The lesson Miss 7 taught me this week

I had a massive wake up call this last few days.

I was stopped in my tracks and I forgot to breathe.

I realized as I looked into my daughters eyes, that she thought that I was cool.

It was both exhilirating and profound.
It was a moment I will never forget because I will always remember the moment my baby girl stopped being a baby girl and started being a woman in the making.

I am flawed daily by the wonder that is my Miss 7.
She is the single most perfect thing I have ever known.
(Dont get me wrong there she aint perfect but she is perfection..... y'know?)

The thing that struck me this time was that I want her to be amazing and happy and successful and kind and good and I want her to have wonderful influences........
And who is it that she looks at daily and learns from and models herself on and measures others against?

Holy snapping duck shit.......... its me.

I am the role model for this magnificent little girl.
I am the bar for her.
(Not that kind of bar - the bar that is set.)

We have started to play netball, she and I.
I am loving it for the social and fitness aspects, she is too.

But it is the first time she has seen me taking on a persuit that is purely selfish.
Not domestic, or for the good of my family or household. Just Me.
Goal Shooter.
Christine. Not Mum.

And she thinks its deadly.

We were watching a talent show on telly tonight and there was this extraordinary 44 year old mother who was pole dancing like an international gymnast.
And Miss 7 turns to me and says "You should do that Mum."

AS IF!!!

But the point was that she really thought I could... she thought I might.

She believes in me and she thinks I am great and that I can do anything.

(She knows I cant always remember my keys but, y'know....)

She has seen me slide down the hideous slippery slope of chemo and she is seeing me climb back up.

Her clear blue eyes staring at me saying "why not"??? are all I need to remember and it makes me want to be better.

I really want her to be proud of me. I want her to think I am cool like I have never wanted anyone to think that ever....

So I feel affirmed of something I felt the day she was born.... that she would make me the best I can be.

Thanks baby girl. xxx

The very simple hands-free, hands-off, happy children Mummy Technique.....

I've been having a minor lifestyle crisis lately, and two conversations I had this morning with friends' I respect enormously, have encouraged me to write this bloggy thingy.

The neurotic parenting dilemma that's knotting my knickers is a pretty hot topic for folks of my age and generation.

Unlike teenagers and early twenty-types, we are not technology natives yet we are immersed in it for pleasure and for work and for socializing.
Unlike them, also we are (broadly speaking) raising children.

Unlike the empty-nesters, who are also catching on and using technology in every day life, we are trying desperately to find that balance between the extensive use of technology in our homes, our lives (sometimes at out dinner table), and the less connected way in which we were brought up.

We are the last generation to remember the world pre-internet, pre-smart-phone, pre-playstation.

The good old days.
The days when families had conversations.
The days when a chat with friends didn't revolve around what we've both already read on FaceBook.
The days of backyard cricket.
Board games, tree climbing, lego, painting, mud, cubby houses, marbles, BOOKS!!!!!!

Y'know?
I know I'm sounding like every grown up through history... "In My Day" but bear with me.

I know there is such a thing as balance.
And I'm trying, I really am.
But I am pannicked that the delights of childhood are being neglected and I worry about my kids becoming..... Boring.

This all comes off the back of a talk I heard on the wireless (ha ha!)
from a guy who had pinpointed the fear we have developed of allowing out children to get bored.
He spoke about how much imaginative play and discovery and mischief had been born from having "nothing to do" in his childhood.

I want that for my kids.
I want them to have ideas, and imagination, and initiative!

I know there are technological devices which claim to encourage these things but its not the same.

Then I wonder if this really IS preparing them for the real world - maybe being mindless morons who stare at screens all the time is exactly where we are all heading.

The other thing he spoke about was out modern day fear of allowing our kids to get hurt.
Note: he did say 'hurt', and not 'maimed'.

I couldnt agree more with him.

Anyone reading this will know that I am a pretty hands-off mum.
I let my kids climb on stuff and hang upside down and play where I cant always see them.
They learn.
And they become resilient.
And guess what?
Pretty much, they have never once broken their skulls or been abducted from our front garden.

We are so damn controlling. And so much of it comes from fear.
I know we are supposed to protect our baby's but what are we protecting them from?
What are the chances of a shattered collar bone?
I KNOW it happens.
But HOW OFTEN????
WHAT ARE THE ODDS????

Surely the trade off of freedom and discovery and childhood memories of running free are worth rethinking the restraints we place on kids "learning the hard way".

Now I realize it sounds like the way I am doing things is what I believe to be the right way.
But actually its the opposite.
I'm all like, HELP!!!

I'm stuck between the old world and the new world and I dont know how to make it just right for my children who I want so desperately to have wonderful childhoods and also to grow up to change the world for the greater good!!!!!
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!

I want to put them in front of the telly when they are shitting me to tears, but I want them to sit up at dinner and speak eloquently about their day at school.

I want them to be fluent and skilled on the computers in the classroom but I want them only to read paper books and do puzzles in their spare time at home.

I know a family who have a 10 and an 8 year old boy.
They have no television and they have no computer type games in the house.
They play musical instruments for fun, are both very talented at drawing and they live by the beach, where they like to surf.

If I had my way, I would mold my household to be more like that.

But I do love to flop in front of the telly with my husband sometimes (sometimes I hate it) and, like I said, its also a great babysitter.

So what is the upshot?
I have come with a problem, but I was taught to also turn up with a solution.

The answer......

It's me.

I have to expose them to the delights I feel they might enjoy and which will enhance their lives.
I have to follow my gut with regards to allowing them freedom whilst remaining safe.
And I have to set an example with screen time and the way in which I use technology.
How many of my waking hours do I want to invest in FaceBook?
Do I want to teach my children that its ok to have a conversation with me while scrolling a phone screen???

Terrible habits set terrible examples.
And when it comes back to bite me on the ass, it will be MY FAULT.

So the crux of it all, I have decided, is that I should live my life in a way that sets an example of a balanced, happy, well-rounded, creative, thinking person and hope that my children can make choices based upon what they are exposed to.

