I speak 4 languages: English, Profanity, Sarcasm and Shit.

I’m in a gang.  I’ve never been in a gang before. Well actually that’s not entirely true.  

When I was 9 my friends and I bullied a kid who was being mean to us…  We flicked horse shit on sticks at him until he retreated…  I feel bad about that now… Kind of.

There’s four of us in this gang and we all have something in common. We’re badass brain tumour survivors.

Names have been changed to protect the identities of these goddesses. So hence forth we are referred to as:  Aphrodite, Venus, Inanna and Aurora.

If you don’t know the meaning of these names you were obvs snogging/smoking in the bike sheds during mythology lessons at school. (I was anyway).

Our gang’s named The Love Honeys… Appropriate as we’re fucking cancer and Lovehoney is an online sex shop.

To know there are other people out there who feel exactly the same way as you is mind glowingly reassuring.

They help you realise that you haven’t actually lost the goddamn plot…  Your brain’s just been temporarily fucked because a mother-fucking-platinum-plated cunt has invaded your private headspace.

And in other news…

The Cheshire Kitty Cat has been here taking care of me. And what a fabulous little ball of energy she is.

She cooks, she cleans, she takes the dog on 5-mile runs along the beach… And all before I’ve even got out of bed.

She chauffeurs me around…  Even though this is her first time ever driving on the wrong side.

She’s befriended the neighbours by popping in with bottles of English gin and then staying for a few hours to help them polish it off.

She’s chummy with my radiology team to the point where they’ve offered to give her a tour of the 60 ft monster living 4 floors below ground at the proton centre.

She even mixes me cocktails before supper every evening. Last night was a questionable combo of laxative and sparkling wine. The results were rip-roaringly spine chilling.

Kitty keeps telling me that ‘Friends are like fish, they smell after three days.’ She’s been here a week…  I keep whiffing her fanny but it smells fine to me.

Sadly she must leave me tonight and like all my other beautiful besties who’ve been taking care of me I will miss her terribly.

Sad to say that my ‘house of ill repute’ might have to close its doors for a few weeks now due to the dreaded potential side effects of radio.

But as long as it doesn’t make me grow another head… Or a penis… I will fight it like a girl!

what’s he looking at…
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It’s a dog’s life..

I kind of know how dogs feel.. Especially dogs that live in pleasant houses with pleasant owners.. 

As like a dog I sleep, I go for the odd walk around the block, then I come home and sleep again. I guess the only difference is I don’t shit in public, I don’t hump inanimate objects and I don’t sniff ass. 

When I’m awake I’m consumed with déjà vu.. This often indicates a seizure is pending.. But not always.

Being on the edge of a seizure is goddamn fucking frustrating because you just wanna get it out.. It’s like being on the edge of a sneeze or an orgasm.. But you can’t quite make it happen.

Conveniently it appears I’ve become allergic to housework.  I was dusting yesterday when things got trippy and Brad Pitt appeared on the sofa.. Which made my face tingle.. At least it was only my face. 

The seizure ran its course, then ended with the acrid smell and taste before I was transported back to reality.  

Obvs I can’t carry on seeing Brad lounging on my settee so a swift visit to my neuro and an increase of cocktails should put a stop to it. I won’t think of myself as overly medicated.. Just pharmaceutically fabulous! 

I also met my oncologist.. A charming man but not sure he appreciated my humour.  Although after we’d played a game of funny bone smacking and feet tickling I’m pretty sure we bonded.

Next up is a radiography consult.. But in the meantime I’m wallowing in the delight of one of my perfectly darling oldest besties here to look after me..   She’s already demonstrated the best way to have ‘lazy sick person sex’.   

Instructions to follow. 

The Sex Guru and Me mid orgasm circa 1999

‘A naked woman in heels is a beautiful thing. A naked man in shoes looks like a fool.’ Christian Louboutin

Lately my life’s become a set of fucked up life changing events separated by intermittent snacks and naps. 

Hence a little snack I had yesterday ended up going a bit Pete Tong.

After devouring a bountiful amount of fine Swiss chocolate I retired upstairs for a nap.  

It’s true that I’ve always been a person who wants to do a lot of stuff most of the time..  

But lately I find myself trapped in the body of a person who wants to do mostly fuck all most of the time.   

So I was surprised when en-route to my bed I randomly had the fancy to re-organise my shoe closet.

Perched on the floor whilst dispensing unwanted footwear to charity bag..  That old familiar déjà vu feeling wafted over me..  

