You should see the shit I DON’T post. Which sits in my folder entitled ‘I find this hilarious, but some uptight fuckers won’t.’

OMFG we watched the BBC2 TV show ‘Surgeons’. They documented a brave young man who had similar brain op to me except this poor boy had to be awake throughout so they could monitor his speech.

I’m so fecking fortunate I was asleep as I don’t own the strength of character to have been conscious while they fiddled with my brain. 

I most likely would have ‘william shatner’d’ my Tuesday pants (although I don’t actually think I was wearing any at the time). 

Later in the show he was given his prognosis. He had a Grade 3 malignant tumour and was informed he couldn’t be cured but his condition would hopefully be controlled. Same as me.

I felt sad for him, as he was only 20. And he will now be feeling just like me..  Like someone is permanently holding a gun to his head. Although luckily, also like me, he did have a very handsome, talented and emphatic surgeon.

But I’m 52 soon and even though I’m sure I’ll still have a full and fun life ahead I don’t have my ‘whole’ life ahead like he should have.  

Obvs there’s things I still need to do..

A. Skinny dip with Brad Pitt
B. Frolic with gorillas in Rwanda
C. See my lil’ boy star in a Tarantino movie

Luckily this lovely chap had an amazingly supportive fam’ and that means so much when you’re in a serious life threatening fucked up situation.

If you found yourself in this position and were on your own with no support it would be a double whammy of really shit luck.

I know I’m incredibly lucky in so many ways. I have so much loving support from so many gorgeous people around the world.

And it turns out.. You never really know a man (or woman) until you get a brain tumour and he/she has to stop everything to take care of you for a while.

Short of having to wipe my ass M has done everything for me over the last few weeks.

It’s not easy physically or emotionally when you suddenly have to care for the person who’s the centre of your world.

Everyone asks M ‘How’s Sarah doing?’ And luckily most people also ask ‘And how are you doing?’

It’s important to not forget the burden of the poor bastard who’s stuck with walking the dog, washing your knickers and loading the dishwasher every day.

After all, how was he to know that a drunken game of spin the bottle and a one night stand in Bermuda 15 years ago was going to end like this!

me and mr incredible


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I might have been born in the shadows of Windsor Castle but I knew I’d burst into the sunshine eventually.

Not sure if it’s my eloquent British accent but honestly the US medical system have treated me like a princess throughout this freaky fiasco.

I have an exemplary A Team Royal Entourage, which must at the very least match that of HRH Megan, the new Duchess of Sussex.

I‘m being cared for by unquestionably brilliant people..   Neurosurgeons, neurologists, oncologists, radiologists, doctors, nurses.  Not to forget my incredible group of beautiful friends who are flying in from all over to cook for me, enterain me and walk the dog.   

The only team members missing from my ‘inner circle’ are the stylists, make up artists and hairdressers.

I even have a PA, Chauffer and Chief Protection Officer (AKA M), which incidentally came in handy today when a suspicious looking package arrived from Latvia.   

I suggested M put on his bicycle helmet – take said package to garage for inspection and controlled explosion.

Instead he bravely opened it on kitchen counter with a pair of kitchen scissors. 

Rather than an assemblage of brightly coloured cables and alarm clocks the box revealed a lovely selection of heart shaped beach stones sent to me by my gorgeous sister-in-law as a symbol of our love and the personal significance they hold.

I’ve also discovered that having a brain tumour is a full-time job and having an efficient PA to pick up the slack is imperative– there are appointments to be made, insurance companies to negotiate with, thank you notes to write.. It’s round-the-clock non-stop. 

I barely have time to squeeze in a mani and wax – although I might not need that for a while once the chemo and radio kicks in.

It’s time for M to iron my pjs and run me a bubble bath now.

Good night all, I hope you have sexy dreams or flying dreams (they’re my favourite kind).

P.S. There are no mother-fuckers or cunts in this post because some of my friends mums are reading my blog and there’s concern my cursing is offensive. 

Sorry about that!