Cancer · Family · Osteosarcoma · Thyroid

Because positivity is all we have

So today is almost 2 weeks since the first GP appointment. It’s been the most surreal 2 weeks of my whole life, a rollercoaster of emotions and thoughts.

Christmas Eve was his appointment at RNOH Stanmore for his MRI, CT scan and biopsy. We decided that because the hospital was almost a 3 hour drive away, my husband would stay at home with the girls to make it as normal a Christmas Eve as possible. Anyone who knows me or who has read my blogs before knows that I am Christmas personified. The definition of Christmas in skinny jeans. I am that person who thaws out Micheal Bublé on 1st November. So this year was hard. My heart was torn between my girls and my boy. He needed me more than they did, they had a busy day planned laying the table, having a daytime bath that’s only acceptable Christmas Eve and opening their new PJs that we wrap up for them every year.

We planned to leave at 4am as we had to find our way there and be on the ward ready for 7am. However, we were both awake at 3am, so I text Ellis’ Dad to see if he was up. Of course he was. We left earlier than planned, which meant no rushing. Ellis was nil by mouth as he was being put under general anaesthetic that day for his biopsy, so none of us had a drink in the car. Me with no coffee is not a good sight!

We arrived early and couldn’t work out how to get in the building 😂 being Christmas Eve, it was empty and all the lights were out. We finally managed to find a way in and were shown to his ward. It was a brand new building, with new amenities and even a screen with his name on, which he was impressed with.

There was a lot of waiting around, a lot of different staff members and a lot of information. He had 3 MRIs first thing, that took 2 hours all in all. He can’t straighten his knee now, so they had trouble getting a clear picture of what was going on. He had a full body, knee and spine MRI. All the while, his Dad and I sat outside and waited.

Next was his general anaesthetic. He was wheeled around the hospital by a porter, in an electric wheelchair, which made his day. He was sitting there with his pillow and blanket, taking the piss out of us ‘peasants’ who had to walk. Dick.

His biopsy was done under a CT scanner, so they could get the best view or something.

Ellis is only 12 but at 5’7″ he’s not a small lad. But seeing him on the bed when they put the mask and injection in him destroyed me. He looked so helpless and it really brought it home to me what was going on. The anaesthetist asked him if I wanted to kiss his head before I left. I just stood there, frozen, crying my eyes out. I suppose maybe now he was asleep I was allowed to not be brave? It all just came out.

He wasn’t in there long, just over an hour I think. An hour of small talk and twiddling our thumbs.

He was wheeled back in his bed, like royalty again. Even at this point he was enjoying lording it over us. After a sip of water he went on to demolish a ham sandwich, a donut and a plate of lasagna. This boys a machine.

We were finally allowed to leave at 5.30 and got home just after 8pm as the roads were clear.

My amazing husband had kept the girls up for me so I could give them a cuddle and do the Christmas Eve routine with them.

Christmas this year has been weird. I feel like I’ve not really had one. It’s involved lots of fake smiles and not cancelling plans as we need to keep things ‘normal’. We had family visits, my husbands work Christmas meal and other bits. All of which I just wanted to be at home pretending none of this was happening.

Today we took our tree and decorations down as we want to be prepared for whatever tomorrow brings. I couldn’t shake the dread that the next time I put the tree up, things could be very different for our little family.

I’m trying to be positive, trying to be ok.

After all, what else do I have


Cancer · Family · Osteosarcoma · Thyroid

Here we go again…

So here we are… again. Back to the start of a cancer diagnosis but this time not for me, for my son. For my amazing, thoughtful, gorgeous 12 year old son.

I used blogging when I was ill to document my journey as I thought, just maybe it could help just one other person through theirs. And it did. Not just one, lots of people. The people I have met through my blogs and Instagram are incredible and to think possibly I have made them feel supported is humbling.

So although it is my Son’s journey to share not mine, I will be sharing and documenting my side of things from a Mum point of view.

Ok so imagine your worst fear, followed by your worst pain imaginable. That’s pretty much where I am today. My heart physically hurts, my lungs hurt. I can’t eat, can’t sleep.