Memories of dancing shoes, workout shoes, party shoes, fuck-me shoes.. there’s stacks of memories in shoes.  

And then it happened.. I experienced a pre-surgery-parallel-universe-out-of-this-goddamned-world seizure.  

Proof that I’m a hardcore hypochondriac..   And never do anything half ass. I also didn’t have any canine rectal valium at hand.

An urgent call was made to my gorgeous angel friend (aka my surgeon’s PA). 

She expedited hospital action where a nice man with a shiny beard rolled me into the CT for a swift scan. 

Next up.. Blood works and ouch.. Turns out it was Nurse Nancy’s first day and I was her first ever patient but luckily she had some deliciously distracting tattoos.

Home to await results. 

CT confirmed brain’s looking dope* post Bambi and my blood’s made of sterling stuff.   

*I’m reaching out to younger audience hence use of this new word preferred by teenagers to express excellence.

So there’s a little hiccup in the remedying of my ailment ..  My cocktails require spicing up.. And I need to abstain from all caffeine and find a new vice!  

Luckily one of my favourite vices is flying in on a jet plane in a few days time. 

‘I could go at any time’ Arnie Grape

Have you ever just sat there and thought.. Damn I’ve been through a lot of shit.

Someone actually asked me today ‘How are you managing to stay so positive?’ 

My answer.. 

‘Well obvs what motivates me the most is the fact that being positive really pisses off the negative mother-fucking haters out there!’

People have also been so very sweet and told me that I’m superhero brave.

As much as I’d love to be juxtaposed to a sexy hot Wonder Woman..  I’m not really brave at all.   In situations like this you just have to ask yourself.. 

Do I need this? 

Does it spark joy? 

Does it fuck!

Other people have had very good intentions too and offered me illuminating examples of encouragement.. 

Such as how I should use canine rectal valium to control seizures  (the offer of insertion was also provided) or that I should be snacking on pickled long-haired guinea pigs and sea cucumbers to prevent Bambi from boomeranging. 

But seriously, I really will try my best not to judge anyone over a health condition they know absolutely fuck all about. 

Curiously, a low bullshit threshold seems to be an unexpected brilliant side effect of brain cancer!

In other news I finally got out of my pjs today, into different ones.

That counts as getting dressed right?

If you’ve never seen a pair of toy poodles chatting to each other in French – you’ve never dropped acid.

Honey go put the kettle on – this one’s going to take a while.

Today felt like a day at the Academy Awards.

The results were in.   And waiting for results is a bit like waiting to find out whether you’ve won an Oscar or not.

I even decided to get proper dressed for the big event.  Gigantic pants and baggy sweats really weren’t going to cut it today.   It felt good slathering myself in Tom Ford and slipping into a little silk cami.  

The drive west was smooth. M has had to revise his driving style from deranged bedlamite to plain-sailing slow-lane chauffer in order to cater to my need for seamless gear changing due to wobbly brain issue.

Arriving at my doctor’s office we were escorted into a private room to await the entrance of the chief.

Time for a quick selfie in big examination chair to share on WhatsApp group with my girl gang back home.

Soon my two new favourite people in the whole wide world entered and we got down to business. 

Results were dispensed and I was given the all-inclusive synopsis of the invader of my synapses AKA Bambi.  

It had been concluded that she was a rarity who had mutated from a few pretty pink star shaped cells. 

I guess at the end of the day – if you’re going to get a brain tumour – what more could a girl ask for than a limited edition, sparkly one.

Then we got back to the important matters of English literature.. My brain surgeon is a literary treasure trove and the fact that he quoted Tolkien and my blog in the same sentence.. Made me feel extra special.

The ride home was fairly benign until suddenly an enormous real life Bambi ran into the road. Oh dear!! M slammed the brakes.  How paradoxical..  I’d never want to annihilate a pukka Bambi.

So next up is a spicy little cocktail of radio and chemo.  I have no idea what this entails.  Is it comparable to mixing acid and ecstasy – I can draw on a past experience for that one.

Finished off the day with my love, my friend, the biggest plate of sushi and the teeniest glass of fizz.

I felt so giddy with optimism that when the UPS man arrived with a package I took it from him and said ‘Thanks, love you. Bye.’

‘Nobody move! I dropped me brain.’ Captain Jack Sparrow

My gorgeous savvy surgeon and his beautiful brilliant assistant came for cocktail hour and inspection.  Upon their departure they awarded me with my much anticipated golden ticket.. I had permission to go home. Yay!