Right.... no big deal.
I can do that....... I think.......

Stage One: you wont be seeing me on Facebook much in the next little while.
Great suggestion from a very smart friend, I'm going to try it too.

Lots of love.
xxx

Go F#$% yourself 35

So, its been a while since I wrote but I'm back with a good'in'.

Its my birthday tomorrow.
I just want to go over a few facts as to why I am glad that my 35th year is over.

As if you dont know..... well maybe there are some things you don't know.

I am so glad my 35th year is over.
It was the WORST year of my otherwise blessed life to date but some great things happened too:

1.) I feel like I stopped grieving for my Mum.
Don't get me wrong, every time I need her or remember how bloody funny she was, my heart breaks and fills up with chaos. Her absence still takes my breath away.
But I think I turned a corner where my heart was less under the shadow of losing my Mum, and more able to carry on without my greatest teacher and biggest fan.

2.) I have a new level of respect for my husband. (You know I don't normally blog about T,D&H)
He quit smoking this year.
I am so proud of him for doing this. He has taken a massive step towards what I would regard as ensuring my children may not become orphans. (I only think that when I'm being a massive drama queen, but it's true.... isnt it?)

3.) My sister has become a nurse and works in a palliative care ward where she helps people to die with dignity and minimal pain. That is a job only the most humane and compassionate people could do and I cant believe that my baby sister has become such a living angel. The pride overwhelms me.

4.) My children have blossomed into people with early war-wounds.
They don't realize it but having lived a year with a Mum fighting breast cancer has given them stripes. They have experienced fear, grief, despair, uncertainty and enormous love and communal nurturing. They dont know it, but this experience has put them in great stead to face future challenges and I am already so speechless at the little humans they are shaping up to be.

5.) I have met more people who are going to die soon this year than most people will meet in their lives.
Funny thing about cancer. I really cant even count the women I have met this year who will definitely die in the foreseeable future.
Now, I grant you, this doesn't belong in a list of great things..... but if you saw them and heard them and experienced what a dying person does on a day to day basis when she is living on borrowed time, you too would count this as a blessing.
Un. Be. Freaking. Lievable.

6.) I have what has been described as "Common or Garden Variety Brest Cancer".
I am not going to bore you with the details but, believe me, this is GREAT news.

7.) Chemo is OVER!!!!!!!

8.) I got a very real picture of how much I mean to my family. You probably never get a full idea of how much you mean to your dad and the rest of family til you have to tell them you have cancer. It gives you real perspective on how much they love you. Which in my shittiest year - 35th - is a lot.

That's enough.
You get the point.
I am counting my blessings BIG STYLE and I am bringing in 36 with champagne, friends, family, new beginnings, hope and lots of love and gratitude.

Thank you beautiful readers and supporters for following my little blog.

Christine. xxx

The Eleven Year fairytale.....

Once upon a time there was a young girl from Australia who landed on a plane in London with nothing but a a borrowed Kathmandu backpack and a desire to flee a stifling relationship.

Her plane landed very early one December morning at Heathrow and after an eye opening train ride she arrived in west London, hunted down a packet of cigarettes and checked into her Hostel.

It was cold. She didnt care. She felt excited and full of hope for adventure. The sun was just coming up.

ENTER STAGE RIGHT TALL, DARK AND HANDSOME FELLA LOOKING FOR A LIGHT.....

Do you have a light?
Why, yes I do....

He commenced a relentless pursuit of the young Australian girl, and after a very, very long time she realized he was tall, dark, handsome and possibly something more.....

By the New Year, they were a couple. (If you know what I mean ;-)  )

FAST FORWARD 18 MONTHS

Young Australian girl marries Tall, Dark and Handsome chap in very low key, but high romance setting on the Thames in London.

I think you'll agree they look a handsome and happy couple.

You can see why he thought all his hopes and dreams were answered that day. ;-)

FAST FORWARD FOUR YEARS

SURPRISE!!!!!!

A heavenly baby girl, followed two years later by a delicious baby boy are gifted to the young couple.
They are smug as hell that they have been blessed so and count their blessings daily.

Continuing their journey through the tunnel of love, they pack up their life in London and migrate to Australia.

Over the next four years they manage to weather a storm that see's them survive: joblessness, penniless-ness, anxiety, loss of two parent's, miserable winter's, the purchase of their first home, and several ponderances of how the hell anyone ever thought they imagined they knew what marriage would entail.

Guess what????
Its not about the dress!!!!
And having fun and laughing isnt what trues love is about and the reality is both terrifying and exhilarating.

On their tenth anniversary they had a wonderful weekend away where they ate out out, slept in, and played uninterrupted games of scrabble in bed with wine. Ten years. What an achievement. They were very proud of themselves.

Then one day, the now not quite so young Australian girl goes to the doctor.......

You know this part, but in case you dont, there was a scare:
http://aheartfullofchaos.blogspot.com.au/2013_02_01_archive.html

Closely followed by a nightmare:
http://aheartfullofchaos.blogspot.com.au/2013/03/a-heart-full-of-faaaaaaaaaaark.html

But back to the youngish couple: neither of them saw their greatest challenge coming.
They were blindsided and scared.

The youngish girl saw fear and sorrow in the youngish man's eyes when they learned that she had aggressive breast cancer.
He had a look of child-like terror in his eyes and she was distressed to imagine that she might become yet another tragic loss in his life.
She wondered whether he deserved this terrible curse, and if he ever thought about having married someone who might not have this awful disease. Someone who would stay young and beautiful and healthy til much later in their married life.....

But he didn't. And she didn't. And they ventured into Cancer Land together and scared to death.
Hand in hand.
They soon realized, ten years on, exactly what it was they had committed to all those years ago.... in sickness and in health.

He never wavered from his role as dutiful husband and through thick and thin he fulfilled every requirement a husband could ever have and then some.