It’s been less than a week since he visited his GP last Monday at the emergency appointment I booked for him (and then being moaned at for using up an emergency appointment) After two trips to a local minor injuries unit within the last month and being fobbed off both times with “growing pains” and exercises to do I had had enough.

After telling me off for wasting her time, the GP gave me a form to take him for an X-ray. We did it straight after the appointment as having my son with me and away from his Xbox was a rare occurrence so I wanted to grab the opportunity while it arose.

Just before 8.30 the next morning I had a call from another GP at the surgery, telling me she had referred him to a hospital in London but specifically to the cancer team. My heart literally sank. She got into a fluster and had to ring me back as she had forgot to tell me some information and that she would like me to come in to talk with her on my own.

When faced in that situation, whether it’s you or someone you love, your body almost takes over. You go into auto pilot, taking in all the information and starting to make plans. Thats how I’ve been all week. Almost robot like.

Then today happened. Nothing has changed, but it’s all hit me like a tonne of shit. The enormousness of the situation, the negotiating work, the financial worry and the thought of my little big man going though what he’s got to go though has beaten me today.

I don’t feel strong enough for this at all. I feel like I’ve failed him, like I’ve let him down. We’re meant to protect our kids and I haven’t. I keep thinking it’s something I’ve done, choices I’ve made. Is it my faulty genes? Could I have prevented it somehow? If I had pushed sooner and not taken their stupid “growing pains” diagnosis as gospel, would he have been referred quicker?

I’m numb. My eyes are sore from crying and my husband probably hates me because I’ve shut him out all day.

But tomorrow is another day. Maybe I’ll be a little bit stronger, maybe I won’t. Be I’m trying my absolute hardest not to let this beat my family again.

So here starts our journey. The good, the bad and the scary.

Honest and raw, warts and all



The power of honesty

“Why do you write blogs?”

“Why do you share so much of your life on social media?”

“Why can’t people just go through life in private anymore”

Just an example of the things I read and see lately.

Personally, for me? I share my life, warts and all because I’m not ashamed. I’m not ashamed of feeling ill 90% of the time. I’m not ashamed of asking for help when I can’t muster up the energy to do it. I’m not ashamed to admit my body’s broken as fuck and actually I’m struggling with the mentality of that.

This is me. Gemma. I’m a Mum, a Wife, a Daughter, a Sister a Friend, a colleague…. the list goes on. But they are all just personas we have to adhere to. Hats we have to wear, if you were.

But the real me, the person behind closed doors that very few people get to see, the person who has more mental baggage than Heathrow is finally learning to accept who I am. I’m finally healing. And blogging and Instagram has helped me with that.

I get to talk to some amazing people who are fighting similar demons, who aren’t just based on how you look, if you’ve got the newest gadgets or the latest monotonous grey scale living room.

I talk open and honestly, without judgement or shame. Like therapy- without the cost 😝

As well as me doing the talking, I am able to support people similar to me, who also feel alone. Weird isn’t it, having a huge family, lots of friends, millions of bloody kids and you can feel alone.

I have an amazing support network and I know I am lucky, don’t get me wrong. But when everyone else has their own problems, it’s easier to answer with ‘I’m ok’ rather than tell the truth.

I’m terrified beyond words that my cancer will come back. Every lump, every bump it’s the first thing I think of. It’s ridiculous, I know that. So trying to explain that to someone is near impossible.

I have “met” some incredible, brave, genuine people through my writing and without them I wouldn’t be in the position I am in today.

Life is fucking tough, friendships are tough and relationships are tough. If I can help make just one person feel less anxious, feel less scared and feel less alone, then I’m more than happy with that.

So bloggers, keep blogging. Ranters, keep ranting and over sharers, keep over sharing.

You do you. You’re all pretty awesome 👏🏻


Anxiety… urgh

The familiar sight of 4am.

Insomnia sucks.

This is something I’ve never spoke about before, but everything seems a good idea at 4am, right?!

