February 12, Monday
I have a new lease of life, not just because I have had a cancerous tumour removed and might live to tell the tale, and not only might I live to tell the tale BUT I have also analysed, deconstructed and am attempting to put back together the remnants of my life. No, it is something even more life-affirming and life-enhancing than that.
It is the discovery, after a few phone calls and a bit of research, that we can just about afford to buy a static caravan in Tenby. If you had told me ten years ago that this would be the focus of my entire life, I would have laughed; now the thought of having a static caravan to escape to at weekends and school holidays is filling my every waking thought: I can’t stop thinking about it, and talking about it, except to my parents who will give me advice that I don’t want. So I am being a big grown-up girl and, along with Rhodri, as he is the one who has to pay for it, we are going to buy one, just like that. I feel as if I have just started an illicit love affair that I want to share with everyone, but can’t until it’s all proper and above board.
We will be stretched financially for a few years until Osh goes to school, but we spend money on holidays anyway so we won’t have to now, as we will have our ‘holiday home’ as the site owners call them. Rhodri was very sniffy about that as he has a bit of a problem with the term ‘holiday home’ – it’s a Welsh-speaking thing, I think. I am calling it our ‘caravan of lurve’ as Rhodri and I never argue when we are on holiday because, funnily enough, I don’t have the three hundred things I normally have to think about swimming around in my head.
This house, beautiful though it is, is a trap, as when I am here I think about all the things I should be doing like washing and ironing and gardening, putting the bins out, painting doors and walls, so all this will be gone if I escape. I will be able to spend time, exclusively devoted to my children and my husband, on beaches and walking through fields and on hills, in the sunshine, in the rain and thinking about nothing but them and what a bloody brilliant thing life is. We will for ever have those memories, and no one can take them away from us.
February 13, Tuesday
I’ve been on the phone to a lovely man in the caravan park in Kilgetty. God, I would never have believed how difficult it is to get a place in a caravan park in Tenby. I made a few phone calls to sites to ask if I could put my own van there, but you have to buy a van off them to get on their sites, unless it is a new van, which we can’t afford.
Everyone I called would say, ‘Have you bought a van before?’ Then they would make this noise like ‘Ah, here we go again.’ BUT I think we have found something that fits all criteria from a lovely caravan-site-owning man with a very bad cold: a second-hand van a few miles from the beach with an indoor swimming pool on site. It also has a club which we might avoid, but not if we run out of wine one night, PLUS Elis loves a game of bingo (well, me under the guise of Elis loving bingo).
Also, the man says we can let it out to friends and family if we want. They have caravans which sleep eight, which means we can take our friends too. It’s more expensive than I had envisaged, actually it is double the cost, but I am thinking, Bugger it, when Osh goes to school in a year or so I will be about £500 a month better off and I will just shop in cheaper places and not buy any clothes.
I do not in my heart of hearts even believe myself that those two things will happen, but I am saying it like a mantra because I will not be deterred. Would Richard Branson be where he is today without taking a few risks in life, I ask myself. Would Tubular Bells ever have seen the light of day or those aeroplanes, or that balloon – actually I think that balloon crashed, didn’t it, so I won’t think too much about that. So we which always means me, are arranging to go down there on Sunday if possible to have a look at the site and some caravans.
I went to Welsh class today and Janet the teacher said, ‘Michelle, translate into Welsh “May I have a lift?”’ so I said, ‘Gaf i godiad?’ and she nearly choked, and when I asked what the matter was she said, ‘You just said, “May I have an erection?”’: Godiad means erection in Welsh so Teri and I scribbled it down immediately in our vocabulary books and were giggling like two teenagers. ‘Very useful for Valentine’s Day tomorrow,’ I said and we giggled even more and Janet said, ‘No, don’t write it down, as someone might report me to WLPAN,’ (the people who run the course) but we said her secret was safe with us.
Went home and asked Rhodri how his codiad was and he was shocked that I said it, so shocked he got one which we made use of; now he owes me a further £3.333 (recurring).
