If you find me offensive then I suggest you quit fucking finding me.

Last time I weighed 125lbs I was a 12 year old pre pubescent practising the art of kissing with a 13 year old French boy on a beach somewhere near St Tropez.

Time moves on and I’ve kissed countless toads since then. But to be 125lbs again is kinda fabulous.. even if it is being caused by a brain munching cunt.

Last week I went for an MRI. Not because of my scrawniness but as a result of Bambi fucking around again.

My surgeon spotted a new bright light. I was hoping for a happy twinkly kind of light and not the dark cunty Bambi kind.

And oh fuckerty fuck, the waiting game was painful and every possible and impossible thought entered my head.

The results arrived. My gorgeous surgeon was fabulous as always. We tired of Bambi swiftly and deliberated over the fine works of David Hockney instead.

My equally brilliant radiologist was also calm and collected about this latest eye-popper and suggested it’s most likely to be something called pseudo progression (a good sign).

I love these top men. If they’d been aboard the Titanic they’d have been the guys playing in the band on deck as cool as cucumbers right ‘til the end.

I bumped into my ravishing radiology team too whom I bloody adore. Not that I’d ever want to land on the radiation table again.

Anyway something’s going on and I’m banking on it being the chemo finishing the bitch off.

On a positive note 4 phenomenal friends walked a marathon through London last weekend.

They walked for The Brain Tumour Charity… And in honour of yours truly, they called themselves Team Bambi.

Most importantly, they raised over £2000 to help in the fight to eradicate this goddamn awful fucking disease.

My friends are my superheroes and I feel honoured to know every single one of them.

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2 thoughts on “If you find me offensive then I suggest you quit fucking finding me.

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