember the sharp stabbing pang of disappointment, the, this isn't real daze that envelopes your entire body, fuck off it's just a bunch of lumps, cut the bastards out and keep cutting them out when they come back, how hard can it be? Can I have a pee bag or a poo bag at least, no, too risky to go in and too much scar tissue. He was deeply apologetic and sad that he couldn't give better news, but that was it. The next night I was still in a WTF daze and had to drive to my local GP on the Central Coast, shout out Karen Douglas, not that she needs it, her patient list is out the door. Karen was so kind she took me in, in front of 20 other patients and just sat and listened to me, sometimes that's what you need, not advice, not bullshit, just an ear to bend, whilst you cry.
6 months, shmix months, timelines, shmimelines, doctors schmoctors, nurses, schmurses. I've gone through more deadlines/timelines than Napoleon Perdis has gone through bronzer. We are all equal when it comes to living and dying, none of us are more important than the other and none of us have a special secret about extending our lives, even though some of us may think we do. For the five millionth time people, broccoli will not CURE my terminal cancer, my cancer eats all my nutrients now, I don't even get any nutrition from food anymore.....sorry, but it's true.
I am still scared, I am still here and for now, the 4 weeks mentioned last week are down to 1 week, more invisible timelines for me to ignore.
Stay Fabulous Rockstars and let's not countdown the deadlines together, let's ignore them together! ❤🤘🏼
Emma, much love to you and yours ❤❤❤
A few photos from today 💋
Just an update and a thank-you Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼
Thank you for the Love
Taking money when you're not a taker, boy is it hard. I've had terminal cancer for 3 years and 5 months, over this period of time I've been told I'm dying more times than people ask Sofia Vergara to repeat what she just said, soooo when people have suggested fundraisers or money-raising efforts for me, I've always said thanks, but no thanks.
As you all know a few weeks ago I was once again admitted to palliative care in hospital and deals were made for me to get out of hospital for a few days to visit the coast with my family from o/s. After a few days my body started to regain some strength, I was able to digest food (well sort of), take a crap.....can I get a woot woot? Other normal human body behaviour started to improve, so I was allowed to return home after the coast trip, rather than to palliative care in hospital and thankfully since that last palliative visit, I have not had to return to the ward. At that stage I was unable to even stand in the shower unassisted, I would walk up the stairs and my legs would collapse from under me at the top. I would lose power of my legs just taking one step out the back door, falling down became the norm, I was choking on my own vomit through the night, I still regurgitate, I couldn't pee, once again I was catheterised, I could barely eat or even stand the sight or smell of food, I lost a heap of weight, I still can't lie flat in bed, I have to sit up to sleep, I couldn't reach to wipe my own ass, I had an incision made in my stomach in which a tube is inserted, any tumour fluid or ascites which builds up in the abdomen is then drained via the hole, (I read that people with tumour ascites usually have 1 week to a month to live, hence the reasons my medical team were a bit quiet on it, who wants to tell a patient that type of news) hopefully alleviating the pressure, reducing nerve pain and some of the bloating.
My Mum, God love her, she just doesn't have the upper body strength to assist me up the stairs or manoeuvre me in the shower or bath, not that the bath thing matters, as I can't have my stomach drain immersed in bodies of water. I'm also looking at a stair lift, as my dad has bad arthritis and even though he loooooves helping me up the stairs, there comes a point where you have to be honest with yourself that your body and strength don't always stand the test of time and you need to accept help, just as I have had to accept you wonderful giving Rockstars.
Things looking so bleak I had to start to reconsider my death situation again. You see originally I had decided to just die in palliative care in hospital as I was still in my previously unhealthy relationship and it took that decision out of my hands, now that I'm single my true desire to die at home with my family can be achieved without fear or judgement. The only problem being, when it gets to that time I would need a nurse here 24 hours and as you can imagine, that's definitely not what you'd call cheap. Whilst in hospital it was discussed and suggested with palliative care that we should perhaps obtain the services of a stay at home nurse, especially to help Mum and Dad with their at home care. The poor bastards could enter married at first sight, that's how little they see each other now.
I wanted to do this update/blog as I want 100% transparency, people hear "Stay at home nurse" and they automatically think of the patient......'shit, things must be going down hill now, especially if she's talking at home nursing', but nurses aren't just for us, yes when discussing the hiring of a nurse a few weeks ago it was mostly for overnight stays as I choke at least 3 or 4 times a night, my vomit goes into my lungs and if I'm not woken I'll die, my Mum and Dad have actually been sleeping with me every night since hospital admission, yep a 35-year-old woman and her parents in their early 50's sharing a bed......not even slightly weird. The nurse is also there to ease the pressure of the carers, maybe give the carer a chance to get out for a haircut or a manicure, maybe have a bath or hell maybe read a magazine from front to back.