February 14, Wednesday
Valentine’s Day. I had a card from a secret admirer – Rhodri has been writing that for the last ten years, I wonder if he realises I know it’s him, I know his handwriting. We all ate Marks & Spencer’s hand-decorated Valentine’s chocolates for breakfast. I kept one for Kerry though, as she is also my Valentine for being so lovely.
Kerry came over as I was putting my make-up on without my wig. She is the only person other than Rhodri and Elis, and my sister once, who I allow to see me without my wig. I was about to put it back on and she said, ‘Put it on Daisy,’ and we put it on her and it was hilarious. We laughed so much we were crying, and Kerry said she had to go to the toilet because she was going to pee herself. I can’t remember a time when I have laughed like that – it really is the best medicine.
Elis went to Alex’s house after school and I picked him up about 7.30 with Osh in his pyjamas. Rhodri had been queuing outside the American Embassy for three hours to get a visa and didn’t get back until nine. He was so cold in the queue he nearly cried. I said to Elis, ‘Did you do anything for Valentine’s Day in school?’ and he said, ‘No, Miss Smith gave everyone Valentine’s cards except me.’ I expressed my doubts over this. He continued, ‘And some of the children in the class had Valentine’s cards off each other and I didn’t have any,’ and just as I was thinking it was a bit grown-up for seven year olds to be exchanging Valentines, Elis said in a really sad voice, ‘You know, Mum, just because I am a small person doesn’t mean that I don’t want to have a Valentine’s card,’ and my heart skipped a beat.
A bit later I was tucking him up in bed and I remembered that Osh had made a Valentine’s card (as well as a biscuit which he opened and ate on the way home) and I said, ‘Oh, you did have a Valentine’s card. I forgot – it’s in the car,’ and he said, ‘Who is it from?’ I said, ‘It’s from Osh,’ and he smiled and said, ‘Was there any chocolate with it?’ ‘Oh yes, lots of chocolate,’ I said, ‘You can have it in the morning,’ and he went to bed smiling.
Will have to raid the chocolate lips I bought Rhodri and put them in an envelope with the card for the morning because even small people need a bit of extra love on Valentine’s Day.
February 15, Thursday
I’m a bit post-Valentine’s Day hungover – teetotalling not going terribly well at the moment, but will not drink until I get to Ireland on Sunday. It would be rude, nay tantamount to a sin, not to drink in Ireland. Went for a long walk with Rhodri today across the coastal path in Llantwit Major; it was really lovely, very bracing, blowing all my cobwebs away. I just thought how great it will be to be able to go to the sea with the children. Children and coastal paths do not mix, especially with 300-foot drops and subsidence. Elis would have to be about twenty-seven before I would let him go there on his own.
Had a letter through today about my mammogram. It’s on 26 March. I am glad to have it, but will now spend the next six weeks worrying about it – worrying about something I can’t actually do anything about.
I still have a very slight discharge coming from my nipple, and whenever I search it in Google, which ever way I do it, it says it is not likely to be breast cancer but to get it checked out. Rhodri said, ‘Don’t worry about it. They’re not worried about it in the hospital, so you don’t need to be either.’
Before I had my diagnosis I wouldn’t have worried, but I was told they were almost certain nothing was wrong and yet I did hav
e breast cancer the first time. So it is inevitable that I will worry after what I have just gone through. I start thinking, What if the cancer does come back – what then?
Just snapped at Rhodri as it’s eight o’clock and he’s letting Elis start an art project in his room when he should be sleeping. He said, ‘What can I do about it?’ I said, ‘You’re the adult, he’s taking the piss out of you. You should have told him to get into bed.’ Then he said, ‘I can’t do anything right,’ and I said, ‘In this case, no,’ and he said, ‘Piss off,’ and I said, ‘Piss off,’ and I threw the first thing that came to hand at him; which was a brush. I wonder if my period is due (my usual explanation for my irrational behaviour). I am supposed to be keeping a record of it but I forgot. I think I might be pre-menstrual. Was hoping I would never have a period again, but hey ho, we’ll see.
