indisputable topcat

Welcome to Topcatland

2010-05-13T14:58:00.007+10:00

"Come in. Snoop aroouuund."

- Ace Ventura, Pet Detective

This blog is made up 290 posts, written between 2007 and 2009. It started off as an IVF blog, morphing into a pregnancy blog, until it was hijacked by my husbands diagnosis of cancer in May 2008 ... five days before the baby was born. Which is where the fun really started.

Instead of deleting this blog, I'm leaving it up. Like, a museum. A testament of IVF, recovery, fear, chocolate, and cancer. I have closed new comments on here, but you can catch me on my other blog, edenland.

Bulletdodger Part II

2009-04-29T20:19:00.003+10:00

Apparently he's ok.

We have both been so worried, he just seems to look really yellow again. Even Max noticed, said, "Dad, your eyes are yellow." And he was yellow last year, before we found out. So we have both been freaked out and fucked up, expecting the worst.

The doctor reckons he is fine ... felt him all over for any signs of tumours, and gave him a blood test.

The blood test should show elevated levels of something, if it looks bad he will get a phonecall. If not, he just goes back in August for a check-up.

It's still worrying - what if there are tumours growing, somewhere? And we don't find out til it's too late? Why is he yellow? And when is he going to stop pestering me for sex?

Thanks so much for the good wishes ..... you all rock. Again.

The Bulletdodger lives to pester his wife for another day! (Seriously .... the guy pesters me for sex CONSTANTLY. Always has. I told him that when he dies, he'll be buried, but his penis will be sticking out of the ground at the cemetary because he has a permanent hard-on. People will trip over it).

xox

Legacy

2009-04-23T22:48:00.004+10:00

Two weeks, I have been trying to remember my recently-changed password to this blog. Finally I remembered it tonight: ANGERISSUES.

HA!!

So Dave has postphoned his oncologist appt TWICE now .... it is next Wednesday and so locked in. I'm going with him. Dave thinks he might have cancer in his shoulder - for once, I am the one in denial and he is all scared. I'm pretty annoyed. We have already BEEN HERE. We don't need to DO IT AGAIN. There's just no way he can get cancer back again, no way no how.

Back in December, when we got the "all clear" .. there was this small black thing on the scan, in one of Daves shoulders. I remember asking what it was, Dave laughing, and the doctor blowing me off, saying it was "most probably nothing."

He has a very sore shoulder .... he has been extremely active, hopefully he's just pulled it or something. Right? Right? RIGHT???

That's all I have to report, really. That is why I've been hiding and not commenting ... I feel a tad frozen. Also, the recent deaths of babies in blogland sent me for a six. Totally anxiety ridden.

I just wanted to let you know.

I will be back next week after Daves appointment ... if it is bad, I am not telling ANYBODY .... except here.

But it won't be bad, surely. My brain won't let me think there's a chance it's bad ... instead, my brain tells me to shop/eat/spend/exercise. Anything to take me away from myself. I HATE myself.

Goodbye.

Top of the Cats

2009-03-24T22:57:00.003+11:00

Hello.

Remember me? The one who used to blog with wild abandon. HA.

I just checked my stats, and notice that people have been checking in here. That's nice. I'm confused, don't know what I am doing, life is hard. I can see why I set up my other blog, but there is a limit to what I say there.

I wouldn't, for instance, blog about the post natal anxiety/strange feelings I've had lately. Monkey is getting so big now .... PRAISE JESUS IN A CLOUD.

I can't believe I was ever clucky. I love Monkey very much, but have second-guessed so much, in the past year. Hard road to walk. I know that I am living a life of relative luxury compared to a lot of people, but my pain and my truth is real. The thought of newborns makes me want to throw up. With GLEE, he is now on cows milk. A little early, but he has been eating three square meals for six months now. He is ready. I am ready for him to start daycare, I need to work. I need my brain and sanity back. Faaaaarrrk.

I know I have stirred the pot of haters, I can feel it. Especially people who have not been with me this whole journey. (An IRL friend asked how I got such an an international "following" ..... I told her simple - start an IVF blog, then get it hijacked by cancer. Then, accidentally write about your heroin addiction and fucked childhood, live blog your mental breakdowns, and watch your readership swell!!) It's almost like people think ... who do I think I am! Which is funny, because I think that every single day. I think I'm just honest - I HAVE to be honest, or I'll die.

Anyway, NEXT:

Pam got a BFP. I'm elated for her.

NEXT:

My stepson gave Monkey a bath today, and STUPIDLY walked into the next room to get a face cloth. Nothing happened, but he was in the laundry sink. A long way to fall. Onto slabs of concrete tiles. It makes me feel terrible, what could have been. I chastised him, he KNEW it was wrong, but was only trying to "help." I know that he won't be minding Monkey for a long time now.