Doctors and nurses are now cautiously saying that my situation is better than it was, meaning that I don't look like death warmed up anymore, but my disease is still everywhere and growing, that hasn't changed. The thing is my body seems to just keep fighting back, you start counting me out, my body becomes determined to prove you wrong and it's done it again, so even though I am currently suffering from the worst aspiration pneumonia I've ever had, seriously my lungs are burning, all my stats say different, if your oxygen levels are good, your lungs don't sound as wheezy etc. etc. you're defying odds and doing well again.....but I can certainly say with all confidence, that my body, although on the improve, is in its worst place, weakness wise, that it's ever been, but My pall team don't feel today that I need a nurse 24 hours, like I did 2 weeks ago, but that's not to say I won't need one in 3 days time for 24 hours, this disease is just so unpredictable. I am still trying to obtain a nurse for nights and a few days, the hardest part is finding the same nurse, when you're in my position consistency is really important, you don't want to have to go through your 6000 meds and allergies and back story and blah blah blah, every god damn nurse visit, and thats what happens. The nurses can then administer my injections, IV's, change my wound dressings, drain my stomach and most importantly stay overnight to wake me and nebulise me when I'm choking, meaning Mum and/or Dad can get more than an hours consecutive sleep.
I want to say thank you to each and every one of you that has taken the time to donate your hard earnt money to go to a total stranger. I understand I have been very MIA of late, but my sickness is just consuming my thoughts at the moment and although I think of you all numerous times a day, I just don't have the energy to read and reply.
I write my story for "you", not for "me" to gain money or for financial gain, I write it so that you have someone you can relate to and finally hear the reality that is cancer, not the cotton candy version. To those of you who have written messages of support that compare to no other and those that donate $5 and apologise, stop right now, your words are enough and the fact that a single unemployed mother is willing to give me the last of her very minimal pension, well that just blows my cancer filled vagina and it hasn't had a good blow in a VEEEEERY long time. Those amazing people who have donated what some people would earn in a months wage, some that I don't know, they just read my blog or others that I went to school with and we'd just say hi in the corridor or a few of the guys I went to school with who've donated that were lets just say the "opposite" of friendly to me at school and now they're writing beautiful messages of support, giving both emotionally and financially, it seems the people you would never expect or even think would donate or send messages of love and admiration are the ones who are reaching out......Mum and Dad say it's because they loved me, you know the old boys pull the girl's hair story. Either way, you've given me the ability to purchase some much-needed assistance and aids, we will not have to cringe at the thought of opening bills for electricity that runs 24 hours a day because of my hot flushes or pharmacy bills that arrive EVERY DAY, because not everything is covered by PBS, you have no idea how much this money will help, it will go to so much more than you could ever imagine. Cancer is a bloody expensive disease, especially if you keep punching it in the balls and defying the odds.
Thank-you, Thank-you, Thank-you!
Margaret Hurd, thank-you for ignoring my thanks but no thanks to your offer to start the Go Fund me, Mum, thanks for managing messages and comments, I just don't have the energy at the moment to read and respond like I did a month ago, but each and every one of your comments still touch my heart and my Mum or Dad read them for me, just as I've dictated this, Mum just Luuurves writing about my vagina.
I may not have my health, I may not have my looks and I may not have that quick wit that I used to pride myself on, but I do have you, each and every one of you Fabulous Rockstars, now I'd say that's a pretty decent swap, well actually I'd still prefer a cure for cancer, but for now you guys will have to do! Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼
An extra thank-you to @ren aidonopoulos for the amazing scrap book from our trip to Melbourne, you are a truly special woman and Fabulous Rockstar, of course Constance Hall thank-you for your beautiful words, you are a gorgeous friend that I love to the moon and back Hayley Walker Art thanks for donating proceeds from your amazing artworks. I love all of you amazing Rockstars, those that give, those that can't and everyone in between, you are all special people in my ❤
World Cancer Day today for the World, its World Cancer Day for me and many others 365 days a Year........A little blog on my current state and thoughts on today. Also a shoutout to Angela who was at my local X Ray place yesterday, 29 and she's basically the bionic woman......kids don't do sports lol. Angela introduced herself to me and told me she started reading the blog recently, well my sore chest fluttered, thanks for reaching out pretty lady and I wish you all the luck in the future!, stay Fabulous Rockstar ❤🤘🏼
WORLD CANCER DAY 2017
World Cancer Day, Lisa's every day, millions of other people's day, a day that some people may sit and reflect on the travesty that is this horrendous disease, others may think about how lucky they or their family are for escaping or beating the disease and then there are those that have no idea that it's even World Cancer Day.
I'm so disappointed, I was asked by the two fabulous queens, Queen originalé herself Constance Hall and her best Queen since kindergarten Annaliese Dent to go on their show the Queen Sesh', (only their second show btw, thanks for the confidence in me beauties) to have a chat about the bastard that is cancer and I was very excited to do it, especially to get the rare cancer word out and well if I'm really honest, it was a good excuse to have a good bitch sesh with two of my faves, but biaaatch this show got reach, it's everywhere https://www.hit.com.au/! Believe me I've listened and didn't fall asleep or tune out, which only happens for Married at first sight and Real Housewives, I laughed and cried laughed and laughed cried and then I cry laughed some more.
Anyway this beast being the roller coaster disease it is, I've been choking on vomit in the middle of the night, which is burning my oesophagus, causing pain, husky voice and making my voice break and breathless. Needless to say I'm not up for doing my little segment, which pisses me off as I don't like to back out of anything, I'm sure I could do it, but if it's not great, I don't want to do it! The only thing I can take solace in, is that there is now no risk of me stealing their show from them, which I'd hate to do, as they were my two biggest backers in the beginning of my blog and they didn't even know me, they just read the blog and had faith. Love you girls more than the chicest pair of shoes ever featured in a Sex and the City Episode, but remember if you're going to buy me some, go half a size up, I honestly think red bottoms would cheer me up, no pressure........well some 😜👠👢👡👑.