They were both able to see that their beautiful children were a blessing, this time in the form of a reason to fight on and survive the seemingly impossible.
Most days, the act of helping the children to believe that everything would be ok, even when they didnt think it might be, was a job in itself that kept them going.
They made all things into a game.
Shaving Mummy's head, looking after mummy, visiting mummy in hospital were fun family activities.

The youngish couple soon learned a lesson that helped them to see beyond the mundane in everyday life. They quickly learned how blessed they had been and that they had sweated the small stuff far too often.

They celebrated their 11th wedding anniversary in a very low key manner, almost in a hopeful way, because now they realized that every year is a gift and that you just never know what is round the corner.
From one year to the next.
But that commitment and loyalty count most of all.
And that maybe wedding vows should include :

In sickness and in health, in good times and in times so bad, you want to shit your pants, cut, and run.....

I do.

Something funny, but not

Hey you know that old adage, dont text or facebook when youre drunk?
(Sister K...?)

Well the same should be said for when you have para-military steroids pumping through your body.

But hey ho.
I am feeling bullet proof after having chemo today and I have some decent mind and body altering chemicals on board to help me not feel the cell destroying chemicals I have on board.

Also, I just read this thingy that said 'Bloggers should write something each day that scares them'

Sweet.

But I dont really call myself a blogger, per-say, I call my self a "blogger".
See the difference?
I don't get paid to promote products. That's the main difference.
The other difference is that I write, like every month.... (Blushing face)

(See a REAL blogger would know how to insert a blushing face pic....)

So back to the topic - writing about something that scares me.

I have a topic.
My disfigured self.
It scares me cause its not funny and you might not like it so I should not write it and what you will or not say in the comments section worries me.

I'll keep it brief.

I said to husband last night, who I was once again in the full-nude-in-front-of .....(its hard to avoid with one bathroom)
"Who'd have thought a year ago, I would look like this?"

We laughed.

It wasn't funny.

I am quite literally transformed.

I am bald, and more "plush", I have several man-made parts residing inside my skin including a protruding button in my chest (chemo port), and about 50,000 scars.

I am..... different.
And that is confronting.
For me, for him and for people I know, and dont know.

If I was just me, up a tree in the forest I would be bothered not at all.
But I am not not.
I live in a society where people feel dreadful for me when I don't wear make up and a hat.
I don't mind, but I would rather people think I look fine than "Oh shit, is she dying?"

It's not forever.
I am lucky compared to so many.
I am Sooooooooo lucky.

I am so different but so lucky.

Does that make sense?

xxxx

A Eulogy for my Eyebrows

For my formative years, I never even knew you were there.

You went about your purpose quietly and without fuss.

I thank you for the balance you sustained and the separation you maintained.

Then I became a teenager and I know now how wrong I was.

I attacked and mauled you, heeding no advice from those who knew better.....
Mum told me again and again
"Leave the bloody things alone, just leave them!"
But I thought I was clever, I thought you'd just keep up.

She knew.

She knew.

If only I had listened.

But we were able to repair our relationship over many, many years.
You grew in new directions and I learned to let you.
Always together and yet somehow apart, we got along better and better as we both matured and a relationship of respect was fostered.

Ie. I left you the hell alone.

Recently, though you found yourself under attack from within.
The ravages of Chemical Therapy appeared to have been forgiving on you and you held on with resolution and seemed to stand when others - seemingly stronger - fell.

But it seems that even the mighty will fall when saturated tri-weekly with chemical warfare.
And your time has come.

The wise one inside me knows that you are a price that had to be paid.
A helpless victim, but a necessary evil.

But the superficial cow inside me is totes Bitchin'.

I cannot deny I have tried to replace you with synthetic imposters, nothing more than a grown up crayon, a metaphoric band-aid if you will.....
They will have to do for now.

But I know we'll meet again.
Some day.
Somewhere.......... well, preferably in the old place.
Our place.

Goodbye.
My eyebrows.
Goodbye.

***Cue tears***

***not really cause I don't want to risk the ole eyelashes if you know what I mean***

Tips on getting the most out of 13 hours in a confined space with your loved ones...

Hey there.

So, as some of you may know, I just had a holiday with my family.
A road trip.
A pretty long one.
About 1040km I think.
Each way.

Looooong way.
In a car.
Me, Tall, Dark and Handsome, and the kids, Miss 7 and Mr 4.

This was the third time we have done this trip.
Suffice to say, I would call myself something of an expert.
(Or an idiot.....)

Either way, I have learned a few things, and here I present you with the top twelve things I think you should know before embarking on a long car trip with small children, if you are to have any chance of surviving or actually enjoying it:

1. Fly if you can.

2. Pre pack a husband who prefers to do all the driving himself as he doesn't trust anyone else (you) to drive...... but who will let you drive for an hour when you get very bored.
(And then will take over after 20 minutes when you're bored again.)

3. Pillows, lots of.
Sleep is a wonderful way to pass the time. You may also need ear plugs in the absence of doors which you can shut between you and your loved ones.

4. When the kids inevitably ask "Are we there yet?", answer in terms of Playschool episodes. IE. "6 episodes of Playschool til we get there".
I advise against this if you have more than 6 hours to go.... the idea of 12 episodes of Playschool will upset even the most avid young fan.

5. Do not discuss anything remotely controversial with your partner during the 13 hour drive. This is not the time for a tiff. There is nowhere to go and there can be no winners. Everyone loses when you have a disagreement and have to remain firmly side by side in close proximity for another 20 episodes of Playschool....

6. Pack tissues and plenty of water. They will get you out of most minor emergencies.
I forgot both this trip.... I did pack wet wipes which came in use for nothing, amazingly.

7. You will need to stop for petrol. Do so before the fuel light flashes. Nobody will assume any less of you if you fill up when there is still a quarter of a tank left. There are no medals for gliding into the fuel stop with 3km to spare. FYI, petrol stations on Australian highway's are between 86 and 200km apart, no car has that kind of reserve, and this situation can segue way you easily to point 5 ^ ^ ^.
You have been warned.