My discharge order was set in motion and I had 24 hours to prepare myself for checkout. 

Intravenous drips were finally ejected, long scripts were written and copious quantities of hospital knickers and sick bags were handed my way.  

And then there was the ‘blow job’ machine   Officially known as an incentive spirometer..  I’m required to blow it 10 times an hour.  In order to prevent pneumonia.. and other sexually transmitted diseases and unwanted menopausal pregnancies. 

I obtained special permission to take a shower too. Not currently looking my usual eye-wateringly-alluring-self.. My anatomy resembles that of a malnourished heroin addict in desperate need of rehab.. track marks cover my body like a map of the Cotswolds footpaths.

M got prime viewing of this spectacle while hosing me down like I was an oppressed palomino belonging to a pigged-tailed posh kid about to enter the Pony Club mounted games. 

Then my physiotherapist declared that I require a walking cane.. ‘Will hospital issue suffice?’ I was asked.

‘Umm no thank you very much.  I desire an elaborate gold dragon’s head with bright green emerald eyes .. thanks for your offer, but I’ll require Chinese eBay for this accessory.’

Ironically I fell asleep that last evening whilst watching a movie about a little blue fish (called Dory) who suffered from short term memory loss.

The morning couldn’t arrive soon enough and I was so so excited to get home.. because as the saying goes.. ‘Home is always the place where .. You POOP most comfortably!’ And I was really looking forward to that fuzzy cozy feeling.


LOVE IS THE ANSWER..

C U Next Tuesday Bambi! Well technically it’s C U tomorrow but that doesn’t spell out the four-letter word I want to scream from the rooftops right now.

So the other day I heard someone say that laughter is the best medicine.

This is bollocks because if you have a brain tumour then a craniotomy is definitely going to be more effective.

Hence I’m heading to the hospital at some ungodly hour tomorrow to start the process of Bambi’s eviction.  

And Bambi honey.. You better not underestimate me because I can go from being a cute little kitty to a fire breathing dragon in the blink of an eye.

And I won’t be taking this lying down.. Well actually I will, but that’s not the point!

Firstly they’ll determine exactly where Bambi’s lurking with a very hi-tech-brain-scan-mapping thingy. 

After that I’ll put on the ludicrous gown (+Tuesday knickers) and be wheeled to theatre where they’ll knock me out (I enjoy this bit).  

Then Dr. Tall Dark & Handsome will perform the eviction. Bambi will be deported to the path lab where they’ll determine whether or not she’s a benign bitch or a cancerous c**t.

Then we’ll have a quick MRI to double check she hasn’t left any baggage behind.  After which I’ll be dispatched to ICU.

This I’m not relishing.. I dislike sharing a room at the best of times.  I can just cope with M and the dog so the thought of sharing with strangers really doesn’t appeal. 

However, when I’m able to pee without assistance they’ll transfer me to my room where I can examine my stapled head in private.. Shame it’s not Halloween.. They’d be a great accessory.  

I have to go now and pack my fabulous new MZ Wallace bag.. If you don’t have one then you must get one. Not even a brain tumour can control my desire for designer swag.

So I’ll see you on the other side when this goddamn mother-fucking bitch is out of my head. 

P.S. Thank you so much for the beautiful, kind and thoughtful messages.  I truly believe that LOVE IS THE ANSWER to everything and I’m so lucky to be feeling it right now.  I’d just like to share this one little message from my oldest friend.. I know it took her ages to write it because she can’t spell 😉

“Touching the cloth is an understatement, my thoughts have been consumed everyday since you told me they were doing tests and when you mentioned the bitter smell, I just knew. 
You have been my bestie since we were 9 years old (I’m the younger one I want to add) and consider you my sister. Well you came for tea wearing a silk scarf with a toggle round it (what the fuck was that about) but now I see the class and grace that surrounds you. 
We have laughed, cried stole each other’s boyfriends, made homemade clothes from sheets, got drunk and ended up in some very strange situations (but we won’t talk about them) but we have been like this for 42 years and I love you to the ends of the earth. 
So I would just like to say I’m quite shocked at the choice of knickers for your hospital stay, my thought swayed to pvc crouch-less knickers to complement your revealing hospital gown so at least the staff would remember you even if you don’t remember them. 
From the bottom of my heart I will be thinking of you every second you are under the knife willing Bambi the squatter to be banished. 
My darling Sarah I will see you on the bright side of this nightmare. The bright side of life (life of Brian).
Love you to the moon and back.”