Dear 37 year-old body,
There’s no easy way to say this, so I’m just going to blurt it out and hope you understand.
We’ve been through a lot over the years, you and I. We’ve spent an incredible amount of time in each other’s company and we know each other more intimately than anyone on this planet. You and I have forged secrets I’d never tell another soul, and at this point we should really be planning to grow old and grey together, but…well…lately I’ve had a change of heart.
I want a fresh start.
Let me try to explain.
Most of what I write on these pages is born out of a need for me to use writing as a method of catharsis, a way to process the anxieties and fears I have each day, and map the road I’m currently travelling.
Whilst I have always loved to write, when I set out creating my first blog for Cancer Cans, I did so pretty blindly, with no grand goals in mind, just a way to get my feelings out in the best way I knew how. I’ve never been all that great at expressing myself verbally, but give me a pen and paper and it’ll all come out.
Mange has struck crisis levels, kids. It’s time for action.
There isn’t much on this horrid breast cancer journey that I get to take control of, but this is one little thing I can.
Here’s to being ‘Master of my hair(loss) Domain’!
The festive season has been really hard this year.
In fact it’s sucked big ones.
I am usually the biggest kid on the street at Christmas time. I love everything about it: the lights, the food, the times spent celebrating with precious family and friends. Heck, I even bake gingerbread for neighbours and take the kids on long detours in the car to see as many decorated houses as possible. I revel in the excitement as Christmas Day draws near and get a total kick out of playing Santa. Really. I’m like the quintessential Christmas cliché!