8. Learn the intricacies of Eye Spy, Spotto, Yellow Car, Spot What, and all their permutations.
Also, learn to enjoy them in their extended versions.
And be prepared to abandon the idea of fun family games if they become physical.
Perhaps pack a whistle....

9. Regardless of your attitude to small children and television, acquire a DVD player and screens.
Trust me, they will be the single greatest purchases of the year.... remember I have done the 1000km+ each-way-trip three times now.

10. Let go of any fears you have of you or your family appearing in public in pyjamas, ugg boots, beanies, sweat pants or with highly dishevelled hair. It will happen, but everyone along the way will look the same, so no big deal. You could potentially run into someone you know 400km from where you live (we have, more than once), but rest assured they will also look as though they just got off a 24 hour flight from Heathrow.

11. Toilet stop's: little boys can pee by the side of the highway, and little girl's can hold.
Drop any pretense about what you will or will not pee into.... its a jungle out there.
I personally cannot bear the thought of those eco-dunny's where you cant see the bottom and you cant hear your pee land....
But, you know, beggars, choosers and all that jazz...
It's character building.

12. Consider Point One carefully. ;-)

Happy holidays!!
Love!

Dear Cancer

Dear Cancer

I have been meaning to write for some time. Forgive the delay, I have been terribly busy with this and that, I wont take up your precious time with my complaining, I know how incredibly busy you are.

Unfortunately, I have a couple of concerns I wish to air with you.

My first concern is the selfish and uncaring way you seem to go about destroying lives and families every day. Whilst you seem to have developed great aptitude for slaying innocent victims, it has to be said that there is enormous inconvenience, cost, hair loss, grief and heart break occurring, so if you wouldnt mind taking your business elsewhere, like to another planet, that would be great.

Also, while we are on the topic, you seem to be unaware of the tragedy that is suffered when you brazenly allow children to lose their parents and even more terrifying, parents to lose their children. The innocence of the victims randomly selected in this venture really is cruelly overlooked and you should definitely review your process. Like, leave children the hell out of this. Please.

I know you are more than aware that taking my Mum two years ago broke my heart and those of my family. For this, we will never forgive or forget. That was a bad day at the office for you, you thieving piece of shit.

And yet, in a humorless twist of sickness, you're back in our lives.
 
Now, I am no victim in this, and I cant speak for my Uncle, but I'm pretty sure he isnt lying down playing kitty either.... that's right, no damsel in distress here.
We in the human world call it "fighting".
You come in, un-ivited and just Take and Take and Take.
So we are forced to fight - fight for out bodies, our lives, our families and our children.

You messed with the wrong lady when you forced your way into my life and the lives of my children.
You're scaring them and you're scaring my family.
And, you see, that doesn't work for me.
Just because you've had some victories and so many have fallen, even the strongest people left behind cant help but be terrified when you show up.

But we are on to you Mother F*%#er.
Make no mistake.
We are getting closer and closer to squashing your sorry ass and one day, people will only remember the monstrous way you swept through the human race, causing us to lop off body parts and poison ourselves to the point of dying, just to survive you.

You'll be a distant memory and the grief people suffer every day from losing family and friends to Cancer will be a thing of the past. Your time is up. Your shitty services are no longer required.

In the mean time, put your big girl panties on and step into the ring.
I'll go you a round.
You Big Fat Hairy Ass-Hat.

Yours Most Sincerely,
Christine

Miss 7. Heart Breaker.

The day Miss 7 was born (known at the time as Miss 0), several body parts of mine became compromised.

Most of them have renewed and revived themselves, and gone on to function more or less normally.

One part of my body will never recover.

My heart.

Now, I know that almost every mother has an instant love for her child when it is born. But I can honestly tell you that the arrival of my daughter in 2006, went beyond my wildest dreams and seriously compromised my beating heart.

She smelled at once unlike anything I have ever experienced and completely familiar.

Her liquidy blue eyes blinked and stared at me through the clear sides of the hospital cot all night with such innocence and peace, I couldn't close my exhausted eyes for fear of missing one little movement.

(This, by the way did nothing to prepare me for the shrieking, yowling bundle of boy that followed two years later.....)

Well, I continued to stare into those crystal blue eyes as I breast fed her for a year and grew to adore her and become in awe of the person she was even before she came to us. I deeply believe that babies are already pre-package people when they arrive and not actually blank canvas's that we can shape and create. Of course there is a duty to guide them, but you cannot change a child's personality no matter what you do. Nor would you want to try. 

Miss 7 is testament to this.
She is at once just like me and nothing like me.
Gentle and caring, obstinate and selfish.
Beautiful on the inside and the outside.
Fearless protector and cruel dictator in Mr 4's world.
She adores a celebration, and making people feel special.
She is crazy for fashion and is very creative.

She scares me a bit.

I love and respect the enormity of her and what she may become overwhelms me every day.

She takes my breath away. Sometimes in exasperation and sometimes in awe.

She recently celebrated her 7th birthday by my hospital bedside and had as wonderful a time as if she had been at Luna Park. I will make it up to her but she probably doesn't realize there's anything to make up.

So a joyful 7th birthday to my beautiful Angel.
I love you with all of my Broken Heart.

Xx

Sharing is caring..... ;-)

Hi Groovers.

So, I promised yesterday in a careless moment that I would write more today.

TD&H and the kiddies have gone to the circus tonight and I am home alone.... again.
Its just me, Better Homes and Gardens and a small Sav Blanc I am trying to make last.

I thought I might try to make light of the current topic (Hey, its hard to make cancer funny, ok?) and let you in on some of the more No-WAY! moments, and hopefully share a laugh.

This is going to be at the cutting edge of SHARING so if youre sensitive, look away now.