I suffer with anxiety. Anxiety so bad that it’s taking over my life. I’ve booked 2 GP appointments recently, but cancelled both at the last minute. Cancelled because it made me anxious 🤦🏼‍♀️ Because it’s embarrassing, because in the clear light of day, everything’s easier. Everything’s achievable. It’s a vicious circle. A circle that consumes my every thought.

“You’re a so strong”

“You’re so brave”

“You’re so confident”

Truth is, I’m not. I’m not dealing with things very well at the moment. Not that there’s particularly anything to deal with. It’s stupid.

I feel like I don’t have a reason to feel like this. Nothing to validate my feelings. I feel like a fraud.

The same thoughts echo through my head, night after night;

“You’re not good enough”

“You can’t cope”

“You’re being stupid”

Why is anxiety so taboo? Why is there still such a stigma surrounding it?

I’m so good at being there for everyone else, being the understanding wife, the caring friend, the one will stop and genuinely listen to what people are saying and make them feel validated. I can’t remember the last time I let that happen to me. I shrug it off with the ‘Oh I’m fine’s and the ‘So how was your day’.

What would I even say? What’s bothering me?




If I look at myself from a counsellor point of view, I’m just a huge bomb ticking away, waiting to explode. I’m their most interesting client. So why can’t I validate myself.

I’ve never been good at talking. I went to counselling at 8 years old when my Dad left, because despite everything that was going on, I never spoke. So my mum took me to good old Orchard House. I sat with a lady who gave me Barbies to play with in the hope I started talking. I didn’t. Not a single word. So that was that.

I never got offered counselling when I had cancer. I was told too often that it was the good cancer. I felt like a fraud for even thinking about wanting it. There were so many people much worse off than me, why can’t I just get on with it. So that’s what I did.

Story of my life, that.

I just got on with it.

So that leads me to now. To 5am. Awake, thinking, over thinking. It’s a lonely place to be.

There’s no positive end to this blog, no real moral. No advice.

Just honesty.

And the hope that maybe I’m not alone in this.


Maybe, just maybe I won’t get the closure I need…

It’s been a long time since I have wrote on my blog. Life takes over, priorities change and things change.

I’ve been in a much better place with it all lately, accepting the millions of appointments as my goal was in sight. My last appointment under the clinical trial, the last 6 monthly review from the NHS and the psychological end to a very long 6 year journey. I never wanted a party, or a huge fuss, just to know that I could let go. I could have closure from this roller coaster of a life that’s been handed to me. I so longed for this to happen. This was my strength through the hardest times, through the scary times and through the utterly confused times. It was my end. You can ride any storm when you know it has an ending, right?

But Yesterday my ending didn’t happen. Nothing bad happened, I’m still cancer free and in the clear, which is fantastic. My storm is still looming above. It’s like a having a huge headache that you can’t shift, or having an additional years payment on a car finance that you don’t want 🤣

The treatment that I have to have is called Thyrogen. It’s normally a treatment you have at the beginning of it all, before the radioactive iodine treatment. But I had that 5 years ago… so why now? I’ve got to have a week of juggling childcare, negotiating around work, feeling shit and relying on others. I hate being the ill one. I hate not being able to take care of my children and ask for help. I’ve done all that.

My family and friend are literally the best and I know I wouldn’t even have to ask for support, because I have been inundated with offers in last 24 hours. It’s the switch in mindset. I’m strong now, I’m independent, I know my limitations and I juggle life like a boss 🙌🏻 My daughter comes to all my appointments with me as she’s grown up not knowing any different. She sits on my lap when I have bloods taken, I don’t need anyone to have her. We’ve got this. So to have to go back to being looked after and vulnerable terrifies me.

I just feel shit. There are no fancy words that describe how I feel better than that.

I see amazing pictures and videos of cancer patients ringing the bell when their treatment is over, it’s empowering. The relief they must have, the closure must be amazing.

But what do I get? Because my cancer was ‘the good cancer’ 🤦🏼‍♀️ I get nothing.