NEXT:

I know you all think I'm a cocksucker re. the parcels. Or should I say "non-parcels." The real reason is ... I was waiting to get my 100 copies of my childrens book, which was supposed to be published in January.
But the date kept getting moved and moved. I found out last week that the new date is in May. So, I'm sending them out now anyway, SANS the show-offy book. But in May I will do big fat giveaway or something. Anyway, sorry. I suck, I know. I'm too embarrassed to write about it on the other blog, do not want to blow my trumpet MORE. (Haters, etc.)

LASTLY:

I'm so scared that Mr TCs cancer will come back and he will die. He says he has strange heartburn lately, which is what happened when the tumours were growing before. Maybe I need to shut up and stop catastrophizing. He has a check-up in April, but has already said he will NOT get a scan done. Why? Because he doesn't want to know.

I cried, later in my car. When I realised the real reason for my birthday party ... it was not for my 37th at all. It was my 40th birthday, three years early. In case Mr TC is not here in three years.
_____

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh, so liberating. If you have made it to the end, THANK YOU.

xoxoxox

XOXOXOXOXOXOOXOXOXO (extra kisses and hugs for anon. I LOVE YOU ANON. You KNOW you love me too.)

It's Not You, It's Me

2009-02-16T12:25:00.001+11:00

I'm going to stop posting here, for a while. It's getting confusing! I promise to let it all still hang out, over here. I'll just word it better, HA.

xoxoxox

A Big Fat Juicy Post

2009-02-12T11:58:00.004+11:00

I get mortified every time I come here, recent posts are just so angry and terrible. One day, I might stealthily delete some yucky posts and not say a word, take away all the filth and stench I have spewed forth. Like a silent fart in reverse.

My mother is coming to mind the kids while we go away. We are house-swapping. She has never, ever minded my children like this. But man, I need to get away. All I can do today is two blog posts, cook dinner, and pick Tiger up from school. My head is mush. I don't meant to WHINE ..... but the last month has been the hardest, since May last year. I KNOW I have been having a breakdown. I swear to God, if Mr TC ever gets his tumours back I will KILL him.

__

Last weekend, as soon as I found out about the fires, I rang Mr TC to see if he was ok. He was at his mums house with stepson. My toe was black and purple, but I cried on the phone to him and told him I can't argue with him anymore. Just come home.

We haven't gone away together since our honeymoon - four years ago.

___

Thank you so much for your wise wise love and encouragement. You have helped my family get well again. I would go camping with ALL of you, in a heartbeat. XOXOXOXOXOXOOXOX

SNAFU

2009-02-07T11:12:00.004+11:00

So.

I can't believe the shitstorm surrounding me at the moment!! There was a facebook fiasco with an ex-boyfriend, who kept getting drunk and writing WAY inappropriate comments on my wall. I gave him what-for, and unfriended him. This is from the only school whose reunion I am going to this year ... will be VERY interesting to see what happens.

Mr TC ran over my foot this morning. In his ute. We were in the middle of an argument, he drives off and RUNS OVER MY WHOLE RIGHT FOOT. The tyres have left an imprint. I know he didn't mean it ... but I am beyond furious. Am taking the boys down to stay at my sisters, and after I log off here I will bite the bullet and organise some couples counselling. Because, I want to sit in a room with him, and have someone else there as my witness .... of how much an IDIOT he is. It's been seven weeks since he got the all clear from his cancer treatment ... I brought it up yesterday, he asked me was I still going to be harping on about his cancer in five years. Tells me to just get over it already. Ummm, I'm trying!???!!!! MEN.
____

I love people who have also been burnt by the Fires of Hell. By infertility, loss, grief, cancer, addiction ..... all the big fat juicy stuff. You go through that shit, and you cannot remain small-minded and stupid. You change. You get wisdom and perspective and courage, now THAT is the shit that makes a character. If I didn't know people like you existed, I'm not sure how much faith in human nature I would have right now.

Ok I have to go now. The baby is grizzling, Tiger is pale, I need to find a good therapist, and MY FOOT HURTS.

I swear to God if I can't do pump class, there will be hell to pay.

This life .......she is MESSY .

Ummm, Hi.

2009-01-16T22:22:00.004+11:00

I found a house, it was SO nice. Cute three bedrooms, back deck. But, I have no money ... of my own. So, I have to go on benefits and be a single mother, and take two boys away from their dad. I applied for a personal loan at the bank, for five grand. So numb and fucked off at Mr TC. He knew things were bad ... he starts to back pedal and be all lovely. Kept telling him to fuck off, because, you know .... I am EVIL.

(Note .... the only reason I'm letting loose here is because this blog is private now.)