So World Cancer Day, is my EVERY day, it's not a day for a ribbon, it's not a day for remembering, sadly it's my existence. Not being able to go on the radio show, is one of those little annoying things that Cancer gives and these little gifts individually may be annoying, but they build up, the unpredictability of this whole disease for me is something I don't think I'll ever get used to, so for those of you out there dealing with this disease, be prepared for losing control. You lose control of your body, your strength, your appearance, your emotions, your mental ability, you can lose your vision and other vital organs or senses, your hair, weight, muscle density, bone density and so much more, it's at the point where I can't stand from a sitting position at a particular level without physical help or I can only make 5 steps before my legs fall from under me in the stairs, but losing predictability is one of the worst. We predict we will wake tomorrow, we predict we'll see our friends, family and loved ones again, but imagine if you were given a death sentence without a date, so every day, you know you could die, you know every day could be your last, you'd probably spend a lot of your time thinking when, where, how? Will I just have a massive bleed and die? Will my bladder stop and that's it, stop eating, start sleeping constantly or like now, my lungs have started aspiration, I got the results from my chest X-Ray which confirmed aspirated pneumonia, now that's the type of shit that takes a weak one like me out. My Docs are again not giving dates, as I have always defied them, but "you could be around in 4 weeks or two" have been bandied around from a few different specialists, nurses and doc's. when someone says you could be here in 4 weeks like it's Gods greatest gift to man, it doesn't fill you with much confidence. I get it, I've already squeezed 3 years out of a couple of days, but to me it's like if you buy a loaf of bread with a use by date of 6 days from now and it remains fresh for 9 days, woopty fucking doo, break out the party poppers and streamers, let's celebrate!!!! I know, I'm being cynical and childish and selfish and any other word you can think of that means bratty, but 4 weeks is a fleeting holiday on the QLD coast, not much of a remaining life.
I love that we as a "world" reach out and show our support for cancer, in many different ways. There are so many different cancers and that's why it makes it so difficult to cure it, people often think one cure fits all, but that's like saying one pair of Christian Louboutin fits all and as much as we try to squeeze our normal size 36 into one, you really need half a size up, any girl worth her weight in shoes knows red bottoms usually run a bit small, just like may favouritist shoe, every cancer has a different genetic make up or hormonal make up etc. no one cancer is exactly the same and that's why the "elusive" cure has not been found yet......does that make any sense at all?
I was asked via fb messenger to describe cancer and just a caution, this does involve language, albeit with asterisk, but BAD language for some, Cancer is like a dirty, stinky, unwashed c**t on a 40 degree day, nobody wants to hang around, seriously can't you tell no-one likes you, bigger off already!
They say everything happens for a reason and God only gives "his" greatest battles to those who have the strength to fight them, but I'd really like to know what the pre-requisites are for this selection process, as I can't for the life or in my case impending early death figure out why I'd be selected as any stronger than som cross fit fanatic that dreams of protein shakes and shuts green on the daily because she lives on wheat grass and edamame, wouldn't they be stronger. I've asked this question before and the response from people........pretty much the same 9/10 times, just because someone has a strong body, doesn't mean they have a strong mind or the emotional gumption to persist Day in day out, with this unimaginable disease.
Please, Cancer needs you, people like me need you and the last thing we want to ask for is charity, but sometimes you gotta put your fedora where your mouth goes and shake it for a good cause.
I know a lovely rockstar Margaret Hurd has started a GoFundMe for my family and I to raise money for a nurse at home on occasion and a stair seat lift, as I'm carried upstairs now, but this isn't about me and my small picture, this is about the big picture of cancer on the whole world scale, so here's a few worthy charities, Dreams2live4 are definitely an amazingly kind and thoughtful charity, with real patient/charity connection, so if you are thinking of donating, definitely consider them, it's a small charity with a humongous heart, Rare Cancers are also amazing and the Cancer Council, we all know the great work they do, but sometimes I think the little fella needs a bit of help first.
Please do not feel obligated to donate, I just wanted to throw them in.
It seems very foreign to be saying "HAPPY WORLD CANCER DAY!", so I won't, I'll simply say "HERE'S TO LEARNING MORE ABOUT CANCER DAY AND RAISING FUNDS TO TRY AND FIX IT!!!!!"
This probably makes no sense, as I'm on no sleep and on my usual meds, but hopefully you get a bit from it.
Love you all more than gluten, Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼👸🏻
Ps. @beachesofftedder best cafe on the Gold Coast hands down, beautiful people, remembered us from a year ago and food is spectacular ❤❤❤
To all my loved ones, friends, fabulous rockstars, "my ride or die" - so to speak, I'm still going, I'm just not going at the speed of a fully functioning Fabulous Rockstar, more like Mick Jagger form than Adam Levine, let's say.
I have been discharged from Palazzo Palliative, as you probably know. It has gotten to the point that my Team believe more regular interludes in hospital would be recommendable, so we shall see how that pans out.
