Lost & Found

On 1st June 1998 I lost something. Oddly, unlike most things you lose, I never wanted to find it again.

The thing I lost was a cancerous lump in my left breast – felt like a pea, just above my left nipple. It’s a weird thing actually finding a lump. But for me, I sensed straight away that it was cancer. I was 29. Once I had been diagnosed (it was over a period of 3 weeks and to this day I feel fortunate to have had private healthcare as my GP wasn’t going to refer me to anyone due to my age), things moved quickly and my operation was scheduled. The weekend before the op I  distinctly remember being at a club and in the women’s toilets with other women asking me questions and taking it in turns to feel my breast and the lump! Under any other circumstances it was a porn film waiting to happen!

The operation was only the beginning of a 8 month journey (hate using the word “journey”, but fuck it, it’s been a tough road!), but the operation was also the start of a new life for me. Jonathan Roberts, my surgeon at the London Bridge Hospital, cut the beast out of my breast on 1^st June 1998. And then followed on with Paul Ellis my oncologist, who took me through 6 months of chemotherapy, followed by 6 weeks of radiotherapy. I was very lucky, I didn’t lose my hair with the chemo (gutted, anyone that knows me knows that I love my wigs!) and my girlie bits remained intact, so much so that to add to my two kids, Courtney & Taylor, I went onto have 2 more children, Morgan & Matti after all my treatment. Ovaries of steel!! However, don’t get me wrong, the chemotherapy was utterly shit – I worked throughout but I felt like utter crap. Radiotherapy was utterly exhausting going to the hospital every day for 6 weeks and then I took Tamoxifen for 5 years and turned into a raving fucking lunatic. It wasn’t a good time.

But it was a time that I found something. I found life. Since being diagnosed, I have set about living and enjoying. You don’t get second chances, so why not live the life that YOU want to live. I’ve enjoyed holidays, I’ve made new friends and I’ve said goodbye to people, but I have never ever had any regrets. Life is too short. I need to say thank you to a few people

Robin – my ex-husband whom I married in 1999 & divorced some years later. Whatever happened between us, he stood by me throughout my treatment and was an absolute rock. Thank you.

Maria – an old friend with whom I have lost touch. Made me laugh. Made me cry. Was there throughout. Thanks mate.

Jonathan Roberts & Paul Ellis plus all the medical team at London Bridge Hospital – thank you for keeping me alive.

Friends, family, old & new – thank you to everyone. Whether I have known you all my life or for a few years, you have all listened to me. You have all supported me.

Thank you to everyone for taking the time to read and I look forward to celebrating with those of you who can get to my Boobie Bubbles on 9^th June – there will be boobies, boogie-ing and more than a few bubbles!!

Today is 1^st June 2018 and  I am 20 years clear of cancer.

SHOCK – Woman Falls In Love & Gets Engaged!!

Waking up this morning, as usual, I flicked through the various electric pages of the online news pages and found out that the lovely Kylie was engaged to her boyfriend, Joshua Sasse. They look fabulous together and more importantly they look happy, just like any other couple in love. But the press. Ah the blessed press. Almost without fail, every single article, within the first paragraph, mentions either “toyboy” or “almost 2 decades her junior” or makes some other seemingly disparaging comment about the fact that Kylie is 47 and her fiancé is 28….a “shocking” 19 year age gap. But why is it so shocking?

Who dictates the rules about who you can fall in love with and who makes you happy? If you click with someone, you click. And the important thing (says she who has two marriages behind her) is being with someone who is your friend, your lover, your confidante and who makes you laugh!! I have friends who are over 20 years younger than me. I have friends the same age as me. But I don’t judge them because they are of a certain age – they are my friends, because we just get on. Finding someone to fall in love with and with whom you want to spend the rest of your life with is hard enough, but if you are suddenly restricted to a certain range of ages, then it’s even harder. I of course, am somewhat biaised as I am, by my own admission, attracted to guys that are (usually) younger than me. But it’s not because they look younger or they are any less good looking than a guy who is 47 or 48. It’s generally and genuinely, more to do with personality and the fact that I seem to click with them. Just as I do my friends. Like who you like. Love who you love.