We had words for THREE HOURS today, He even took time off work. So much was said, man. I told him I don't want anything ... the fancy car, jewellry ... said I was so SICK of processing all his emotional work for him. He didn't know what that meant ... to be honest, either do I. I just know I do it. Told him he was so DUMB sometimes and I can't talk to him about how low I feel and how utterly tiring it is, to be married to such a strong perfect man who can do anything. And how dare he drive off and leave me on New Years. And deal with your life-changing experience, dammit!! And he wrecked my fucking birth experience, motherfucker!! Fucked it over, and just forgotten all about it like nothing ever happened.

He got it.

And somebody else got the cute house ... (I left it up to the Heavens. If I got my application approved, I would have moved out. It would have been a Sign. Yes I know I'm a tad off-kilter. This is Crazyweek, obviously.)

So I stayed, for now, anyway. The fighting has GOT to stop, I'm trying to find a good couples counsellor. I'm so tired right now.

And I'm mortified, at my last few posts. A certain freedom arrived, from going private, and I certainly cut loose here. Vow to stop being so fucking self-obsessed, for Chrissake. I will check in on all of you over the next few days. I miss you. You are not vague, hazy figures in the computer. You are all my friends, and I thank God you came into my life.

Who's on First?

2009-01-11T22:26:00.003+11:00

I miss Topcat. Her wild swearing ... her nervous breakdowns. *sigh*

What to do? I can't leave this blog hanging, like spacejunk. Can't delete it, either. It's like a minefield of emotional explosions, that I simply cannot bear to go back and read, but can't say goodbye, either. She got me through.

Slowly but surely, though .. every time I posted here, I felt paranoid ... watched. Which spun me out badly. Until I got to the point where I thought, fuck this .. I will start a new blog in my real name, giving the haters absolutely no ammo. Can't hold it against me when I shine my crap out into the light. I'm still finding my voice over at my new digs .... finding a way to be comfortable sharing my fucked-upness. And I am fucked up.

I have a very long history with depression, and have been winning the battle for the last ten years, fucks sake. But right now, it hits me with waves of bleak. If I believed my head, life is simply not worth living right now. I feel like a walking raw nerve ... it is just so fucking awful. But I am also given the tool of immense clarity around it, so I can see it for what it is. My thoughts are simply not real, I am so glad that I can see that. Sometimes I get a second wind, but I can get a bit manic. Strange ..... today, I actually had the thought ... "Do I really wish I was dead? Maybe I just need another coffee?"

I will be seeing my doc about it this week. And getting some exercise happening, like a lot of you have suggested. I think I've finally run out of adrenaline ... spewing! It's hard to read. And write. And mind the baby. And hold a pen. And drive my car. Everything is hard. Fucking bullshit. I haven't spoken a word about it to Mr TC, for I know exactly what he will say. It's fucking crazy shit ... he's started doing 2K runs every morning, "Top 'o the world, Ma!" And I'm struggling to turn the fucking kettle on to make a cup of tea. People EVERYWHERE are telling him how amazing he looks. Today he goes, "Geez hon ... did I look that bad?"

And I felt that awful feeling in the pit again and I just turned to him, and said "Mate, you looked like you were about to DIE. You looked FUCKED."

He was so shocked. All the way through chemo, I told him he was looking pretty good. For he is such a proud lion and it affected him so. I showed him a photo of him, Monkey and Tiger in the bath. He was bald, and so so sick. "DELETE IT!!!! FAAAAAAARK!!!"

"Told you you looked fucked.'

Anyway. I have decided to keep this Topcat blog. She dug too deeply under my psyche to let go. I will post here every now and again ..... especially when I have a big rant that is so off-kilter and waaaaaaaaaaaaaay politically incorrect that I have too. Like now, for instance. But first, I need to make it invite-only. I've done it once before, but this time, I have to stay private. I think I have most peoples emails, to send them an invite. Please let me know if you want to come ...... incredibly wanky and narcissistic I know.

At the very bottom of my puny brain, is the unspeakable thought .... yeah, I'll need this space if Mr TC gets his cancer back.

So I'm back home now. I have your goodie packs to prepare to post off!! A great distractionary tool for those pesky wish-I-was-dead-blues. I will be posting them in instalments ... email me if you haven't already, and you get a really cool thing from Australia. Promise.

Will be escaping down the rabbit hole soon, so if I go and leave you behind, please email me and I'll send you an invite. Even if you're shy. ESPECIALLY if you're shy. I was shy once ... and look what happened!

Dec 2008 .....with a Bullet

2008-12-22T12:31:00.002+11:00

My new digs. You visited. Thank you.

Oh my God thank you so much for your emails - AMAZING EMAILS. I had no idea, that all of you people living in Constantinople were there, reading along. All with your own stories - of heartache when your own hubby died ... or your son with addiction ... or your battles with babymaking. And I loved finding out your real names too ... how weird is it! Plus, some people even sent PHOTOS. Fucking awesome. I cannot wait to send out the free shit, looking at a late January delivery date.