Cancer is for life. It has changed me as a person, it has changed the way my body works and has changed my outlook on life. So for good or for bad, I need to mark the occasion and move on.

To me, my cancer very much brought grief. I grieved for long time for the person I used to be, for the life I used to have. The most important things in experiencing grief is closure. You go through all the steps, in whatever order your body needs, then you let go. So why is this any different? I’ve been angry, I’ve been in denial, I’ve blamed people, I’ve been sad. Now let my mind have the last bit. I want to move on so desperately, but tell me how to do that when they are still holding onto the very last thread?

This is a sentence that’s echoed quite a lot in my blogs, but life after cancer is fucking hard.

I know I sound silly and ungrateful, but can’t shift this feeling of sadness and frustration. There are so many people who have never got the chances I’ve had and would give anything to have a few more months of treatment. But does this make me wrong? Do I have to just accept that this is what my life is?

I’ve learnt so much about myself in the last 6 years, I’ve been kinder to myself more than ever, I’ve put my body and my well-being first and fought demons that at one point, didn’t think would go away.

So please, doctors, nurses, health professionals, people like me need closure too. We need validation. We need to hear the words ‘it’s over’ because we genuinely fear it may never be.



Urgh, this again

Urgh this again.

My grandad passed away last week. I’ve been listening in awe to the stories of what a great Dad my grandad was, hearing funny stories about him being naughty and typical grandad! Seeing all around me, family pulling together looking after their own. The truth is, I don’t know what that feels like. Not the family part, my Mum is literally the best mum I could ask for and my sisters are now my best friends. I can’t relate to having a relationship with a dad. A protector. The only man who should steal your heart. The man I should look up to and turn to when life is hard. I don’t know what that’s like.

My other grandad is now in a hospice and the day me and my sister visited him, my “dad” left 5 minutes before we got there. He chose again to not see us. He chose again to reject us. Just when I think I’m over it, he pops up just to remind us of how he failed and continues to fail. My husband has never even met him. My children think I simply don’t have a Dad. Every psychology book ever says when you experience loss, you have to grieve. Only thing is, he’s not dead so he won’t even let us do that. So we are in limbo. Still wondering why. Still wondering where we went wrong. Wondering what we did to make him hate us so much.

Yes maybe I need therapy to help me with these feelings. Or maybe I need a frank conversation with him to help me deal with it in my head. All I know is that every time I think Im over it and that I’m dealing with that shit, it feels like it comes down like a tonne of bricks.

So where does this leave me? How do I carry on. Do I go through the same routine that I seem to go through every time my Nan or grandad mention his name. Convince myself that I’m better off without him, I don’t need him. Only for it all to come crashing down every time he decides to play the doting family man and try to convince people that’s he’s totally not doing it for the inheritance 🤦🏼‍♀️

I don’t even have a positive, strong line to go at the end of this blog.

All I know is that I’m actually not OK after all.



Image result for family quotes

Family. A word with so many different meanings. What does it mean to me? It means unconditional. Genuinely caring and wanting the best for them. Not necessarily physically seeing each other, but knowing they are always there. Knowing if you ever need anything, they will always have your back.

THAT is family.

Not a half hearted attempt at “How are you” or “Haven’t the children grown” Well yes, kids do tend to do that and if you saw them more or asked after them, you would know.

Family doesn’t always have to mean blood related. Just because you share someones DNA or you brought them into this world, does not give you the automatic right to be ‘family’ in my opinion.

My children are extremely lucky to have such an amazing family and extended family, that luckily enough they don’t miss out on those related who simply don’t bother. They don’t know they exist. And to be honest, I kind of prefer that.

This means they won’t grow up with the same self doubt as I did, the same insecurities as others close to me and the same feelings of rejection over and over again which unfortunately, is all too common in ‘families’

That is the hardest part about family members like that. The trail of destruction they leave in their wake. We are the ones who pick up the pieces and have to rebuild our shattered illusion of growing up in this type of ‘family’, or the ones who have to explain to our children why Mummy doesn’t have a Daddy. “Well kids, Mummy’s Daddy is a narcissistic who is totally incapable of thinking about anyone other than himself. He doesn’t want to be my Daddy or your Grandad, because even though he was forgiven time and time again and given more opportunities than he deserved, he choses not to be in our lives.” Hmm. Not sure that will work. I’m ok with my kids thinking you don’t exist.

