We are, we are, we’re gonna be alright.


Three years ago, on my 28th birthday, I went for a smear test.

When I think of activities I’d like to do for my birthday, I’d normally go with bowling, seeing a play, taking some art class like pottery or printing, cinema trip etc. rather than have a smear. But, since I’d moved between surgeries when moving houses, the NHS thought this was my first smear and an over due one at that. (It was my second, first had been all fine.  Wooo)

A couple of years before my Dad had been diagnosed with cancer of the bile duct.  Obviously this is not connected to cervical cancer, but they always do that things of ‘Do you have a history of cancer in the family?’ and until that point I didn’t think we had. I still had both parents, my Grandmother was then 99, my Granddad was 88, all uncles and aunts were, as far as I knew, in relatively good heath, as were my siblings.  My Grandfather had died of a heart attack at 75, my Nan died 9 years before of various things, not including cancer.

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Breathe


Life Changed That Day

Things are becoming normal, I think. We get up, eat breakfast, fight over bathroom space, try to find our shoes, and go to school. I do not wake up every day crying because somewhere a fool has lost our batch of original documents again. I do not suddenly dump my class on someone else mid-lesson, pull my kid out of his own class, and race us across town to Social Welfare at two minutes’ notice. I have slept through the night (not just once, but two or three times!) since he was adopted in September. Monster and I discuss how the earth was formed over dinner. Normal stuff.

We are discovering different sides of each other. I see a little boy who has had to be so very grown up, who has been forced to be more mature than he wanted to be, who had to tackle strange events and…

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