I have had to sadly delete any comments over at my new blog that mention - in any way, the words Topcat or TC. But, I reposted them using the handy anonymous button, under everyones real names.

___

Tee and Rex have built up their own relationships with stepson, and love him like one of their own. We are spending the nights at Tees and going to Rexs house on Christmas day. There will MUCH revelry and laughter. I am writing a trivia quiz - shut up Tee and Rex, you will play and you will enjoy it. One of the questions is "Name, in chronological order, all of mums surnames." (Mum has been married three times - she will be there on Christmas Day, which is fine with me. As long as I don't have to sit next to her. Just kidding. Not.)

I have a migraine, Monkey just had canned custard for lunch, and Tiger and I are eating processed potato in the shape of smily faces. I have writing work to finish off. I STINK of B.O. .... I need botox under my armpits, to stop the sweating. I might have to accidentally put my face under the botox needle heh. My house is a mess and I have piles of wet washing to hang out. The Christmas tree is DEAD, Long Live the Christmas Tree. I need to repaint my toes, shave my legs, build a gingerbread house, change Monkeys nappy, and take Tiger to the park. All I want to do is hang with you guys ... as soon as Mr TC is off work, I will send him out to have "quality time with the boys". Then I shall hang at home and read blogs and comment - maybe even eat bon-bons all day, like Lori.

Freakin', love you all, my Mofo Bro Bro's.

Suddenly I have more sisters than I ever thought possible.

XOXOXOX

The River in My Heart

2008-12-19T21:46:00.006+11:00

Most of my adult life, I have hated, loathed, despised, anyone knowing my business.

Which is why I set up this blog. (What, did you think my real name was Topcat?) Actually, the reason I named myself Topcat is .... drumroll .... I found a cool pic of Topcat on the net.

(No wonder my grandmother always called me a deep well.)

Ummmm, here's the deal .... I have a new blog. In my real name. See, Mr TCs cancer made me turn everything upside down on the bed and shake the shit out of my whole life. We thought he might not make it. What does it all mean. Who am I. I am in pain right now. Answer? To write it.

And I wrote it, and you read it.

Three Shining Lights of Love have been placed upon me in my life. The first was the gift of sobriety. Second was The Awakening I had when I had Tiger.

The third?

You lifting me up, from the minefield of 2008.

Thank God I had to do IVF to get pregnant, otherwise I never would have started this Happy-Go-Lucky blog, that turned into my main lifeline. Reading your comments this year, was like going to three meetings in a row. I got filled up with your Love and Hope.

Even if your name is Mauve and you live in Greenland (next to Flicka!) and you landed here by googling "manhands farting" and you've only ever read and not commented one word. And you sit by the fire each night and tsk tsk that that Terrible Topcat is on the Warpath AGAIN. The way I see blogs working ... the blogger gets stuff out, the reader comes and reads, offers love or support or a silent prayer or a silent fart .... the act of reading someones words and just wishing them well, somehow makes a magic difference.

This year, cancer made me write. In my worst, dirtiest, most awful days of addiction, I would hold on to this slim, tiny morsel of an idea that maybe, just maybe, I would be ok and get through and stay alive and end up writing.

I did, and I have, and I'm crying because it's real. Recovery is real and I will never stop being amazed by that. Life is here right now - bigger and better and more amazing than I could ever have dreamed, shitty fucked up as it is sometimes, I still feel amazed and grateful at it.

A few months ago, I ended up writing the text for a childrens book, that looks like it will get published sometime in the new year. When I think of writing, it feels like there is a river in my heart. I need to grab this feeling and jump on .... come out of the blogging closet. I don't know why I just do. It seems important.

The truth, did indeed, set me free.

Of course, at my new digs I can't write as angrily and rudely as I have done here. However, I think I'll just be more imaginative and creative about my political incorrectness.

Indisputable Topcat? She is me, and I am her. She will live in my heart forever, for she has been the doorway to get to where I am going. And I don't even know where that is!
Now, I dont like change ... when I was a kid, my Auntie Jenny got her kitchen remodelled, after 15 years of it being the same. I cried myself to sleep that night, praying for her old kitchen to be back there in the morning when I woke up. It wasn't. Not long after, she walked out and divorced her husband. See what happens when you change things.

But, there is a LOT of despair written here .. and maybe I just needed a fresh start.

I will update two, for a little while, then gradually just write in the other one. I would love it if you came to visit. (Please! I have no comments yet and it's been awfully lonely over there!)

I told Mr TC what I was doing, and I have his full support .. and permission, to write about him. I asked stepson if he minded me writing about him, his exact words were ... "Sure! I don't give a fuck!"

In fact, I'm heading over there right now.

Care to join me?