I promise, however that I will not mention in any detail the following:

Not being allowed to shower for two weeks, despite lying in bed 24/7 and thereby becoming stinky as a bag full of hockey socks.
Not being able to apply deodorant because my armpits are so swollen its hard to tell where they start and end.
Not being able to reach where my armpits are... or should be.
Not being able to reach my own bum.
Not needing to worry about reaching my own bum as not able to........ never mind.

Any way, enough of the things I couldnt do!
Here are some of the amazing things I wasnt expecting I COULD do:

Stay alive for 11 hours and 15 minutes under general anesthetic. And live to pay the bill....
Survive my poor sister shaving my horrifically misshapen armpits.
Get my monthlies two days after major surgery when I cant yet walk unaided.... true story.
Watch kids' TV in hospital, alone, because I missed my kids so much.
Say No, yuk! to wine.

Any way, thats about all I need to share about the Hospital Days of my Life and next post will be a dedication to my perfect little lady, Miss 7.
(She had her birthday while I was in the Big House.)
Followed by 'How I have managed to re-gain the weight lost in hospital... ie. The kindness of strangers"

Love. Xx

I'm Back....

I'm Back.

Hi.

Hope you've all been well.
Sorry about my absence, as you may recall I have been undergoing some re-modelling but due to overwhelming demand (Ok, one request - thanks Gary), I'm back.

I am very weary so my humour, which I swore an oath to never forget may be a little slow.

So, I am now 16 days post surgery.
I wanted to blog whilst I was in hospital but my devastatingly gorgeous view of a brick apartment block also served as a signal blocker for the internet superhighway.

Let me summarize: I spent 12 days progressing from feeling like I had a life jacket full of lead nailed to my rib cage, to feeling like I had an inflatable ring full of sand stapled to my rib cage...... believe me, there is a huuuuge difference.

The first few days were a blur (luckily) of sleeping, eating, pill popping and pressing a magic little button that was nestled in the palm of my hand and gave me magic powers like remaining on my hospital bed although it was tipped up at right angles to the floor, and completely forgetting who I was and where I was.

I'm pretty sure my tongue was hanging out and I was answering all questions with "Huh?" when the nurse decided enough was enough of the Patient Controlled Pain Killers, and put me on something more user friendly (ie. I regained use my legs).

And so began a week or so of people poking me in a friendly way then dishing pills at me in apology.
Lets just say I became public property that week.
I no longer have breasts, I have Dr. Plastics "work".
Which, just for the record (the record no one warned me about), means that anyone, male or female, may yank my top up or down and admire, poke or discuss my chest. Sometimes without actually acknowledging me. The head above the work.

There were nice things about being in the Big House for nearly two weeks.
Three square meals a day selected from a menu.
Golden Girls and Mash on telly round the clock.
Late night cups of tea brought to my bedside at 6.50pm.

It wasn't all bad.

Notice I haven't mentioned the actual surgery.
Picture two trains in a head-on collision and I'm in the middle.
11 hours and 15 minutes of surgery.
I woke up with six garden hose-like drains coming out of me all over the place.
And of course the life jacket full of lead nailed to my rib cage, which one day will morph into my new cancer-free breasts.

Thats all you really need to know about that.

My kids have coped like complete angels. I missed them so much that if it were possible to hurt any more I'm sure I would have. The nurses fell in love with them, and we celebrated Miss 7's birthday at my bedside.

There's more to tell you but I'll save it for tomorrow.

Gotta go pop some more pills.
Thanks for reading.
Love. Xx

Dr Plastics, richest man in Sydney

Hello loyal and patient readers.

Thanks for bearing with me.

Its not that I don't think of you and the blog, its just, well..... I am incredibly lazy.

If I could dictate blog entries just by thinking them, we'd be getting somewhere. You know futuristic type dictation into a microchip in my head or something. Then I'd be one of those deadly daily bloggers.

Oh well we'll have to go for quality over quantity.

So, since we last met, I have been back to see Dr. Plastics (possibly the richest man in Sydney).

I went back for an obligatory appointment with him to make sure I had not further questions (aka covering his ass and squeezing another few hundred bucks out of me).

I called to ask if I could cancel the appointment and just book the surgery but.... no.
I think that's what the receptionist said, I couldn't hear over the crashing noise of Jackpots in the background.

Ok, so in that case, I thought it would be a good opportunity to ask him a few questions:

1. Did you make a mistake and add a few too many 0's to my bill?

2. Can you talk me through exactly what happens to my body after I'm flooded with enough drugs to kill a small horse please?

And the answers were these:

1. Became the brightest red, middle aged Jewish man I have ever seen, choked and mumbled about speaking to his receptionist about the financial side of things...... Siting he was too busy to deal with the surgical intricacies AND the paperwork.

Fair enough. I have seen a lot of photos of his work and he just may be the Michelangelo of modern day Baps.

2. What happens to my body after Dr. Dice takes me to the threshold of my maker? An army of 8 people (including Prof Boobs, Dr Plastics, Dr Dice and their faithful team) stand on duty for 8-10 hours equipped with: sharp blades, scraping implements, hoover type implements, darning needles, no-more-gaps, fishing wire, slabs of blade steak (aka my own lat muscles), garden hose type implements, milk bottle type implements (6), drugs, drugs, drugs and hopefully comfortable shoes, coffee and sandwiches for their strength.

Remember that post I wrote about not being scared?
Yeah, well, I have an amendment to make: I am not scared of the Cancer. That Son of  Bitch has no chance with me.
But.... the surgery has me a little, tiny, weeny bit shaken. Only a titch.
A bit.
Maybe a lot, sometimes.
Two weeks and two days to go and guess what?
No e mail, letter or phone call to say there's been a mistake.

So its game on and I'm going in.

Alone.

Xxx

Eureka! She's cracked it!

Hey there.
Just had a sudden inspiration to share this epiphany with you.

A lot of people have asked me (and some have wondered behind my back) "Why are you so calm about all this breast cancer stuff?"
"Why are you not crying?"
"Why are you not having a good shout and punching something?"
"Dont you want to scream?"
"Arent you angry?"