February 27, Tuesday
Haven’t managed to get to my diary for a while as I was in Ireland for a week. I had forgotten about my diary, in fact, and about most other things too, like I have had cancer and chemotherapy. I was much more moderate in my behaviour while in the Emerald Isle than in previous years, but I still had a few drinks with my sister.
Then I spent most of the holiday beating myself up about this, but my sister says that as long as it is now and again, I should stop being so hard on myself. I have started to get anxiety attacks. Well, I’m not even sure what they are, but it’s that feeling of dread, that something bad is going to happen, and you have a flutter in your chest, not palpitations exactly, but a sensation like that. I am wondering what this is all about. There is a niggling feeling about the mammogram and until I have it and someone tells me everything is OK, I won’t rest easy.
I’m still really excited about the caravan and spent some of the time in Ireland researching sites and caravan costs, the one wevisited was a apossibility but I’d prefer something closer to the sea. I do feel slightly middle-aged doing all this but this really is going to be a facet of my life that I think will bring me great pleasure. I so love being in Pembrokeshire by the sea, it’s so invigorating, and when Rhodri comes too I can go for walks on the beach as we do when we are on holidays; it really does have a spiritual dimension to it. I said to Rhodri that I was a little apprehensive about buying a caravan before my mammogram, as if it was bad news we might have committed ourselves to something we couldn’t afford. And he sat by me and put his arm around me and said that I can’t live my life thinking the worst will happen, and that I have to live my life thinking this is not going to be a problem and I said but what if it was, and he said that, if that happened – which it wasn’t going to – we would cross that bridge when we came to it.
I am feeling anxious writing this now. Maybe after the mammogram it will get easier; if not, I’m straight back to Deborah for some counselling. I’m also thinking about going back to work, which I do want to do, but I think it is going to be a bit overwhelming, and then I think this is ridiculous because I am worrying about something that is going to happen in June and I haven’t even had my radiotherapy yet.
In my head I’ve done it and that’s part of the problem, if it is a problem, of being so positive about everything because you forget you are ill, and then I think, Shit I’ve still got to have radiotherapy. I just don’t think it can be as bad as chemo or looking after your children for a week at half-term.
We had a lovely time in Ireland, although we managed to miss the flight because of a crash on the motorway. It was very serious and they closed the motorway; I thought they usually only do that when someone has been killed and was not going to get stressed about us missing the plane when someone could have lost their life.
This resolve lasted about five minutes. I called Ryanair and they said they could get us on a flight going to Dublin – we were originally going to Shannon – but that was fine and the car hire company was at both airports so no problem there, and it would cost £50.
When we got there, we were told it would cost £50 EACH to change – £200 – which was more than the original flights. We could have had a round-the-world trip for the cost of those flights and it stinks because no one would have taken those seats at an hour’s notice. So I was Outraged From Cardiff and asked for Ryanair’s details to write them a letter, which I have done now, asking for £150 back.
We will see but Aidan says I haven’t got a hope in hell of getting it back, although we did have mitigating circumstances.
Anyway, we were in the lift going to Departures and there was a woman in the lift who must have thought I was mad. I was fuming and saying to Rhodri, ‘Well, it just makes me so fucking angry,’ and he was saying, ‘Just shut your fucking mouth. I paid the money, stop going on about it,’ and I said, ‘It has spoiled my fucking holiday,’ and Elis piped up, ‘Now, guys, there’s no point swearing about it.’ That told us, it really was like the Haribo advert. Travelling makes me even more irritable than I normally am.
The children got on so well on holiday. I hardly spoke to Elis for six days as he and Diarmuid were so happy together. Fintan is a year older than Osh, and they were the greatest of pals.
Rhodri and Aidan went walking a few times, and Rhodri got a tick on him which I had to remove with tweezers and pour tea-tree oil on. Sarah had said to be careful of ticks and he had laughed, then came home and there was one half-burrowed into his skin – dead. There must be something in Rhodri’s skin to repel Irish ticks. It probably gave up after the first layer (hope Rhodri never reads this).