(Don't forget to email me, especially if you live in Constantinople or Timbuktu)

xoxoxoxoxoxo

3dp Best News Ev-ah

2008-12-18T23:45:00.006+11:00

Oh my goodness ...... these boys!

Newsflash to self: YOU ARE INCREDIBLY BLESSED.

I am so happy these days I can hardly stand it. I'm letting myself feel joy and elation and love. It's seeping through all the cracks and shadows. We are all renewed. Monkey has started sleeping through. He is so happy. Coincidence? I don't think so.

He does so many little cute things I am only just noticing. He will eat us out of house and home ... look, he even eats his pram if I don't feed him enough! -

He seriously loves his food .... exactly like his father. He is seven months old today, and for three months already he has been eating proper solid food, three times a day. Haven't told too many people that, as some pooh-pooh it. But, I couldn't NOT feed him. He was hungry! He would watch us eat and squirm and get so cranky. Sometimes he gets so freaking hungry, that he starts crying before he's even swallowed his next spoonful! I've lost count of all the food he has tried ... pumpkin, corn, carrots, squash, lentils, chicken, beef, apple, pears, banana, yogurt, custard, leek, you name it. Why look ... in this next pic, he is a BABY POSSESSED -

"Give me the food. Give me the goddamn food and no-one gets hurt!"

"Mmmmmm. Uh huh. Oh yeah. Do it to me DO IT. This. Is. The Shit. Well, it will be in a few hours HA!" -

____

Thank you, thank you, for your love and support. I have something to share with you all, soon.

I think I have changed forever. This year - has marked me in a way that will never be undone. NEW battlescars, to match the old ones! I am about to lie down next to Mr TC, and just spoon and not feel so afraid. We can't BELIEVE how different we both feel, just letting it all go, walking forward, facing whatever life throws at us next. SO glad I didn't divorce him during his cancer battle.

Like the curl on the girls forehead .. when we are good ... we are oh - so - very good. But when we are bad we want to kill each other with our bare hands. Heh. That pesky love always comes back, to save the day!

XOXOXOXOX

... and they lived happily ever after.

2008-12-16T21:11:00.000+11:00

I'm now officially changing my husbands name to The Bulletdodger.

No sign of tumours. All gone. "Cancer go bye-bye" was the text I sent to my sisters this afternoon.

The doctor was his usual limp self .... talking something about a "trace" of something they found up in his chest region (near his lungs, like I thought). But he "thinks" it's ok. I know Mr TC won't get a second opinion on that, and if I asked him he would look at me like I was crazy. I just hope the doc is right.

Told us there is a 20% chance Mr TC will get some form of cancer back, at some stage. It's funny - I think those odds are FANTASTIC. However, when I had to do an amnio last year, there was a 0.2 percent chance there was something wrong with the baby - I was terrified. Go figure.

So what the fuck was the point of all that for? I mused aloud, in the car on the way home. Mr TC started rabbiting on about work, and money, etc. I said what we have learnt from it is that life is so precious, so fragile. We just have to love each other, and live in the moment, and draw close.

He doesn't need to go back to the doctor for another four months.

I have reached a new, insane level of tired. Every cell in my body has exhaled. Even my marrow is tired. We got back home this afternoon, and Mr TC had to go back out again.

I was left by myself, feeding Monkey in his highchair with nothing but a bib on - no nappy, praying that he wouldn't decide to take a crap halfway through his jar of store-bought baby food. He didn't. I looked into his eyes ... they are the most intensely blue eyes I've ever seen. What came out of my mouth, over and over and over again?

"Welcome home, Monkey! Welcome home. This is your home!"

Like I should have welcomed him almost seven months ago. I cried, but not many tears came out ... as they were from my deepest well, where I held my saddest pain. Concentrated tears.

___

I need to say the hugest, most massive thanks, to you. For continuing to come here, and read and support me. Especially the last few months, when I fell off the world for a bit, and floundered around. I disconnected from everything. I wanted to drink so very much. And have five shots of smack in a row. It was hairy - maybe more than I care to admit even now, when the storm has now seemingly passed.

I am so sorry if I have offended people by not returning comments. I know when I visit someones blog and take the time out to comment, I kind of would like some acknowledgement.
And I have not always done that in return. I almost stopped writing here completely.

But I didn't, and here I am and there you are. And that's all that's left of the Wicked Witch of the East.

We won this years cancer battle. Goodbye, tumours. Hope you shut the door on your way out. I hate you.

As for the future? Only time itself knows. I don't know. Doc said it could come back - in six months, or six years. Or never.

But, you know what? Mr TC could get hit by a freaking bus. So could I. A plague of locusts might come and eat our eyes straight from the socket. A tornado could rip us all to shreds.

I. Don't. Care.

Because every single day, from here on in, is a BONUS. Every day. I vow to stress less, stop being such a bitch, appreciate life more, and to not forget the clarity that this year has brought us.