So, people of the press, why don’t you just report on the fact that a woman who has gone through some pretty shit times, who 10 years ago didn’t know if she would live or die, who beat breast cancer, who bounced back, has found an amazing guy who loves her for who she is and who she loves back. Try it. And stop judging.

Kylie and Joshua, congratulations. But please – tall guys, I don’t care how old you are….. STOP DATING SHORT WOMEN!!

 

 

 

 

 

 

Dear Dee

Dear Dee

I have been meaning to write to you for a while now but things always get in the way or I never seem to know where to start. However, as today would have been your birthday, I thought I’d take the moment to reflect on the past 5 years.

Before you died, I suggested that Megan could come live with me,  joining my family. It was something I never gave a second thought to and something I have never regretted so I firstly wanted to reassure you that she is part of a family and is loved. For her, she has gained 3 sisters and a brother – no longer an only child. Of course, she still has her moments of not wanting to “share her toys”, normally involving a spat with Taylor over something borrowed (no, some things never change!), but she has accepted her extended family and they too have accepted her.

I tell everyone I have 5 children and for those who listen to the story, I do make is clear that I’m not Megan’s mum. I know you went to great pains to introduce me to people as her “new mum” but you are and always will be her mum, I couldn’t and wouldn’t replace that. However,  I have done what I can to keep her happy, to offer advice and to support her emotionally when she needed someone. Hugs, snuggles and inappropriate conversations a plenty – I will always be there for her.

Megan is happy. She misses you, she will always miss you, some days more than others. But she has built a life and is living it. She has moved back into the house you both called home and has made it her own, sharing it with her boyfriend, Simon, and of course Taylor – never far from her side. There are the inevitable arguments (again, some things never change), but there is also love and understanding. Mostly!!

Dee, I wanted you to know that Megan is a daughter you can be proud of. Wherever you are, be happy in the knowledge that your daughter takes after you in every way possible and has grown into a wonderful young woman. I’m proud she is part of my family.

Happy Birthday Dee

All my best

Lorna

Do They Know It’s Cancer?

Today, a number of high profile stars gathered in London to record a new version of Do They Know It’s Christmas. Let’s look at some facts and figures.

In 1984, 30 years ago, the original record raised over £8 million pounds for famine relief in Ethiopia. The total population of Ethiopia was about 42 million. 1 million people died. That represents 2% of the population. 8 million were at risk from starvation.  It was a desperate situation and the funds raised helped millions.

In 2014, the new recording is raising money for the Ebola crisis. I can’t imagine how much will be raised, but I would imagine, thanks to the wonders of social media, it will be millions. Estimated population of West Africa today is 340 million. Estimated population of the world is 7.125 billion. Worldwide, 5000 people have died as a result of Ebola. If the majority of deaths are in West Africa, this represents 0.00001% of the West Africa population & 0.0000007% of the worldwide population.

In 2012, Worldwide, there were 14.1 million people diagnosed with cancer. In 2012, Worldwide, there were 8.2 million deaths from cancer. That’s 0.001% of the Worldwide population.

Ebola – is a disease that is really scary. Yes, we need to find a cure. And it’s classed as a epidemic. And we are about to raise a massive amount of money to aid that cure.

Cancer is a disease that is really scary. Yes, we need to find a cure. Ridiculously, looking at the diagnoses and deaths, cancer is not classed as an epidemic. Yet it kills more people than Ebola, AIDs and bird-flu combined. WAY more.

I may be a little biased. But it’s feeling a little disproportionate. 0.0000007% vs 0.001%.

How about it Mr Geldof and Mr Ure? Let’s have a Live Aid for Cancer? Not “current” enough for you I guess.

Happy Birthday Dad

It’s my Dad’s birthday today. He’s 69. Well, he would have been 69 if not for cancer. He died. Aged just 46. That’s only 2 years older than I am now.