I am at the lowest I've ever been in my disease, yes, I've been told I'm dying before, but my body has never actually felt like it's dying, now, it feels like it's dying. WTF how would I know what dying feels like? I suppose I'm just guessing, but I'd say this is a pretty good guess of what it feels like.
Whilst in hospital I had a urinary catheter inserted, that was fun, I've had many a catheter and I have a very bad history with them, this time was no different to others.
I had to rush to the toilet to do number two's.......small moment of appreciation for the bowel movement that is so rare........back to the story, so I grabbed all my bits and pieces, catheter, pain driver, I was connected to the IV, so I was very weighed down. I jumped up and the next thing I felt like I'd been coat hangered, my catheter tube got caught around the end of the bed and I slammed face front/belly front onto the floor. I could hear Mum had run into the bathroom and was shouting if there was blood, was I ok? The emergency alarm was hit by my nurse and everyone ran from all angles. After assessing the situation they picked me up, the catheter had dislodged and let's just say I was in a bit of pain. Vicki my ever loving nurse removed the catheter for me and disaster was averted, that makes it four times I've now popped a catheter balloon, by pulling it out, now that's skill. Dad, it wasn't your fault, I tripped.
Unbelievably my bladder started working again, I must have nine bladders, everyone expected I probably would be spending my remaining time in palliative and not getting back out, but, I am sitting in a holiday house that my Aunty and Granny have organised. I went to bed to the sound of waves crashing on the shore last night and as I prayed to God last night, to give me the strength I needed to wake in the morning, I woke to the same crashing waves, life is beautiful and that first breath in the morning is fucking amazing.
I am probably under 30 kilos now and my appetite and nausea does not allow for eating, two mouthfuls and I'm done. I have been told to stop focusing on eating, as loss of appetite is part of this process, you get tired, you lose appetite and then you pass, but seriously who the fuck could just accept that? Stop eating, let yourself die, how about you stop showering, stop breathing, exactly, three days in to a sweaty summer and I'll bet you'd be itching to get in the shower.
I get it, what can you say to a person who is literally wasting away, dying before your eyes? See you in the flip side, just doesn't seem to cut it.
Thanks for the love Fabulous Rockstars and please don't be concerned with my blog post intervals, I promise I'll keep you up to date, just not every day. Can I also ask that you spare a thought/prayer/vibe for my parents, loved ones and family, as they're going through this journey, just as I am.
Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼
A short blog for a short update ❤🤘🏼
Last night I was faced with a dilemma, you see I've been placed back in hospital, back to the ward that insists they're there to make you feel comfortable and to try to reduce symptoms and pain. They are not always there to prepare you for the scariest time in a person's life....."death" and I don't give a shit if you say this is not scary, it's simply part of the process of life, we all live knowing eventually we will die, well yeah, we all live knowing at some point we're probably going to need root canal therapy, but I've never seen anyone skip into a dental surgery, alright maybe a masochist, but believe me this shit is hard.
Too sick to cry, to weak to move, constant vomiting of bile, too weak to get myself out of bed-down the stairs- too weak to get in the car, too many tumours to pee and the list goes on. My Pall nurse made me come in, she inserted the urinary catheter, always a pleasant experience, you'll never complain about a Pap smear or a swift kick in the knackers again once you've had the pleasure of a urinary catheter being inserted when you haven't peed in 20 hours, let's just say it definitely doesn't compare to a west coast party.
Yesterday I looked, but more importantly felt that I was on death's door. I've been at so-called "deaths door" so many times that they know it's me by my knock, but I've never actually felt that my body was giving in, I never believed it was "my time". Last night came and it was time for people to say goodbye and with more than generous bear hugs from each of my family members came that so called dilemma, "I'll see you tomorrow", my reply "yep, I'll see you tomorrow", my actual thought, 'Will I really see you tomorrow?'
Something we say everyday without a second thought, because hey, tomorrow is taken for granted, there's always tomorrow....isn't there? I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but sadly tomorrow is not a promise, it's a gift and that's only if you're lucky enough to receive it.
It's a frigging horrible feeling to say goodbye to someone you love and not know of you'll ever see them again, those related to armed forces, those related to police officers, security guards and so on, I salute you and I only wish for you Fabulous Rockstars you never have to be placed in a situation like this, because it's truly one of the most heartbreaking places you can be put in and nobody deserves that. Make sure your hugs are genuine and so too is your love. Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼
Crying has become more frequent, fear has become more ferocious, pain has become a part of daily life, discomfort has become almost unbearable due to my bloated stomach suffocating my lungs and my bloated legs feeling like I'm walking on pain censored cushions, more food is coming back up than going down, my appearance could be best described as an 8 month pregnant skeleton with tree stumps for legs, doesn't that just wanna make you swipe right boys?
So it would seem this bastard has got me. I have fought since September 2013, from the very moment I was told it was back and I would be lucky to make months, I fought and I fought hard. All of the times I was told you won't see tomorrow, you won't see Christmas, I defied the odds and a few clinicians have had to eat their words.
I've tried my hardest to outrun this bastard, but, not this time, it seems that damn shoelace I tripped over at the 10km line has allowed my killer to catch up. I can feel the air at my back from him swooshing his scythe at me and I'm quite certain one day soon he'll get me, I simply don't have the confidence this time that things will get better, they're not,they're remaining the same or in fact getting worse.