The Bulletdodger is calling for the pancakes I promised to make, as a celebratory dessert. He has already had a celebratory quickie, in our walk-in-wardrobe with the kids walking around the house wondering where we went. Ha!!

SO, my Blessed Peepage - thank you so, so much. I love you.

Now go give your loved ones a kiss. Immediately.

Tell them Topcat sent you.

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

Schmircus

2008-12-15T10:35:00.003+11:00

Yesterday, Mr TC was feeling well enough to go to an actual BBQ, with other actual PEOPLE. So we went. It was strange, being social again after hiding at home for so long. I sat next to an old lady, and had Monkey on my lap. She turned to me and said, "Oh my! Look at that babys eyes! Beautiful! He loves his mum, you can tell."

I was surprised. "Really?"

I thought, wow, he loves his mum? But I have been such a prick to him. Honestly, he hasn't had the best six months either. I often wonder how differently I would have parented him had Mr TC not got sick .... I suspect I'd have had a truckload more care, patience, and love. Whoopsies. Sucks that I waited and yearned so many years for this baby, and at times I questioned what the fuck I did it all for. A shame that his crying and screaming and whining has not helped ... the nights are still so bad, that I just gave up. Now he comes into bed with us. Which is setting him up for bad habits I know - but I can't handle it anymore, trying to placate him or control his crying. Aint nothing controlled about wanting to throw your crying baby out the window at 2am.

So in bed with us he goes, until next year when we are all back at work and school and settled again.

If I scratch the surface, it's easy to see that I've had a touch of post-natal depression. I wondered it often ... am I depressed, or do I just not give a fuck? I go in and out of it, still. I think it's finally abating now. Months ago, when me, Mr TC, and Tiger all got sick together .... I almost totally rejected Monkey. I didn't want to hold him, even the smell of him was, just ... yucky. Tiger noticed straight away ... "Mum! Aren't you even going to say hello to Monkey?"

My Tiger is the most wise and knowing boy I have ever met.

I remember telling Monkey I loved him, out loud. It startled me, because I couldn't recall ever saying it to him. (My God I love his smell now ... adore it, would run 10 miles for it. The sweet baby smell, the magic elixer.)

Anyway, so yesterday, the old lady kept turning to me, saying "Oh what a handsome boy. Is this your first? He loves his mum!"

And it made me feel special, that he loves me. Even when I kind of failed him a bit, back in the Fiascos Darkest Hours.

I am not failing him now .... he is happier, and less irritated. More content. It's a hell of a lot easier to parent a contented baby than a fussing one, I swear.

The old lady again turned to me, and, as if seeing me there with Monkey for the first time. "Oh! What a beautiful baby! Is he your first? My goodness, those eyes. Ohhhh, he loves his mum!"

Finally it dawned on me that she had dementia. I answered all of her questions again, and didn't mind, not one bit.

I really needed to hear, over and over again, what a beautiful baby he was, and how much he loved his mum.

___

We went to the circus on Saturday night - the first time we have all been out together as a family. I even got a sitter for Monkey. We were SO excited. Naturally, halfway through we got evacuated from the Big Top because of a severe storm warning, and had to go home.

No circus for the cancer family. So annoying - Tiger was SO disappointed, and we had to come home and pay the babysitter after forking out $200 bucks for the freaking circus tickets.

Reminded me, yet again, that you can plan all you like, but things will happen as they will.

__

Mr TC has had a personality transplant. Oh my GOODNESS he is being so mindful and caring and loving. So lovely. His smell is back! He smells like a man - a big, tough guyo. I didn't even notice his smell was missing, until it came back a week ago. That musky, sweaty man smell. LOVE it. I have missed it so ... all the hiroshima bombs that kept getting dropped on him every three weeks wiped him clean of all human-ness. I keep going up to him, grabbing him and smelling him, deeply. "Oooooo, yeah. Big tough guyo smell!"

He swats me away, but I know he loves it.

We ended up talking the price down and booking a nice house near the beach, for a week in January. Tomorrow, we are going down to the big shopping centre and doing Christmas shopping. Then, at 3pm, we have an appointment at the Big Hospital, with the Big Kahuna Doctor. Woe betide him if he tells us bad news WOE BETIDE. I would be so cranky that he made us wait almost three weeks to tell us.

As it is ... if it IS bad news, I will cry and rant and rave and stomp my feet, have three tantrums, tell the doctor to get fucked (yes, I will) wail and curse God. Then I will deal with it.

If it is good news ... well fuck, won't that be the shit?