Think about that for a moment. If you know me, you know my dad. I may not look much like him, but I have his larger than life personality down to a tee. So imagine that – someone full of life, full of enthusiasm, someone who organised charity events, someone who had fun, someone who had a family, someone who had kids, someone who had grandkids. Dead at 46. That is cancer. Shit, crappy, cancer.

He was gobby. He once told my first husband (who was of Jamaican descent) that he was worth 10 white men – and he meant it as a genuine compliment!! He organised trips for the church, he organised parties, he raised money for charity – remind you of anyone? Every Christmas, he took me to Hamleys to choose a toy and then we went for a meal. He’s undoubtedly the reasons why I am a foodie and love trying out new restaurants.

My dad wasn’t liked by everyone. He had a vile temper. he was a bit like me in that way. Marmite. Loved by some, hated by more. He and my mum had separated shortly before his cancer returned and destroyed his brain. He’d originally beaten lung cancer by undergoing some very harsh chemo. But it ultimately wasn’t enough. The cancer came back, giving him blinding headaches in March 1990 and just two months later, I was feeding him baby food – he was a vegetable, not recognising anyone, even me. Thankfully, he died shortly after. No-one should have to go through suffering like that. No one.

We MUST find a cure. We cannot keep losing loved ones to this disease. It runs like a vile, infested river through my family and I’m fed up with it.

If you think about buying a drink this week or an extra big lunch, think again. Why not give that money to cancer research? Your choice. I hope you are never affected by cancer. It’s shit.

Happy Birthday Dad x

Flying the Nest

Two years ago, a young girl lost her mum to breast cancer and I gained a daughter. In September 2010, that young girl became part of our family. Megan was best friends with my daughter, Taylor and before her mum died, we agreed that she would come and live with us.

It’s been quite a journey and we’ve all had to adapt. Megan went from being an only child, to suddenly having to share with 4 new siblings. She brought her bloody cat with her – Kiwi – which made my two kitties VERY unhappy!! The first few months were tough with emotions being very raw and running very high. I had to suddenly learn very quickly about a new child whom I knew very little about.

The intention had been that I’d spent a little time with Megan’s mum, Dee, before she died, to find out her hopes, her aspirations, her likes, her dislikes. But as this fucking awful cancer thing always does, it was left too late, we ran out of time. For a few months, we muddled along, getting to know what makes each other tick. I’m absolutely certain that I pissed Megan off regularly with my rules and regulations….she knows she pissed me off! However, that is a good thing. I was never going to give her special treatment. And she didn’t want sympathy either. I empathised – something I could do and probably the primary reason for suggesting Megan stayed with us. I lost my dad to cancer when I was 21. I wasn’t an only child but I knew what she was feeling and that she would hurt for a long time. And I never doubted for a single second that looking after Megan was the right decision. We have gone through her 18th birthday, Christmas, countless “sibling” birthdays and other family occasions. And rarely ( although I can’t speak for Megan), do I believe she felt anything other than part of our family.

This weekend sees Megan take the next step on her journey. She’s leaving her home of 2 years and returning to the house she shared with her mum, but this time as an adult. She’s sharing with 2 friends and yes, I’m convinced she will burn the place down as she is a NIGHTMARE with forgetting various things like leaving the cooker on!!! But she is moving on. No tears returning to her house, but a few from me seeing her leave home.

Megan is only half a mile away – clearly there was a reason for me finding the house that I decided to rent. She knows there will be murder if she doesn’t come round for dinner or if she misses Christmas or birthdays. Equally, if she pops back and starts raiding the cupboards, there will be words!!

I always said that when Megan joined us, I had 5 children. And that will never change, no matter who’s roof is over her head.

If you have got this far with the blog, then let me bore you a little further. October is Breast Cancer Awareness month. Women die from the disease. Families are affected. If you can, spare some money and support the Pink Buddies fundraising efforts to raise money for the Haven. Donate at www.justgiving.com/pinkbuddies2012 – can’t afford it? Enjoy that beer next Friday.