It's been a terribly steep decline in the last few weeks, I feel like I'm in one of those luge things from the Winter Olympics, just racing down hill, with little to no control over what happens and how fast I go. My disease is taking me on this ride with nowhere to go other than down. I keep getting these messages to embrace God or your faith and this whole process will become easier and if I don't accept him into my heart now, he may not accept me into his when it's my time to knock on the pearly white gates; yet another image that's been imprinted in my mind since I was a child.
I cannot help my fear, nor can I control it and nor should people be judgemental about how "I" deal with "My" inevitable death. We are all entitled to deal with this in our own way. There is no right or wrong, if you think Reiki is your path to spiritual healing, good on you or if you're an atheist, who am I to judge you for not believing, when I am unsure myself of my own belief. I know what I want to believe and I so greatly want this unwavering faith and confidence that it will come to fruition.
My symptoms are pretty much the same as they were Sunday, big swollen legs from the cancer stealing my protein from me (there's so much fluid that when I inject my pain relief it pierces little holes allowing fluid to escape and it doesn't stop leaking,it just keeps going, like piercing a water bed) and causing fluid retention, stomach full of cancer and this time bloated with a lot of ascites (a fluid that builds up, due to the disease), I can't eat without regurgitating and my cancer is eating all or any of my nutrients that I'm lucky to ingest.
I know I'm dying, I still haven't accepted it and I'm still scared shitless, but I know I'm closer to death than I've ever been before. This death doesn't just affect me though, it affects all those around me, you fabulous rockstars and others that I come in contact with on a daily basis.
When I was in the hospital, I was surrounded by death and on one occasion I was informing my family that the young guy next door had died overnight and that a lot of the patients were dying, next thing Ava speaks up "Are you dying Lisa?", I didn't know whether to just bite the bullet and I looked at her Mum and Dad to try to sense what they were feeling, so I just blurted out "Yes Bubba, Aunty Lisa is going to die, but remember when I do, I'll be up in the sky at night, I'll be a star and I'll make sure you'll never be scared". Ava listened intently and then she sort of nervously giggled and replied "you're silly Lisa" and I asked "Why?", to which she replied "No Lisa you're not going to be in the sky, because you're going to get better, I want you to get better, so you won't be a star". Out of the mouths of babes, as they say.
I'm now at home struggling every night to organise my pillows and me into a semi comfy position in bed, one that lets me breathe, doesn't make me regurgitate as much, one that allows me to elevate my legs for the swelling and so on and so on. Thank God I don't have a boyfriend, my pillows would seriously see more action than he would.
My bestie Rebecca and her housemate Chuck from Sydney dropped in and spent a couple of nights and Bec and I did our usual, talk for 10 hours and then realise it's bedtime. My friend Nicole popped in, also from Sydney and I got to play with her baby girl and bitch about all the things we hate about humanity, that's what Nicole and I do, we have done in fact since she found out that I had been "intimate" with my boyfriend, which she thought was hilarious at the time, funnily enough I had the same reaction when it happened, just kidding, I'd hate to bruise someone's ego. I mean in reality your first time usually resembles a Tour de France pile up, there's usually no bedroom and often a pile of drunk people cheering you on from the sidelines, first times often aren't the most romantic, at least I can say I had a bed and no onlookers; I was classy. Unfortunately though, I ended up paying for it and I am physically and emotionally drained. I have now asked mum to give me a week without visitors, as I end up doing more than I should. I know I'm like the Queen, I request an audience when I want one.
It's amazing how the world listens sometimes, you ask and you shall receive, as I was tapping away at this blog, I received a phone call from my Pall Doctor.....she's amazing by the way and she advised me that I was able to get my pelvic ascites drained in hospital on Monday and to prevent having to be admitted again I can have a semi permanent catheter inserted, meaning when the fluid returns I can drain the fluid from home. We think there'll be about 7-8 litres drained over a couple of days in hospital. So I'm hoping this will ease my current discomfort, as right now I honestly feel like I looked at Ronda Rousey the wrong way and she's pounced on me in the toilets, EVERY DAY!!!
Anyway upon closing, my friend Bec gave Mum and I a worry doll each, you tell her your worries, put it under your pillow and it takes your worries away. Mum being mum, she heard "wish" doll, so the following morning Miss Ava was in Mums bedroom and saw the doll. Ava asked Mum what the doll was and Mum replied "it's a wish doll bubba, you tell it your wish and it will grant it". Ava picked the doll up and said "I wish that my Nanna was happy and that Lisa's belly gets better". What a beautiful story to wake up to, that kid just rips my heart out.
So fabulous rockstars at the beginning of this blog I was down and out and by the end, although I'm still in the exact same discomfort, my hope has improved, maybe we can all learn something from this and Dad I promise I'm not ready for palliative sedation yet. Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤🤘🏼
A few photos from the last few days ❤🤘🏼
Life you are like a boyfriend to me, I fucking love you, I would literally push a baby out of my 5 cent piece sized LOVE hole for you and then the next minute I hate you and I wouldn't even turn your burning fish fingers over in the frying pan for you. There are times I'd happily take pictures with you and post them on Facebook, being all braggy about how good you are to me and the next day I'm gonna be taking those loving life pictures down, because you're so horrible to me. This is seriously what life with terminal cancer is like, particularly towards the latter end of the disease, the good days become fewer and the bad days become more common.