The answers are, I dont feel angry. I dont really feel like crying. I dont want to scream and I definately dont feel like punching anyone or anything.

Weird, I know.

Even the surgeon who gave the me Great News in the beginning, said, "Are you OK? I have never seen a woman react like this.......you have amazing....... composure"
(Like a serial killer)
I think he was worried I might grab a lamp and crazy.... :)

And I DO know why I have felt so calm, practical and placid about the whole thing.

Its because the words "You have Cancer" are not the worst words I have ever heard.

Not by a million hundred seven thousand and twenty-six, as Mr 4 would say.

When Mum told me over the phone she had cancer, I said "Ok, what happens next? What's the plan?"
I wasnt ruffled at all.
I just thought, Cancer is not something people necessarily die from these days.
Dying never actually occurred to me at the time.
(I realize now that that's a bit weird....)

Where I grew up, every second person has had sun cancer's removed from their face or body.
Takes 15 minutes, off you go back to work.
End of story.

Ha Ha, little did I know........ So little.
But I digress.

I definitely think watching someone fight with cancer is worse than being in the ring yourself.
Like so many things.
Standing back is passive, helpless and frustrating.
I know this first hand and thats why my heart breaks for the friends and family around me.
I can see the fear in their eyes.
And the sadness.
But can they see its not in mine?

Hand on heart, I am NOT scared.

If anything I have some concerns.
And they all fall around my children and their infant inability to understand that Mummy is going to be fine.

When my sister and I nursed my Mum through a brutally fast and aggressive cancerous decline, it was like an out of control Rollercoaster, travelling on fire from the depths of hell.

I wouldn't wish it on anyone. Ever. For anything.

Are you getting the picture?
I feel as though the road I have traveled has put me in good stead to take a few hits.

Keep in mind this is my MUM, I am talking about.
Could it get much more awful?

The answer is a definitive NO.

My own diagnosis is a puddle of kitten piss in the park compared to that experience.

"You have Cancer" was fairly to moderately shitty to hear.
Inconvenient.
Bothersome.
Shocking.
Properly gutting for my husband and family.

But not the worst thing I have ever heard.
Start throwing around the phrase "We are moving you to Palliative Care...."
and I promise you my worst day will be re-lived and I will fall down in a puddle of Alice-sized tears.

I promise. :)

100 Likers Post....

So, hello there, welcome to my 100 Likers Post.
In case you're wondering why it matters if a blogger has 5 readers or 20 readers or 100 readers, let me tell you I wasn't sure why either.
So, I had a think, and this is what I have come up with...

I write my blog for a number of reasons:
From the first blog I wrote, I felt a huge gush of pleasure when I had finished. I really felt good. Its very cathartic. Its like keeping a diary, but you know, leaving it open for one or two hundred people to read. It helps me nut things out and have a laugh at the same time.

So, if a person writes a book and sells 20 copies its good. If she sells 100 copies its better.
If a person puts on a play and 20 come people come, its good. If 100 people come its better.
Its about sharing the thing you've created. 
Having an audience.
If I really wanted to keep an actual diary, I would, you know write it and not hit PUBLISH.
So, I like that people read my blog. Consume my words and hopefully get a laugh.

Anyhoo..... If you've been with me since the birth of this blog, six months ago, you'll note some changes have occurred. (If you haven't, take a trip through the months if you get some time to spare - maybe I'll re-post some favourite blogs....)

A Heart Full Of Chaos all started rather predictably as an outlet for a bored frustrated stay at home mother to two, wife to one.
Here's something you didn't know - I had NO idea that there was a whole sub-species of mummy-bloggers, I swear I had never read even one.There are like, a zillion of them... us.

Too much washing, too much hoovering, too little time, two amazing children with too much ability to drive me cuckoo. Too little creative outlet, too frustrated.....

And just looky where we've found ourselves six months later!!

There is no way that I will be able to avoid blogging about my new journey through Cancer Land.
Athough it seems like a sharp turn around, it isnt really.
Its just still me blogging to understand and make sense, and have a laugh at whats going on in my world.

The references to my kids which til now have been amusing and charming, will be just a bit more painful. You see, in amongst all this medical carry-on, the only thing that makes me feel really heart broken is my babies proximity to it all.

They don't know mummy is sick, or mummy is going to lose her hair, or any of the other shit that might go down. But I promise you to always conduct myself with good humour and to share the bits I think you'll enjoy. I am sure Mr 4 and Miss 6 will still come up with the goods.

You see, I really enjoy writing this blog and so will keep dancin' to entertain you all. Thank you so much for reading and sharing your thoughts and comments. (The comments by the way are sort of like the audience clapping at the end of the play....up to you.)

LOVE!!

A Heart Full of FAAAAAAAAAAARK!!!!!!!!!!

Yes folks, if you read my last post, you will know that the title of this post ^ ^ ^ ^ herewith does indeed mean that the results I had been awaiting last week, were in fact, Shitty News.

Last Friday at about 5pm my already slightly pear shaped world moved ever so slightly closer to 'The Dogs.'

You know when a surgeon comes into the reception area and looks at you and the only other patient, and says "Christine, I'll see you last, today......." Its unlikely to be a celebratory consultation. It is fair to hedge your bets that it wont be a quick, light hearted delivery of stress relieving news. And you can bet your left leg that he isn't saving you for last cause it'll be over real quick.

Nope, in fact what is likely to occur is something this:

Dr Tits: (no eye contact, shuffling pile of papers on desk) So, Christine, how are you?
Me: I don't know, how am I?
Dr Tits: Well, I'm afraid its not good news.
Me: No kidding. (am I going to throw up?? maybe.....)
Dr Tits: I'm sorry to tell you but the Pathology report (the afore mentioned pile of papers) has come back showing that the cancer is in fact widespread throughout the breast and (YADDA YADDA YADDA) Invasive cancer was found to be present (YADDA YADDA YADDA) Mastectomy (YADDA YADDA YADDA) Chemotherapy (YADDA YADDA YADDA) As soon as possible. (Yadda.........)