I am fortunate enough to have my amazing Mum in my life who keeps me grounded and gives us all enough love for two. My Step- Dad who stepped up when, lets face it, he probably wasn’t thrilled of the idea of three teenage Step-Daughters with daddy issues. My husband who is the most loving, amazing , caring Daddy to Iris and equally amazing Step-Dad to the others. This man has put my faith back in the word Dad. And someone who most wouldn’t include- My ex husband. Without our amazing co parenting, our children wouldn’t be the people they are today. He buys the kids Mothers Day presents for me, Christmas presents and even buys Iris gifts at Christmas. Our ultimate goal is to make sure all of the kids are ok, mentally as well as physically and all 3 of us do it bloody well.

Then there is my sisters. My best friends, right from the beginning. The ones who would drop everything to help each other out. Thats pretty cool.

Last but not least there is my extended new family. My in-Laws (As if my family couldn’t get any bigger!) I have the best Sister in Law ever, who we know is always there for any strange request we have or to talk Glenn out of another DIY disaster. The best great Aunt I could ever wish for, even though she lives far away (further than other family who don’t bother may I add) she has made me and the kids feel accepted from day 1.

So even without the so called ‘family’ members, who quite frankly don’t deserve their titles or special days, we are doing alright.

More than alright.

We are a FAMILY





Mother’s Day.

Image may contain: 4 people, people smiling, people standing, tree, outdoor and nature

So today is Mother’s Day. The one day a year us Mum’s get a day off, but in the same breath know this will never happen.

Being a mum is hard. I mean really hard. You give up your identity, your body and your life to make sure little versions of you are happy and healthy. From the minute you open your eyes in the morning, until the minute you close them again at night. I work 3 days a week, because quite frankly, the thought of full time along with all the other mum jobs scare the shit out of me.

“You only work part time, why are you stressed?”

“You get to go home now, you’re lucky, you can do whatever you want”

“You’ve only just got to work and you look angry already”

So let me tell you what my woking day consists of. I will use last week as an example.