The unpredictability of this disease can be somewhat confusing to people who've never been affected by this disease or other terminal illness, one of the most difficult things people find hard to grasp, is that I can be out and about, with it all hanging out, on Saturday and be bed ridden, in crippling pain, regurgitating everything that passes my lips and nauseated beyond belief on Monday for four consecutive days and then be up and about with it all hanging out again and repeat. This is just how this disease works, especially with my tumours being throughout my abdomen and pelvis. Your bowels are constantly moving, meaning your tumours are constantly moving, this also means poo is a big issue, especially if you get backed up, (I've had major issues with pooing all my life, even before my disease) throw in scar tissue, throw in pain and sickness meds which constipate you and this is why my pain goes from a 4 to a 10 in moments. Right now for example, I've got pain in my lower right back from my liver tumours which only arose two hours ago, prior to that I hadn't had this type of pain in months. This might help people who don't quite understand, maybe understand a little bit more as to why I go into hiding for days at a time and my hideouts are becoming increasingly more common and longer.
Today I had a great day, I'd pooed over the last few days (YAY!!!! Roll out the toilet paper, flush that loo, let's celebrate!) and I was drinking water without it regurgitating , then this evening after dinner, the incredible nausea came over me, sweaty, hot, but unable to vomit, it's just a horrible feeling that comes over you without the actual vomiting to make you feel better. I've become a cry baby of late, I just get to a point of sickness that the tears start rolling, my Dad's asking can he help, no, he can't, how can you help nausea, watching on helplessly as your daughter breaks down and that was it; needle time! I have a nausea injection called cyclazine that literally burns your flesh, causes a build up of blood under the skin and large lumps all over my ass. It's got to the point that we're running out of space to inject, you can't do it too close to the crack, as you can hit the sciatic nerve, which I can't imagine being fun. The injection is so painful, when it hits certain spots I cannot contain screaming in pain, both Mum and Dad did an injection separately and as they injected, the butt was so hard the syringe burst off, the medicine spurted all over each of them and the needle remained hanging in my ass. All three of us dread that evening injection, I think both of them literally hide until I've found the other to give me the injection, I was informed today that my ass is just one big abscess waiting to happen, it's no wonder the boys are knocking my door down....sarcasm, so we're looking at other options for the cyclazine to be administered.
So things have not been the best the past few weeks, but I have to believe in the fact that I will have an "up" soon, because we've had too many consecutive downs of late. I'm not being alarmist and I'm not writing this for attention or sympathy, I'm writing my truth and my thoughts down, for you to read, not to judge me or feel sorry for me, that ain't my bag. My honest truth at the moment is that this will be my last Christmas, as hard as that is for you to read, as hard as that is for my family to read, just imagine how hard it is for me to write. Someone that has never believed "you're not going to make it to blah blah blah", even when they said I wouldn't make it to Christmas in 2014, as upset as I was, deep down I just believed that I would make it and it wouldn't be my last. The person that calls life her boyfriend, who isn't ready to break up yet, sadly, it seems that life, my boyfriend, is going to get in there first and dump me, I just hope he isn't a cheap bastard and at least holds out to this Christmas and my birthday, I hate when people dump people right before Christmas or birthdays just to avoid buying a present, yes, people seriously do that!
Where are we right now? Fuck knows, I'm more confused than a hermaphrodite bi-sexual with gender dysphoria, unfortunately when you're diagnosed with terminal cancer you're not given an instruction manual, you might get a crappy 2 page print out from some Cancer clinic, but each disease is different, everybody's demise is different, I just fucking hate that I know mine isn't too far away, nobody deserves this, nobody, not me, not anyone.
At a time of year that I'm usually bouncing off the walls, driving everybody crazy with Christmas music and movies, I'm starting and ending most days in tears, this isn't me, it's never been me. Throughout this whole shit fight I've never been a sooky lala, but lately I've become one.
There are so many fears that come with this disease and those fears change each day, every day a new fear arises, like today I thought to myself about how frigging difficult a person I am to live with, even before cancer, I'm a total, raging, lunatic with OLD (Obsessive Lisa Disorder, similar to OCD, but waaaay more compulsive). With this illness comes a highly compromised immune system, meaning if I see you wipe your nose, I'm immediately asking for blood tests proving that you don't have a cold, if you have the runs, you're out and so on. I've had it a couple of times before, a simple cold for you, can become an ICU visit for me, with my blood pressure not going above 70 and a fever of 41 degrees and a doctor enters the room and tells you, you're probably not going to be around much longer, all from a common bloody cold.
Whilst yes, getting a cold and dying is a fear, it's not the one I'm talking about, my fear is that I am so much hard work, this disease is so much hard work, that when I'm gone and the funeral dust has settled, that my loved ones will sit back and think 'as sad as all this shit is, it's nice to finally be able to sit and take a breath and relax, without listening out in the background for Lisa to yell out for something'. I'm scared they'll feel relief, all this crap I write, you all must think I want people to build shrines to me, get me cryogenically frozen, sit me in place of the TV and basically wear black everyday mourning me until their time comes, but I don't want that, I would never want that, I simply want to be remembered for my good side, for the love I had for friends, family and life, not for my shitty, bitchy side, which has been much more prevalent of late.