Hm.

Did. Not. See. That. Coming.

I notice that people, including Dr. Tits have stopped telling me I'm lucky.
Frickin' right, UN-bloody-Lucky more like!

Now, I have never been a 'Why Me' type of person.
I never asked the question when Cancer struck down my beautiful Mum so young.
And I'm not asking it now.
Why Not Me?
Its going to have to be someone, might as well be me.
Luck of the Draw.
I have never felt like a victim in any of this, but you know what? I will be Struck Down by an angry travelcade of infectious sword wielding Malignancies before anyone takes anything from my children.

FUCK. THAT.

You leave my children out of this, and that means You have chosen the wrong girl, Asshat.
You can take my Boobs but you CANNOT TAKE MY KIDS' MUM.

NO.

Besides that little bit Angry Warrior Queen in me, my heart feels...... quiet.

I feel calm and well resourced.
I am dealing with this in practical terms. Appointments, schedules, surgeons, oncologists, cup-sizes....
I am surrounded by a super powered band of Angels who are helping me and holding me up every step of the way.
I am well placed to deal with this ( I don't really fancy the word 'Fight' either...)

Other words I don't like so far in Cancer Land : Brave, battle and journey (PUKE!)

This isn't a journey, I was already on a journey, this is a detour, a glitch in the journey.
And soon enough, I will be back on the original journey.

With a killer new sets of Boobs :)

Cancer. Now that I have your attention.....

So, Ive decided how I'd like to die.

(((((((((((((DRAMA QUEEN ALERT)))))))))))))

I'd like to die in a tidal wave of fresh flowers, tropical fruit, homemade lasagne and soup, love, cake, tea, prayers, thoughts, kindness, friendship, family, hugs, tears and laughter.

That's where I am right now and it feels good. Overwhelming but really special and good.

I've been out of the old bloggeroo circle for a bit cause I have had a thing going on which has been kind of a big deal.
And while I have thought many times about blog posts over the past few weeks, I have felt that it would be dishonest and superficial to not blog about the big deal but I wasn't really ready to blog about it yet.

You keeping up?

Some of you already know that the big deal is Cancer.

Breast cancer.

Me.

My breast.

Well, my partial breast now.

If you're unlucky enough to have ridden the Cancer Fun Bus before, you will know that it travels pretty bloody quickly and the time between testing, diagnosis and the kind hand of the surgeon can be like the blink of an eye - a week or so for me.

I have been, to this point, incredibly lucky.
I have the kind of breast cancer which is like a tiny little, hard, green tomato still on the bush. It could have been different. My specialist told me that my symptoms (I wont gross you out) would go away of their own accord and I should check back with him in six months.

Remember that Cancer Fun Bus I told you about?
Yeah, the reason it travels so quick is because the evil, bloody eyed, bastard which is Cancer can travel like lightning.
I have decided not to dwell on the what-if's but in six months time lets just say that my tiny little, hard, green tomato may have grown, ripened and splattered its manky seed all over my garden bed.

The word LUCKY doesn't even do justice to what I am right now.

So, since I last blogged, I have had the dreggy diagnosis and the initial part of the treatment: surgery.

Let me tell you this. No matter how you feel about your breasts, you will feel a whole lot more attached to them when the surgeon tells you significant parts of them will be fodder for the incinerator.

I'm not a particularly vain person.
I never entered any wet t shirt contests (bloody should've, but.)
I never even flashed them about (excepting the odd low cut top)
Really, only a very few people have even see them to confirm their existence.....
So, you know my public life isnt that different really.
BUT THEY'RE MY BOOBS!!!

Y'know?

I kept my children alive with them for 26 months!!!
(insert joke about ten years of marriage) **see foot note

So, Ive had to give up a slice of my right breast to potentially save my life.
No big deal. (As a wise friend of mine said to me "CUT. THEM. OFF!!!!")
And I would.
I will.
If I have to.
Lots and lots of women have and will continue to do so, cause thats where we're at with breast cancer. And all cancers actually. Chopping off body parts. Amazing isnt it. One day we will look back and this will seem barbaric but at the moment, its the best we've got.

There you go, my blog family. That's my news. It's out.

I am awaiting results this week so either you'll hear from me not at all or I'll bore you to death trying to keep busy and hoping that my phone doesn't ring any time before Im due to see the surgeon, cause you know an early call-back is a BAD call-back.

Next step is six weeks of Radiation Therapy if the results from surgery are good.

If they're not good, well lets just say this blog might change name to 'A Heart Full of FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK!!!!!'

Love to you all. XX

**Notice I didn't make any husband/boob jokes.
My husband has been a solid rock of awesome knight in shining armour through this. And out of respect to him I have omitted all boob man references to leave him alone in his changed world.
I chose to blog to y'all, he didnt. X

A sign from above .... or below??

So, I am standing at my kitchen sink tonight, doing, like, the fifth batch of dishes today, and I'm increasingly starting to grind my teeth, and slam stuff in to the dish drainer.

I think, if you haven't already picked up on this, you should know that I am no domestic goddess, and I am no housekeeping diva. There is not enough prescription medication or wine in the world to make me enjoy the uphill tasks involved in being a Stay at Home Mum. 

I love my kids and my husband with every molecule and every fiber of my being. But I hate the rest.

It makes me bitter and angry and irritable. I am rubbish at it because I loathe it.
There. I said it.

Am I the only one who feels this way? AM I?????

Anyways....
I am standing at the sink tonight and I have just hurled my radio into the bin because the reception is so shit, I can no longer stand it's company. (I am not crazy, this has been building for years....)

Mr 4 walks in to the kitchen. A tiny little blonde weedy fella, in his red undies.

I stop slamming.

Obviously.

He says "Mum, whats that bird that goes Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...............?

Me: Whats that mate?

Mr 4: What's that bird that goes Drrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr...............?

Me: I'm not sure what you mean mate.....