  •  Wake up to the two younger ones arguing in their room, over god knows what.
  • Make breakfast and sit and listen to the middle two arguing over who looked at who. Yes that really is a common argument in this house.
  • Tidy up, hoover, open curtains, pick up random cups all over the living room from the night before, because the fairies never came to tidy them up.]
  • Tuck all the chairs back in under the table, as children seem to lose the use of their arms in that room.
  • Go upstairs and find clothes for the little one, making sure they don’t ‘feel funny’ on her skin. Whatever that means.
  • Tell the 9 year old to stop rolling around on the floor and get dressed.
  • Tell the 11 year old to get of his phone and get ready.
  • Tell the 9 year old to stop rolling around. Again.
  • Let the dogs back in as I forgot and notice they have now dug a huge hole in the grass. Great.
  • Make sure the little one has had a wash and brushed her teeth.
  • Tell the 9 year old to stop rolling around. I wish I was joking.
  • Play referee over a ‘who is in the bathroom’ debate. God forbid one of them has 1 minute more than the other.
  • Ask the 9 year old if she had brushed her teeth after spending 10 minutes in the bathroom.
  • Establishing exactly what said 9 year old was doing for 10 minutes in the bathroom, as she wasn’t brushing her teeth. Then send her to go and do them.
  • Torture both girls, one at a time. (Brush their hair to you and me)
  • Tell 9 year old for the 3rd time to brush her teeth. Bribe with money. (No shame)
  • Ask all 3 to get shoes on and lunchboxes out of the fridge.
  • Spend 10 minutes finding lost shoes.
  • Finally make it out of the door.
  • Drop the 11 year old off.
  • Drop the little one off to nursery.
  • Drop the 9 year old off to school.
  • Make the 45 minute journey to work, navigating my way through school mums who can’t drive, the same tractor I get stuck behind every week and 2 buses.
  • Arrive at work ready for a strong coffee.
  • Do my work. Peacefully.
  • Leave work.
  • Drive to pick the little one up from nursery, where she is always in Forest School.
  • Walk the 5 minute route to Forest School from the nursery, realising I forgot her lunchbox, so have to go all the way back to get it.
  • Park 400 miles away from the 9 year olds school, because there are too many cars on this planet, or so it seems.
  • Walk across a muddy, windy narnia type field just to get to the school.
  • Stand and wait for 10 minutes, because somehow I am early?
  • Tell the little one 6 times to stop scooting into my foot.
  • Listen to the 9 year old bout her day at school, while carrying a 4 year old, her scooter and a ukulele across the road.
  • Get home.
  • Empty, clean and refuel lunchboxes. Reusing the same apple for the 11 year old that I’ve been using since Monday. Maybe Tomorrow will be the day that he eats it?
  • Make dinner. Not sure why, because 3 out of 4 will hate whatever I make and moan throughout the whole meal.
  • Hoover while dinner is cooking because, well, huskies.
  • Battle through dinner time, with our favourite game of ‘stop looking at me’ ketchup rationing now seems to be a thing between them all. God forbid one has a bigger blob than the other.
  • Wash up, while trying to talk to the husband on the phone. The first real conversation we get, which is mostly always cut short or interrupted with random shouting and lots of swearing under my breath.
  • Hoover again. No, really.
  • Argue over who’s turn it is to tidy the living room. (We have a chore chart where we pay them to do things around the house in exchange for $ for holiday. Yes I am aware this is bribery. Its genius.)
  • Give the little one a 5 minute warning for bed, otherwise its like exorcising a demon. Damage limitation.
  • Manage to somehow get out of putting her to bed for the 4th year in a row, because my husband is literally the best.
  • Tell the others to pack their bags for school the next day and to get ready for bed. To assume they can do this without being told is laughable.
  • Play referee again because she doesn’t want to watch what he is watching, even though she liked it yesterday.
  • Painfully make my way through the next hour of bedtime slots with he help of candy crush and the ability to block out annoying things.
  • Finally get to 9pm and I get to actually see my husband!
  • 9.30 one of us falls asleep through attempt 3 at a single episode.
  • Give up and go to bed. Ready to do it all again the next day.

As a Mum you are also a PA. A very underpaid one nevertheless. Just next week alone I have a church service to attend (where the 9 year old is playing the ukulele – shoot me now), a parents evening (4th one this month), a shield to make (this is all the information I have been given so far and ironically my second one this month),  a squash tournament ( Do we go and watch? Does she need anything?), a meeting with the 11 year olds school, a job interview for my dream job (even though I have just accepted a new one) and an early finish to negotiate my way around. Im pretty sure there is a non school uniform day in their somewhere, where its like social suicide if you child wears the same clothes as last time.

And all that with not one hot cup of tea.

So heres to the Mums on Mother’s Day. I salute you. You fucking rock.







This is me now and I’m finally ok with that.

I haven’t wrote a blog for so long, but I thought now was a good time to update everyone. For the past 5 months I have been learning to live with having an official fibromyalgia diagnosis. I have gone through a whole range of emotions in that time. Anger; why me, why my body AGAIN. Relief; finally a name to put to all of my symptoms, I’m not going crazy after all. Sadness; is this me forever? Frustration; I was naively thinking diagnosis would mean the end, but it really was just the beginning. Denial; research suggesting that fibromyalgia is not really a thing, so there must be something else they have missed?

I am now in a really good place and I have accepted that this is just me now and I can’t change it, I’ve just got to live with it. Don’t get me wrong, I have the odd off day, when I have planned to do something for the day with the kids but have to cancel because my head hurts so much or the brain fog is so bad that I can’t think straight. I do worry about what their childhood is like, growing up seeing their mum in pain most days. It makes me feel so guilty. But if anything, it teaches them compassion and I like to think they know I try my absolute hardest everyday.