If I could have one Christmas wish, it would of course be the obvious, for myself and for everyone suffering and that no one ever has to suffer again, eradicate this bastard. Whilst many of you are wishing that your credit card bill had a couple less zero's on it or that you could win the lotto, here I am literally wishing for another Christmas after this one, let's take a minute to take a breath and spare a thought for those that are doing it worse than you this Christmas, because no matter how bad life is, there's always someone out there worse off than you and me.
Sooky lala signing off for now, I hope your week has been more kind to you. Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤️🎄
A photo of my first outing in days, yep to the supermarket and home again, with my little shadow of course ❤️🤘🏼🎄
So here I am, I've just looked at my reflection in the mirror and for months now I've been going on at nauseam about my bloated, double chinned, Bert Newton and Amanda Vanstone's love child face and tonight I am looking emaciated and gaunt, eye's sunken and more and more like a contestant on Survivor every day, it's horrible.
Around the time of the Cup, I was starting to feel more human, more like myself facially, I wasn't quite there, but I was starting to get my groove back. Here I am six weeks later and I still look six months pregnant from tumours, tumour fluid, bloating and my good old friend constipation, my thighs still remain bloated from medication, but the rest of my body is losing weight and losing it quicker than a celebrity Mum loses her post baby weight from breast feeding hhmm hhmm, tummy tuck, hhmm, sorry I have a frog talking bullshit in my throat......breast feeding my ass, I'm not saying it doesn't help, but Mum to be doesn't go in on Tuesday, pop Bub out Wednesday and have a pool party on Monday with no jiggly bits in sight.......just sayin'.
I know what you're thinking, you can't win with this girl, well all I want is to be somewhere in the middle, just plain old average. I don't want to be a bloated mess and I don't want to be a skinny wreck. I'm tired of wasting meals that my Mum puts great effort into making, as soon as I take the first bite I'm trying to push back the urge to regurgitate. I force myself through half a meal, most times, but by the time I've gotten comfortable on the lounge after dinner, I've got Mum or Dad running for a sick bag or I'm hobbling to the toilet, trying to avoid a scene from the Exorcist, without the head turning and demonic possession.
Is it really too much to ask, to at least look a little normal on the outside, when the insides look like a scene from a Saw movie, a nice happy medium. I also remember the last time I had major issues like this, it was days before I was going under the knife for the fifth time. I remember I was on holiday up north with my Ex and I had been admitted to Cairns emergency, where they inserted an NG tube, whilst I was awake, with no local, that would have been my third or fourth, they put an 11ml tube up your nostril and feed it down your oesophagus until it hits your stomach (I've had one go into my lung by mistake before, that wasn't fun), the problem is, when they're feeding this plastic tube down your nose, you have a bunch of food that hasn't been digested sitting in your stomach, so it makes you sick at the same time as the nurses are telling you to swallow the tube, you're trying to get rid of the vomit, definitely not pleasurable, but I've become really good at them over the years, I don't even gag anymore, I know such an achievement. The NG tube is inserted so you can receive liquid food, rather than eating it. When I came out of the mammoth eight or nine hour surgery, my colorectal surgeon, whom they called in mid surgery as it was more detailed than they thought, told me I had days if I was lucky, there were tumours throughout just about to cause major blockages and without that surgery, I probably wouldn't have been alive the following week.
Here we are again, in the same pain, the same discomfort as that February back in 2014, but this time, I have no back up plan, no contingency, so not only am I shit scared I'm going to have a major blockage and die, I'm also scared I'm going to die gaunt and swollen, just give me a break.
My poor niece Ava had to once again witness her Aunty collapse to the ground in pain, writhing, trying to catch my breath to scream for someone to inject me with my pain Med. I was upstairs and Mum, Dad and Ava were outside in the backyard. Mum heard me after what felt like an eternity, but would only have been a minute. Mum was yelling trying to locate where in the house I was, Ava, likely watching on in horror, Mum found me and injected my meds, in the meantime I could hear Ava sort of sobbing behind Mum, pretend sobbing I think, Ava went downstairs and told my Dad, Lisa needs you, but Mum had already found me. It's not right that a 3 year old should have to witness her Aunty, so feeble and weak. Shortly after Ava came over to me and asked if I was fine, as I normally soothe her telling her it's fine bubba when I'm having a painful episode, but I didn't soothe her this time, so I think she needed reassurance. I told her I was fine and Ava promptly went to the backyard and told Mum in a stern authoritative voice "Lisa is NOT fine Nanna".
As I sit here and type and bitch and moan at 1am in the morning, I'm reminded of a beautiful message I received from a work colleague from way back when. I won't name names as she may not want to, but she mentioned that a person had come into her workplace and was going through cancer. My workmate mentioned myself and the blog and to her surprise the person said she reads my blog and it keeps her focused. Such a very small thing, in such a very big world. It just shows you that you can touch a person's life without even knowing, you can give them a source of comfort and help in their healing, all without meeting. This made my heart sing, to know that this interaction had happened at the opposite end of the country, whilst I was probably brushing my teeth or watching housewives of something somewhere.
Such a small interaction, in such a big world and it has made my week........still doesn't change the fact that I'm pissed off I can't keep a sip of water down, but it's something nice to think about when my head is in the loo.