It was Rhodri’s birthday two days ago. He is now thirty-six years old, still a pup really. We stayed in and I cooked us steaks and bought him a speaker for his Ipod and the boys (very generous things that they are) bought him a rucksack.
Rhodri and I are off to Portmeirion tomorrow, such is our jet-set life. I had to get it in before radiotherapy as it is for three nights and I won’t be able to go afterwards as I have to go before the end of March. So just as I’ve unpacked, ironed and put away from Ireland, I need to start again. Don’t know how pop stars manage but they have ‘people’ to do things for them, no doubt.
Osh is going up to the farm tonight and Julia is picking Elis up from school tomorrow; Joanne is taking him on Friday. I hope I am able to repay all these favours one day and that people aren’t getting fed up with me. I’m also hoping radiotherapy will be easy as I have not really planned otherwise and Rhodri is away for most of March filming Al Bowlly and possibly also has to go to America. Oh, it’s a tough life being a TV director, don’t you know. He says he doesn’t want to go and leave us, but if I had the opportunity to go to New York, stay in a nice hotel without two children and a moaning wife, I think I might just be looking forward to it a little bit, even if it is work.
Elis told me last night that he is singing in the school concert on Thursday, when Rhodri and I will be on our way to Portmeirion. I say we won’t be here, and if he had told us earlier we might have been able to come. He said he forgot to tell us and was sobbing in bed. So I had to promise him two packs of football cards, which he is obsessed with, because I knew he was going to be great singing, even if we weren’t there to see him. He said, ‘Where are you going?’ and I said, ‘I told you, we’re going to Portmeirion where we went for our honeymoon.’ Whenever you mention honeymoon, he says, ‘That’s zexy.’ He always says sexy with a ‘z’ for some reason, despite my correcting him. So I said, ‘We are going to Portmeirion where we had our sexy honeymoon,’ and he said, ‘Have you ever had zex with Rhodri?’ and I said, ‘Yes I have.’ He said, ‘You don’t even know what zex is,’ and I said, ‘Yes, I do, it’s when Daddy puts his pee pee in Mummy’s foo foo and you have a baby.’
‘Yes, that’s right,’ he said, ‘so you and Rhodri have had zex twice, once for me and once for Osian.’ I didn’t elaborate.
I’m getting very hot at nights and am wondering if I’m having hot flushes and starting the menopause. Although I still don’t know when my period is due. Actually, I just looked back through my diary and think it was 17 Januar
y, but that seems a long time ago – well, it was a long time ago, or it could be that the duvets in Ireland were very warm. I’ve also been really hot at night back home. If they are flushes then they are fine, but I can’t believe they are, as every woman I know who has had them says they are pretty unbearable. So we shall see. At least I will save myself a fortune in jumpers.
My hair is growing back with a vengeance, so much so that I’m not wearing my little black hat at night. I used to think, God, I can’t go out with grey hair, now I don’t think it will bother me. I just want my hair back. I actually shampooed and conditioned it in the bath yesterday for the first time since I shaved it all off. Sarah had said, ‘You’d better start looking after that,’ and she is right. It did feel really soft. I now have some hair to run my fingers through but it is still very short and looks post-chemo as opposed to elfin Mia Farrow. I read an article with the lovely Kylie and she said she didn’t know whether to keep her hair Mia Farrow-like and I thought, Kylie, you’d look fab wearing a binliner and no hair.
I feel I have to lose at least a stone before I can go commando on the hair front because there are many words to describe me and elfin is not one of them. Chubby chops and short hair have never been a great look, methinks.
When I was in Ireland and Diarmuid and Elis were tormenting Osian and I was just out of the shower in my bra and knickers with no wig on (I keep forgetting to put my wig on in the house as my hair is growing back a bit), so I went into the bedroom to tell them off and they were hysterical the pair of them, lying on the floor rolling about laughing because I looked so ridiculous in my bra and knickers with my ‘bold head’ as Elis calls it.
My Mummy Wears a Wig - Does Yours? A true and heart warming account of a journey through breast cancer Page 23