I am still waiting for my pain clinic referral, which I have been told is worth waiting for. I have had physio, with the most uncaring, patronising man I have ever met. Needless to say, I didn’t go back for my follow up appointment. I have stopped weighing myself because I know I am piling on the pounds, but there is nothing I can do about it. I am learning to love myself again. I will never be the person I used to be 5 years ago, size 10, outgoing, not a care in the world, staying up past 9pm 😂 This is me now and I am weirdly ok about that.

I am learning my triggers slowly. Stress is a HUGE one for me. A stressful day can lead to a a migraine attack lasting a few days. Sleep is also another trigger. A late night or broken sleep will also lead to the mother of all migraines. The one I hate the most and the one I’ve been denying to myself for a long time is coffee 😫😫 I LOVE my coffee, so much that I have lost count on the amount of coffee making devices I have in my kitchen! But after coffee I feel sluggish and brain fog is at it’s worse. It’s been a real learning curve for me since diagnosis, learning what my body like and dislikes, coming to terms with the fact I can’t do the things I used to or can’t eat/drink the things I used to love.

I have also completed my first course since I left uni 5 years ago! My long term goal is to become a counsellor and the first step was to complete Level 2 counselling skills, which I completed last month. I start the Level 3 in September, which I am literally counting down the days for!

The kids have finished school for the summer holidays so I have no school runs to do, no lunchboxes to pack and no uniforms to make! Just 6 weeks of being lazy and spending quality time with my little family.

We are saving like mad to take the kids back to California next year, so we have booked a little break away camping next week. It was a really good idea at the time, when the sun was shining… but now I’m dreading it! 4 children in a tent for a week. A toddler who is so particular with certain things- the slightest thing different can send off into a meltdown! A teenager who, as long as there is WiFi she should be ok, a pre-teen who will have no xbox for a week and will have to spend time actually taking to real life people and an 8 year old who as long as she has got some maths to do, should be ok.

Wish me luck 😂


Fuck you, Fibromyalgia

Urgh I’m really trying at the moment. Trying to be just me without the horrendous fatigue that’s haunting me at the moment. Trying to hold a conversation when I feel like I’m drunk. Willing the kids to stop bloody arguing for 1 minute so I don’t have to get up and lose my shit. Can’t remember a life before my shitty health problems.

I don’t even know what fibromyalgia is properly, I normally love a google, anyone who knows me with clarify this! But this week I can’t even be bothered to do that.

I feel like my body has run out of energy.

I was told yesterday that my symptoms have got worse since my diagnosis. Yeah thanks for that. I already feel lazy enough as it is without being made to feel like I’m making this up. God if I could make anything up it definitely wouldn’t be a chronic illness.

Being diagnosed officially has been almost a relief. Instead of having to hide how I feel for fear that I sound crazy or lazy I can explain that actually I’m neither.

I feel so down it’s unreal. Maybe its due to the stressful shitty week I had last week, my body’s way of reminding me that i have this shitty condition.

I feel that it’s taken over my life, consuming every part of me.

I have spoke to so many people who suffer from chronic illness’ which has been so nice, I’ve gained so many more friends on Instagram and Facebook who are all super supportive but I have ironically never felt so alone.

Do people not know what to say?

Do they think I’m just being lazy?

If I had a broken leg would people still be the same?

I would just very much like to hide in my bed and not come out. Maybe for cake and coffee, but that’s it.

I don’t even think those close to me really get it. I’ve not told my children because I don’t want them to worry. They knew I had cancer because they had to know as I had my operations and I was in isolation for days. It was fairer to them to explain the truth rather than come up with a lie. But trying to explain this to them seems impossible. I wouldn’t even know where to start, especially as I still don’t fully understand it myself.

It’s the emotional support I crave most at the moment. Someone to just listen and be there. Nothing anyone can say would change anything but just a text to say you know what, I’m here.

Physically I’m owning this shit. I have no choice as life has to go on but emotionally I’m a mess.

Urgh such a pointless moan blog, I apologise.