To random person, with this horribly random disease, thank-you, I can't promise things will get better or worse, but know that you certainly made me smile and "workmate", you know who you are, thank-you for being the messenger.
I hope you're all having a wonderful weekend, filled with tinsel and Christmas inspired coffees and cocktails and of course Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤️🤘🏼🎄
As you all know, I wasn't blessed with children and I've often questioned whether I have experienced the deepest love a person can experience in their lifetime. Yes I'm a daughter, a sister, a granddaughter, an Aunty and so on and I know I'm loved and I love them, but is our love for each other as deep as a love for a partner or your own child?
I've been in love, I know what that feels like and it compares to no other love, well any love that I've had. There's something special about a loving relationship, a feeling that is pretty indescribable, but I can say it's a deep and unwavering commitment to another soul. When I've been in the depths of my deepest love with a partner, it's like I walk around with love blinders on, I would walk in front of a speeding train to save them, I've felt that and it doesn't compare to a love you have for your parents or siblings, it's no more important, it's just a different type of love and when it hits you, you'll know, because it's both exhilarating and scary at the same time, Scary? Yes, because you're in so deep you're frightened something might take that away from you, you're scared they don't feel the same, it won't last or it's not real.
As I thought about the different types of relationships in my life and the type of love we have for one another I had a realisation, all this time I've worried about how much people love me, how much people will miss me and what impact have I had on their lives? I especially worry about Ava, you see everyone else has had time to love me, to make lasting memories with me, but Ava? Well she's only three, yes we've made memories, yes we've developed a loving relationship, even though she's going through the terrible threes at the moment and she's more unpredictable than a USA election, we still have what I believe to be a very special bond, even though this evening she told me she doesn't love me because I was mean to Nanna, but moments prior to that she was following me everywhere and I turned around and said "Ava, stop following me" (jokingly), to which she replied "but Lisa I'm only following you because I love you", then when I wanted to have a shower she was following me and I told her again to stop following me and she said, "but Lisa it's because I still love you that I'm following you." That kid is like having a shower with the dishwasher on at the same time, she goes from hot to cold and back again in seconds, but I love her.
My fear I suppose, is that if and when I do kick the bucket, will she be old enough to remember our relationship? So my light bulb moment? I've always thought no matter how special these relationships, I'm leaving no-one behind, more specifically I'm not leaving a child behind, another one of those bonds that people say is like no other, in fact many say there is no deeper a love than the love you have for your own child, but then I thought about the love I have for my Aunty Bernie, I'm very lucky actually, I've been blessed with wonderful aunties on both sides of my family. They are all amazing women, each are loving and caring in an open and unique way, they all have wicked sense of humours (they get that from me), but I've sadly not had much physical contact due to living in another country, thankfully for Facebook we've been able to connect more and three of my Dads sisters came to Australia to visit from the UK just this year.
So why my Aunty Bernie? Why did she stand out? I used to basically live at her house when I was a kid, she was able to visit us in Australia more than my other Aunties and as well as that my other aunties have so many nieces and nephews that they could be confused for a less controversial version of that 19 kids and counting family, whereas my Aunty Bernie only had myself and my brother.
I have one of those loves for my Aunty that's unlike any other love I have for anybody else. Bernie is one of the kindest souls you'll ever meet, she is so devoted to myself and my family, that she has dropped everything and flown out here to Australia a few times in recent years to support my family and get us through the hard times, there are times she's been sitting on a plane not knowing if I'll be dead or alive upon her arrival, can you imagine that feeling? Bernie has gotten me through so many low moments over recent years, she is a beacon of light for all of us in our darkest hour, but especially me.
We didn't always have this relationship, I'm sure there's a few times she probably would have killed me after catching me going through her Fine Young Cannibals or Boy George records when I was a kid, if it weren't for the high probability of Jail time, (she still lived at home with my Grandparents on my Mums side and I would stay there often), I probably would have been wearing concrete shoes at the bottom of some Lough in Ireland years ago. God I was scared of her as a kid! She was certainly a fiery one in her early 20's, but as we both grew up, we grew closer, rather than apart, even if we are thousands of miles apart, our love and admiration for each other has grown and continues to grow with each day. Bernie has a husband and a son now, which I'm so happy that she has, as she deserves to love someone in that indescribable way and someone deserves to be loved by her in that indescribable way also.
If I can have that love and commitment for my Aunty, an indescribable love, a never-ending love, then surely if I can manage to stick around long enough, Ava can have an indescribable love for me too, because I know my love for her is already indescribable and I don't have to have a husband or a child to experience deep love or be loved deeply in return, I'm surrounded by indescribable love.
To all my Aunties, my love for each of you is indescribable.
To my Uncles, my love for each of you is indescribable.
To all of my family and friends, my love for you is indescribable and in the end I'd say that's a pretty special thing to know, that you've loved indescribably and been loved indescribably, even if you think you haven't, when you sit back and think about it, you probably already have. Stay Fabulous Rockstars ❤️🤘🏼🎄
My name is Lisa Magill and I have been navigating the minefield that is cancer since just months after turning 30, people have been saying to me for years that I should put my thoughts into writing and as time has progressed I thought I had left it too late, well here we are nearly 4 years in and for some unknown reason I've decided to start to write today.