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