Real friends will tell you to ‘shut the fuck up’ to your face and they’ll say nice things about you behind your back.

Dumbass cancer has got me thinking about the old days.

Not the time before electricity – the time before responsibility.

I’m fortunate to still have friends from those days. We don’t see each other often but we stay in touch.

Jasmine and I were on an academic par, every lesson together, including trampolining.

We weren’t VERY naughty as we didn’t consider embezzled goods from our parents i.e. cigarettes and alcohol a crime.

There was a situation in class once. Vexed with our dickhead wankface teacher I wrote and illustrated explicit profanities regarding his wankiness on a netball.

Jas thought it an idea to roll said ball to front of class where it settled between teacher’s legs.

I was henceforth suspended for one week.

My other friends were, and still are, Lysette and Katarina.

We did some fucked up shit! We didn’t get busted because there was no internet, cell phones, GPS or police drones.

We didnt just share sexy clothing, we shared sexy boys too. And there were plenty of both in our adolescent flooziness.

One time Kat was banned from seeing me when Daddy found her diary and baby-proofing pills hidden in a dolls house in her bedroom.

He told her she could have a new pony if she did as she was told. She picked the pony, I would have done same!

But we still snuck out together and horsed around.

Lysette and I were the worst combo. I can’t divulge 95% of our waggishness. But we got away with most of it.

One time we were caught redhanded with a couple of ‘battery bananas’ we’d found – and decided to race them across the top of a wardrobe to see which one would topple first.

Back in the 70’s The Rampant Rabbit hadn’t been invented and you couldn’t fob a sex toy off as a neck massager.

This incident had a lasting effect because Lys grew up and became a sex therapist.

And still to this day she’s enlightening men on how to finger their wives.

Kat followed her dream too. She married a retired show-jumper who it turned out, enjoyed riding anything with a pulse.

Jas took the stage, but after being lured to a saggy director’s couch one time she packed it in, went back to school and became an attorney… She’s been invaluable over the years. 9 divorces between us has kept her busy.

My surgeon said I might lose some long term memory. But no, it’s still fully intact for now.

And if I do lose it, one of these 3 beauties will be there to remind me of the time we drank Shroom Smoothies whilst enjoying a group bath and washing each other’s hair with yellow finger paints.

Fungi with fun guys.

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‘Oh shut the fuck up and have a drink.’ Me as a therapist.

Arrived in Bermuda with all the energy of a 14ft python who’d just eaten a fattened cow.

3 hours on the tarmac waiting to take off for a 2 hour flight. WTF American Airlines.

1st night was like a scene from a Stephen King novel. I opened the wardrobe and there he was… waiting for me… the giant flying roach… flip flop in hand I got into bed and waited.

I then clocked him spying me through a crack in the door, 10ft tentacles flaying around. After noticing my 6 inch scar and undercut he determined he was no match and fucked off back into the crevice he’d come from.

Woke to blue skies and the warm fuzzy feeling of ‘home’. Blissful day filled with birthday celebrations, delicious food and a dip in the heavenly crystal clear ocean.

The night ended with a successful flip flop splattering of cockroach #2 who was clearly cockier than his mate from last night.

FYI vermin: I have a goddamn brain tumour and no man-eating-mother-fucking-roach is ever giving me the heebie geebies again.

When I first arrived here nearly 30 years ago, someone said to me ‘You know what Bermuda is? It’s 60,000 alcoholics clinging to a rock.’

‘Fantastic.’ Was my immediate response, ‘I’ve moved to paradise!’

Times have changed since those glory days and just as well because tonight at a party, while chatting to old friends and neighbours, I downed one glass of fizz and was ready for bed. FFS Bambi.

And btw Brad, when the movie rights for Bambi sell, you’ve got stiff Bermudian competition as leading man. There’s a handsome Mr Kempe up for the role, and he’s not of the Spandex Ballet kind.

Sunday followed with more frolicking. At one point I came out of the club pool with my hair swept back and received an extended once over from 3 members of the super bitch wives club. Oh fuck, was I flashing a nipple? Or worse, had I exposed my vajayjay? What were they looking at?

Then I realised it was my impressively large bald patch and scar. They were probably wondering how a rough old slag could have gained access to such a prestigious establishment.

Gorgeous dinner on the beach with one Bermuda bestie followed by a sleepover with another Bermuda bestie and my 12 year old goddaughter.

Her mother had told her all about brain tumours but not much about the ‘birds and the bees’.

So took it upon myself to give her a few pointers and attempt to not expose her mothers overly edited version of her own youth.

The conversation commenced with a ‘pure white flower’ being the symbolisation of virginity and how this ‘pure white flower’ should remain pure until marriage.

‘Mummy told me I must remain pure until I’m at least 35 or married. Just like her.’ She told me.

Well I could accept the first sentence of this statement with a sweet nodding (fake) smile.

But when the second sentence hit my ears I choked on air and fell backwards into a nearby oleander tree.

I’ve known her mother for 30 years and luckily for her she’s in my tighty-tight circle of ‘besties’ and what happens in the circle must stay in the circle.

However, there’s a tinge of regret in not disclosing the truth now because after emerging from the pool that afternoon she declared…

‘You look like that famous character from Game of Thrones!’

‘Aww,’ I responded ‘Which one… Daenerys Targaryen?‘No,’ she smirked ‘I was thinking of The Hound. You have similar scar and haircut.’

Fuck off bitch. I guess we’re both old dogs.

Finally today and on a more serious and sobering note. I’ve requested that she and my goddaughter provide the eulogy at my eventual funeral.

I’ve given them strict instructions that it must be goddamn funny as hell or else I’ll be back as a poltergeist to haunt them for all eternity.

It’s ok to lose your shit sometimes because if you keep your shit, you’ll end up full of shit, then you’ll explode and there’ll be shit everywhere. A shit storm. And nobody wants that.

A post radiation visit to my radio of fame oncologist today.

He asked how I was feeling.

‘Feeling good,’ I replied ‘Apart from the anorexia and bald patch… And auras’.

‘Auras?’ He questioned (not fazed by the other 2).

‘Yes, not deja vu or seizures, more like a deja vu appetizer.’ I tried to explain.

He looked puzzled.

Then this spewed from my lips…

‘I get this feeling I’m wandering around a misty field and every now and then a memory suddenly pops out at me, it’s either a cute fluffy pony (good memory) or a long horned filthy bull with fire in his eyes (bad memory).’

Nope, still wasn’t explaining myself very well.

So I changed the subject and requested narcotics. I think after that diabolical description he felt I required them too.

I sense a turbulent ride ahead with all this chemo fuckery.

Blood drawn every month, MRI every month, 5 little nuclear bombs arriving via Fedex every 23 days.

So I was venting to a friend this evening.

‘You need a distraction.’ He advised. ‘You’re creative, find something creative and personal you might like to do for yourself to take your mind off what’s looming.’

‘Fuck off!’ immediate response.

‘Pooping on a glass top coffee table is creative and personal. Shall I do that?’

Everyone means well, but if you haven’t been afflicted with cancer or been close to someone who has, its almost impossible to understand what they’re feeling.

Unless of course you’re one of those super rare types filled with intuition and natural empathy.

All we really want to hear is ‘I’m here for you and I love you.’ No advice needed because this is something we figure out on our own.

I’ve said it a million times – Love love love is the answer.. And that’s it.

I’m heading into the Bermuda Triangle now for another week of love… And the added bonus of perfect pink sand, crystal clear warm ocean, 100% humidity and giant flying cockroaches.

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.”