My Breasts & Me

This year, for the first time since my original diagnosis of Breast Cancer in 1998, I went back to the NHS for my annual check up. I have been incredibly lucky that for the previous 13 years, and for my original treatment, I had the fortuity of private health care which facilitated my check-ups at the lovely London Bridge Hospital. Yes, I know that it is a privilege, but it is one I have been grateful for as the worry of the annual check up is a huge weight on anyone’s mind, more-so if you are a cancer survivor. As a private patient, I get a one stop shop. Meeting with my consultant, mammogram & results, all within 2 hours. No extended worrying, it’s over and done with very quickly.

The NHS is very different. Fortunately, I was able to get an appointment quickly (owing to my history!) and was also able to have my care transferred to Kings College Hospital to the same consultant who has seen me privately. My mammogram was done on the same day as my appointment – but unfortunately, that is where the comparison ends. For the past 4 weeks, I have been worrying about my results. NHS guidelines say that mammogram results should take no longer than 2 weeks. After that deadline had passed, I called the clinic to be told that at Kings, the result can take up to 3 weeks – no further explanation as to why they were contradicting the main guidelines. After 3 weeks I called again to be told that the letter would be sent first class and I would get it within 2 days. After 3.5 weeks I called again to be told the letter hadn’t been sent but a nurse would call me back. Today, after 4 weeks, I called again, finally spoke to a nurse who said a letter had been sent last week, but don’t worry, as the mammogram was all clear. I put the phone down and cried.

Crying is not an uncommon reaction for me surrounding my mammogram results – it is one of relief and joy, but this year, was an outpouring of stress as well. Why on earth did I have to make so many calls to chase up my results? What about those women who are undergoing mammograms for the first time, those who think “I’ll just wait”, those who, god forbid, have an aggressive form of breast cancer for which weeks may be critical? For me, 2 weeks in unacceptable and 4 weeks is a ridiculous amount of time to wait. BUT – what can we do?

The NHS receives almost equal amounts of criticism and praise. It is a public, non-paid for health service. It does incredible work. But that doesn’t mean we cannot complain and we cannot strive to make improvements. £12.7 billion pounds was wasted in investing in new computer systems, a project projected to cost £6 billion pounds and a project which was scrapped last year. Can you even IMAGINE what an investment of £12 billion pounds would do to breast care services – to any number of services in the NHS.

I urge you all, use the best resource you have – your mind – write to your local MP, raise questions and ask what can be done, what WILL be done. Women die from breast cancer. It is the number one cancer in the UK. We MUST do what we can to make improvements.

For Sale

I have a “For Sale” sign outside my house. It’s quite deliberate and perhaps something I should have done a month ago but for a number of reasons, largely emotional as opposed to logical, I delayed for as long as I could.

I have very mixed feelings at the moment. Without a job, the debts are mounting and living in a mortgaged house is unsustainable. I expect many fellow and far more sensible professionals out there would have something tucked away “for a rainy day”. However, I’m more of a “Carpe Diem” person. Why live in the future when you can live now? Why save for something that may never happen when you can go on a mad weekend in Vegas? Not terribly clever but do you know what….. it’s SO much more enjoyable and that is what life is all about. ENJOYMENT!

The past 6 months have been lonely, character building, difficult and an emotional rollercoaster. There are jobs out there but the market is very competitive. I’ve had moments where I have questioned my abilities and where my confidence has taken a dip but throughout it all, I know I am a good person, I know that I am GREAT at what I do and I definitely know it is a matter of time before I find the role that is right for me. People have suggested that I take a step down and even that I lie on my CV – but why? That is admitting defeat, it is giving in, it is suggesting that I won’t find the role that is waiting for me. I won’t do it. I’m not giving up. I’ve never given up. I’m strong and I am a fighter. I’ve beaten cancer for heaven’s sake – you think I’m going to let a little thing like not having a job get me down?

In the words of Helen Reddy, and rather cheesily…..

“You can bend but never break me
’cause it only serves to make me
More determined to achieve my final goal
And I come back even stronger”

You want me to give up? Not a chance. I’ll sell the house but I won’t sell my life.