XOXOXOX

Hello it is I, Arsehole

2008-12-09T19:30:00.007+11:00

Last night I went to an AA meeting. Only because Mr TC decided to go out at the last minute. He is out every night. So, I said he couldn't go out because I was going out. Where was I going, he asks. I thought quickly. "To a fucking meeting." I answered, possibly through gritted teeth. It's not normal, to LOATHE your husband, is it? He's just such a fucking idiot. Work, work, busy busy hectic. Everything is exactly the same - if not more manic, than before he got sick. His days are a manic mess of madness. Has cancer and chemo changed his perspective on life? Pffffffft. Chemo is for pussies, apparently.

And, every fucking year he says to me "Oh, we won't worry about presents for each other at Christmas, will we?" He really know how to make a gal feel special. For months now, I have been saying to him we need to plan a holiday for January. His answer is always "Fuck hon - I don't know what I'm doing tomorrow, let alone next January." Well - what a surprise ... there is nothing left to book! No - thing. Unless we drop a mere three grand for a fucking beach house somewhere. So now, he doesn't know what he's doing tomorrow OR next January! Woot!

I told him I'll take my own holiday somewhere. I'm not joking.
____

Still recovering from Tigers party. Oh. My. Lordy. The jumping castle. The pinata. Pass the parcel. Twenty screaming seven-year olds running around my house. Next year? He can take a mate to the movies. Maybe two mates, tops. It was good, though. Nice to make a fuss of him, his friends are all still talking about it at school, saying how "awesome" it was.
__

The pesky PET scan results? Mr TC walks in with them last week, sealed in an envelope.

Me: "Well, open it!"
Him: "I can't! It says don't open them. The appointment with the doc is on the 16th - he'll open it then."
Me: Laughing, trying to grab scans. "Seriously, open it."
Him: "NO! It says I can't."

I freeze, incredulous. "Are you SHITTING me? Are you FOR REAL? You had a mass of tumours, which hopefully are all gone from the chemo - and you're not going to have a look? You're going to wait two weeks? Since when the fuck did you start playing by the rules!?"

Him: Sulkily "Do I have to hide them in my ute?"
Me: Sighing. "Do I have to give you a blowjob to find out if you still have cancer?"
Him: "Deal."

Fifteen minutes later, we walk out of the bedroom and I rip open his scan. We studied the photos, and put the disc in my computer. (First, he puts it in the DVD player. Why is it, after I tell him that only my computer will read the disc, I have to sit there watching his futile attempts at getting it to play on the TV? Why? Why must he be such an arrogant fuck?)

For the second time in our lives, we watch his 3-D cartoon self slowly spin around. Our consensus? We tentatively think there are no tumours. I am a bit worried about his lungs, there seemed to be some hazy blackness in there, but he reckons they are fine. We shall know for sure next Tuesday. Meh.

____

Party pics ...

The Mario cakes, complete with Starcoins and different levels ...

Happy Birthday, big bro!

Like, a Total Update

2008-12-05T22:32:00.010+11:00

I have been missing for a while, haven't I? Sorry. I know I'm not my usual chin-hair describing self. I have felt conflicted, torn. My vivid imagination has me with ten stalkers, knowing the town in which I live. Some random guy was outside my house recently, and I thought, "OMFG HE IS HERE TO KILL ME!!" But he was just taking his dogs for a walk. Apparently, that is not illegal.

Big things are occuring. The end of the Year that Was. Waiting on the Reading of the Scan. Trying to work from home. Looking after a six month old baby who tries every last ounce of my patience, and has done since the day he was born. My GOD HE IS A HARD BABY. Kicks the shit out of me, every single nappy change. Needs to be held 24/7. Eats like a freakin racehorse. Singlehandedly cured my cluckiness ... possibly forever. It seems he is very hard to get satisfied, making me wonder on more than one occasion if he has unfortunately inherited a certain gene from both his parents.

He had his first go on a swing today ... for the first time in days, he seemed content. I am SO getting him a swing for Christmas.

(Note Tigers ever-present Peace Out sign).

I realise I have just bitched about a six month old baby. *Insert obligatory "I love my baby" statements HERE. (I do ... he is insanely gorgeous.)

Then there is my stepson. I expected drama ... I expected it to be hard, tantrums and tears ..(from me *AHEM*). I thought it would be barely tolerable.

So how is it? FUCKING AWESOME. At the risk of totally jinxing the fuck out of myself .... he is kind, hardworking, thoughtful. He has a job, and a completely wonderful outlook on his life. We joke and laugh together ... often. My God, I underestimated how much I love him. I met him when he was seven ... Tigers age now!! Stepson is now sixteen. I see my influence in him ... traces of myself in things he thinks and says, and it clean blow me away. I think of Pam and her W, and the amazing shared history they are creating.

My stepson has a positive, optimistic future planned ... the complete opposite to me when I was his age. I'm gobsmacked. And really, really proud.