Miss 6 (knower of all) passes by the door: He means the crickets

Me: Oh. Right. The crickets. They aren't birds.They are insects, like grasshoppers.

And I realize they are going crazy outside, as the sun sets. I hadn't heard them.

Too busy breaking stuff I s'pose......

Mr 4: Oh, right they sound like grasshoppers cause they're ARE grasshopper's! (And off he goes....)

And I look skyward and I realize that I have been sent a reality check. From above. Or from three feet below eye level....

The mental conundrum I suffer is this: I am in a hate - hate relationship with ALOT of stuff in day to day life, but I am very fuckin' spiritual.
And I am way and beyond when it comes to giving my babies love, care and attention.
I answer about 90% of the 6 billion questions thrown at me every day.
And I hug and kiss and smell my children as much as they'll let me.

I GET mindfulness. I understand being in the moment. Just, sometimes, silly shit gets in the way of what's important.

I have heard people tell me that you should slow down and enjoy your kids cause they arent little forever. And you know what?
Annoyingly, its true.

Little men in red undies and grasshoppers says its so.

Paper Vs Kindling

So, I just finished reading my first electronic book.

I was resistant, I don't mind telling you. The less technology in my life the better if I'm honest.
Technology and its out-of-control advancements make me feel dirty. Its a slippery slope to never having to think or interact with flesh and blood humans.
But that's just me, I can be a bit of a drama queen when it comes to the end of humanity as we know it.....

But I digress....

So in a great twist of irony, the book I read was really, really enjoyable.
I have read it before and it has always stayed with me. You know the type.
And I was convinced by the resident techno-holic (and the fractional price) to read it a-la-kindle.

Well, it took me two months to read it.
TWO MONTHS.
It wasn't Ulysses.
Or Shantaram.
Why did it take so long?
Glad you asked.....

10  REASONS I WONT BE SWAPPING PAPER FOR KINDLING: (this was supposed to be a list of 5, but I just couldn't stop....)

1. The log in process robs me of precious reading time. You know those priceless two minutes when you're hiding behind you bedroom door in the morning, shouting to your kids that you're getting in the car and leaving RIGHT NOW, but actually you're quickly devouring the last page of the chapter you couldn't finish last night?
Well by the time I have logged in and loaded, those special moments are gone up in a puff of potential radio activity......

2. I am paranoid that I am giving my kids the impression that I am having extended periods of screen time. Especially when we are all together, you know together, but doing our own thing. I think reading should be encouraged in all aspects of daily life - I allow reading over a cereal bowl, when the lights are supposed to be out at night, in the bath, on the swing, in the car. Pretty much any time. But sitting on a computer in these situations is just plain rude and ghastly. I found myself telling my kids repeatedly that I was reading a book, and even showing them..."Look, guys, Mummy is reading a BOOK". Though they didn't seem to care: "That's nice, Mum...."

3. Books don't have graphics cards which need upgrading right when the very rare and beautiful Golden Hour strikes (aka. kids are happy in front of a movie on a hot afternoon and mummy switches on the fan and lies down with a book).

4. Kids cant make the words on a paper book disappear into thin air whilst searching sneakily for games..... of which there are NONE!!! ITS A BOOK DAMMIT!!!!!!
Well, they probably can, but my two are old enough to not throw a book in to the toilet or cut it up with scissors. (Sadly, not the case when Miss 6 got hold of my 1966 copy of  'Catcher in the Rye' a few years ago....)

5. You cant fill an eight foot high book shelf with a Kindle. I am a book hoarder. I love my books, I love to keep them - when I lend them I want them back. I have multiple copies of some books, even Ulysses, which I will probably never read. I love looking at them, buying them, borrowing them, owning them, talking about them. I wish I could afford to buy more. And more and more. My novels and other paper treasures are my most prized possessions.
You know, after my family 'n stuff.

6. I cant read the e-reader outdoors because of the reflection. If you cant read at the pool in the summer, what's the point?

7. I cant read it in the bath, which is my most favourite thing to do - its just dangerous. Especially when there's a sneaky little glass of wine involved.

8. It needs to be plugged in which creates a safety hazard trailing across the kitchen floor (aka, my office).

9. You cant easily just flick back to check one little detail quickly - it takes like, five minutes for the stupid thing to "think" about flipping back.... Paper books don't try to be clever.

10. Book shops. If you don't understand this, then you probably have a Kindle.

Happy Reading my fellow Chaotics, Any way you can!

Happy New-ish Year!

Hello Fellow Chaotics!

Happy new-ish year to you all, I hope you are recovering nicely from cyclone Christmas Season.

Of course right on the back of the cyclone came tornado New-Year and the low weather system we seem to be experiencing: typhoon School-Holidays and of course the painful heat wave also known as a Heatwave!

Not complaining though, Love Summer, Love School Holidays, Love Summer, Love School Holidays....Love them.

Most of the time.

So are you all getting trim, fit, healthy and spiritual as hell for your new year resolutions? Yeah me too. Its hard though, at a time of the year when its socially acceptable to drink champagne every lunch time and eating has nothing to do with hunger.... And its too hot to move.

As for becoming spiritual as hell, I have made a bit of a resolution - lame, I know. I am endeavoring to be..... ready? Less chaotic.

You know:  roll with the punches, take it as it comes, let it go, be cool.
But maybe that's what got me into the chaos dilemma in the first place....

I am resolving to be more mindful, focussed, less stressy, less shouty and more smiley.
Shut up, I can totally do it.
I just need to find me a quiet chalet on a mountain top in remote Switzerland and POOF, calm and composed.
Ah, who am I kidding.

All jokes aside, I am seriously focusing on making this year count for me as a person though, you know what I mean?
Less time spent worrying about my role as a mother, wife, housefrau, more time freaking out - I mean, working on the individual me. Ive got a few ideas to grow and better myself, so LOOK OUT!

Happy Newish Year beautiful readers, I hope you all feel terrific today.
Love!