I am the better person. I am woman.

The Dentist Tale

During my extended period at home & given that I am finally taking advantage of my  hard earned NI contributions, I am taking the opportunity to visit the dentist to sort out a few issues. It has taken a close friend bullying me for the best part of a month to get me there. It’s not that I don’t like the dentist, I am truly terrified. But it hasn’t always been like that.

In my younger years, I was a nightmare with a teeth so visits to the dentist were commonplace. Never an issue. My wisdom teeth came through. All four of them. Impacted. I had them removed, just had injections to numb my mouth, 2 one week, 2 a couple of weeks later. Not an issue. Didn’t even cry. And then I went and got a spot of cancer (yes, that old chestnut again) and a tooth infection.

Probably a little known fact with cancer is that when you are undergoing chemotherapy, you are strongly advised not to undertake any dental work. This is owing to your immune system being a big pile of shit and the risk of infenction being greatly increased. However. One of my teeth developed a very bad infection and as anyone with toothache will tell you, there is no pain like it. I was in absolute agony. Having spend the night pretty much punching myself in the face, I trotted to Kings College Dental Hospital where they quickly recognised that I needed root canal treatment – which I couldn’t have. The only other option and less risky one, was to extract the tooth. I was in so much pain, that I would have done almost anything, so this was fine. I then spent the next 4 hours having various blood tests to check my white cell count to ensure that I could cope with minimal infection and blood loss (yes, just to pull one tooth – isn’t cancer fun?). When we found that I could have the tooth pulled, in I went. They injected my gum to numb the tooth and waited. Didn’t work. Another couple of injections went in. Nothing, wasn’t numbing it at all. Transpires that the chemotherapy in my blood was counteracting the injections and the impact they were having. In the end I had to have around 40 injections in my mouth for the area to go numb and to enable the dentist to pull the tooth out (seriously, HOW much fun can you have with cancer?!). By the end of what I can only describe as an “ordeal”, I was a shaking, crying, nervous wreck. Absolutely fucking awful. And, I’d been put off dentists for life.

In the next 10 years I visited the dentist just 3 times for treatment. Twice I had to be heavily sedated and the third time, again, a tooth pulled out – but I forced myself to stay awake and just have injections, using loud music on my ipod to get me through it. That 3rd time was a momentous occasion – yes I cried like a baby and was shaking like a leaf, but I did it. On my own.

On Wednesday, I am returned to the dentist to have a crown fitted (already had prep work done – repeat of sobbing, unable to breathe and shaking) and will also be having two extractions. Dentist was concerned, having seen my reaction to a drill and offered sedation, but I am determined to get through with a combination of Steps, S Club, Guns n’Roses and the Killers. I don’t claim to be brave, but this is a huge achievement for me. I have to overcome my fear.

Watch out for Twitter updates on Wednesday!!

Happy Birthday to…… ME!!

Today, on this glorious December day, 43 years ago, a baby was born in Saarf London. Lorna Jacqueline Villiers, weighing in at 7lb 4oz and apparently rather long – bit heavier now but still rather long (long = tall & statuesque. Obviously).

It’s been quite an eventful 43 years so far with marriages, divorces, children, jobs and a little case of breast cancer. However, with all the ups and downs, I always believe, more than ever, than life is to be celebrated. I don’t think you should just let birthdays pass you by. Enjoy getting older, embrace old age with open arms! In fact, I love birthdays so much that I have 2! In the knowledge that December 29^th is the WORST time in the world to get people out to celebrate a birthday, I will be celebrating today with my kids and a little liquid lunch with a chum. Then, at the end of January when people have money and more free time, I’ll arrange a night out in town for some excessive drinking, eating, inappropriate dancing & drunken attempts to pick up young, good looking guys!!!

To anyone celebrating a birthday in December – remember, your birthday is unique to you. No joint Christmas gifts, no joint Christmas celebrations. Enjoy, have fun and bring on number 44!!!

Oh, and in the interest of total embarrassment, here is a photo gallery from the past 43 years……