All I want for Christmas is HOPE… hope I might be one of the lucky ones that gets another Christmas with my kids
The Sun Online's columnist wants to hear from you... the things cancer made you say, the good, the bad and the ugly
'TIS the season to be jolly.
It's a time to crack open the bubbles, pop the crackers and over indulge on festive food and Christmas movies.
And while getting totally wrapped up in buying crap plastic stocking fillers and getting hyper on sweet treats, my 18th round of chemo this week brought me right back down to Earth, with a bang.
Just like Scrooge himself, cancer is my not so gentle reminder of the obvious things I easily lose sight of in between the turkey and tinsel.
Sometimes we all need to just STOP.
Be grateful, and remember that Christmas might not be a bag of fun for everyone.
Cancer is a pretty good leveller.
None of us can find a way around it, or negotiate a deal with the big man in red to be cancer-free.
The reality is that no matter how good a girl I've been this year (some days), Santa ain't got a hope in hell of fulfilling my wish list.
The only present I'm after is for my bowel cancer to f*** right off and never return.
People ask what I want for Christmas. And it goes without saying that every girl wants something sparkly (husband take note).
But what I really want, is hope.
I need hope that my cancer will be kept under control.
The only present I’m after is for my cancer to f*ck right off and never return
I need hope that just around the corner in a lab somewhere, the magic cure is on the brink of happening.
I need hope that I could be the lucky one, that miracle case that responds to chemo, and gets that op that means I get to spend more Christmases with my babies.
Without hope, what is there?
BE MERRY AND BRIGHT
So maybe I will only get one more Christmas. Maybe I will see another 80.
But you know what? I plan to get drunk, be merry and celebrate.
Life is for living and while I'm here, I plan to live it to the max.
I've seen first hand how health can fade fast, how we get blindsided by the things we never thought possible, and how saving something for the future might never happen.
So as we all head home for Christmas, or open our homes to family and friends, let us be grateful for the moment.
Let's be thankful for all those people who helped us get here.
And never stop believing that anything is possible, isn't that right Santa?!
GIVE THANKS
I'm not grateful for my year of stage 4 bowel cancer.
But I am grateful for the things I now realise as a result of it, while being cancer is the reason it happened.
Things I took for granted, like having a normal family meal, are now more important than ever.
I'm thankful for another day, another opportunity to make a memory and another chance to watch the magic of Christmas unfold.
Losing your health can be a bitter sweet reminder of the things you took as a given, and the basic things you never saw as beautiful.
Today, I'm grateful for those that help me, my family who love me, and my good friends who laugh with me.
REMEMBER THE EMPTY SEAT
While it's a time full of joy, Christmas is a cruel reminder of empty places at the table, lives cut short, missing those we love.
For some, it will be their last Christmas.
Can't be arsed to put on a brave face, I don't blame you.
Not knowing what's around the corner is tough, and for some stage four cancer patients, knowing can be even tougher.
Sometimes the only way to be kind to ourselves is to say it's OK not to be OK.
I for one know that devil on my shoulder will rear it's ugly head on Christmas Day, telling me it could be my last.
So I'm armed with whiskey to silence it.
RAISE A GLASS TO THE NURSES
I'm amazed by the relentless positivity and kindness shown by the team at The Royal Marsden, as in hospitals up and down the country.
I will never forget being ready to go home after an operation and thanking a nurse with some fizz.
As I handed her the bubbly, I projectile vomited it all over her and the clean bed nearby.
Needless to say I was kept in hospital, but she kept smiling as she just calmly cleared up.
Too many times to mentioned, my mental chemo meltdown has been met with calm encouragement and support by the doctors and nurses looking after me.
And many of these heroic medics will be working over Christmas.
Those on the front line of our NHS are simply incredible.
They keep our wheels turning at the expense of their own family gatherings.
I've learned that cancer, or any other illnesses for that matter, don't care what day it is, so thank god for these angels, there whenever we need them.
You don't need me to tell you to raise a glass to them this Christmas. I sure will be.
#C*CKOFFCANCER
Good news this week that Bowel Cancer UK and Beating Bowel Cancer are joining forces.
I'm over the moon, it's going to be a game changer.
While massive strides have already been taken to raise awareness of this disease, more needs to be done to stop bowel cancer being the second biggest cancer killer in the UK.
It goes without saying that strength comes in numbers, and the new merged charity has my support all the way.
And in other good news, a bumped chemo cycle from a few weeks back has left me with a silver lining of a new chemo calendar - with NO dates over Christmas OR New Year.
So, having just been disconnected from the pump, and being high as a kite on steroids I found myself up dancing the Macarena at 3am.
THINGS CANCER MADE ME SAY
I've got a small window of opportunity to be merry and bright, while preparing from the crash from my recent round.
Now, to all those missing loved ones, working in hospital, or simply enjoying the blessing that is a family meal, let's raise a glass this Christmas and shout at the top of our voices, "f*** you cancer".
Merry Christmas to you all.
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