__

We are still in Tigers birthday week .... I have made SUCH a big deal about it. I cancelled his party last year because I was having an amnio done. This year .... I am throwing him and twenty friends a massive, fancy-dress, jumping castle extavaganza. Come one, come all. The Mario cake sits in the fridge, garishly decorated. Pass the Parcel is wrapped .... each with a lollipop and then the main prize is a Magic 8 Ball. Naturally, before I wrapped it I asked Universe if Mr TC was going to be ok. "All signs point to a yes."

Good enough for me. It was so strange, to wave Mr TC goodbye this week, as he drove off for his PET scan. I pretended everything was fine ... but when I played Mario for two solid hours straight, not even stopping to piss ... I knew something was up. Husband just going to check if those pesky black tumours are all gone la la la.

I have tried, and failed miserably, to make a paper mache pinata. Stepson is in the kitchen right now ... at 11.30pm on a Friday, making another one from scratch. (It may have something to do with the $25 bet we made on who could make the better pinata. Subtle manipulation, perhaps?)

I've got all the food ready, chips and fruit and drinks. What really got me ... were the lolly bags. I counted each toy, balloon, musk stick. Two snakes, one marshmallow puff .... all decorated with ribbons and stickers. Had a production line set up in my bedroom -

When they were all filled and ready, they looked so beautiful. I sat back, gazing ... and started to cry and cry. Shedding my fear again. Feeling relieved again. We made it this far. Mr TC is feeling better and better. My son GREW UP when I wasn't noticing, this year. I can't remember the last time I read his spelling words out to him, or played kids scrabble. But you can be sure as fuck he has the best lollybags you have ever seen in your life. He deserves a big deal made. Today he was reminiscing about "last year, when it was only us, mum ... remember?" He wished it was still like that, he told me later.

Sometimes, I do, too.

I have been so hectic and busy. Hardly been in blogland at all. My Who magazines are stacking up UNOPENED, still in their plastic wrapper, waiting to be devoured. (Tee got me a subscription for my birthday, back in March).

So tonight, while Mr TC and stepson were at soccer, and Monkey and Tiger were *gasp* SLEEPING ... instead of tackling Mt Laundry, I decided to shove it all into baskets and hide it in cupboards tomorrow ... so I could indulge in this ...

Please note the M&Ms are a party bucket, which I cracked open. I read that trashy mag from cover to cover. And it felt GREAT. And I'm gonna DO IT AGAIN.

So. That's me. But that's enough about me ... what do you think of me? HAHAHAHA.

(You have no idea how ashamed of myself I am for not checking in with you. I've had to turn comments off this post, otherwise my shame would fill my whole body up like toxic helium and I would be the fucking pinata.)

XOXOXOXOXX

Aint no Saint

2008-12-03T10:14:00.002+11:00

I need to stop hating people. I have turned into a bitter, sarcastic, jaded BITCH. The mums at Tigers school are scared of me. No joke. The phone does not ring so much anymore. Part of me thinks, good ... fuck off, but then, another part of me says it's time to re-join the human race. Get over yourself already. Like attracts like. Be better.

I choose to remind myself that not all people are arseholes.

Most .... but not all.

_______

"People are often unreasonable and self-centered. Forgive them anyway.

If you are kind, people may accuse you of ulterior motives. Be kind anyway.

If you are honest, people may try to cheat you. Be honest anyway.

If you find happiness, people may be jealous. Be happy anyway.

The good you do today may be forgotten tomorrow. Do good anyway.

Give the world the best you have and it may never be enough. Give your best anyway.

For, you see, in the end, it is between you and God. It was never between you and them anyway."
~Mother Theresa

Sometimes the Sun and No More Always Looking

2008-12-01T22:02:00.004+11:00

I should not be typing this. I had been planning to write this post, this auspicious post ... but I should be icing Tigers cupcakes for school tomorrow ... wrapping his pressies ... drumming up freelance work ... being busy and productive.

But, I looked at my blog stats, and someone came to my blog via googling "SOMETIMES THE SUN AND NO MORE ALWAYS LOOKING." In capitals, shouting and demanding. And I related to it's bad grammar, and for the umpteenth time today I thought of the date today, and what it meant, and how much I have changed.

Exactly twenty years ago today was the worst day of my life. Most traumatic, awful, fucked up bullshit day. It was the day my dad killed himself. Technically, he was my stepdad ... but after eleven years, and after my real dad had died four years prior ... I called him dad and thought of him as dad. Confusing.

He was a shit stepdad. Pretty fucking crap ... didn't give a shit about us three girls. I remember sometimes he would be in the same room as mum when she was hitting me really badly - sometimes he would say "Sue, that's enough!" And she would stop and I would think, wow, maybe he does like me.

As far as parents go, my siblings and I really lucked out. We know what not to do, when it comes to raising children.

I was going to go into big long detail about that day .... how we found out, how despicable it was, how bizarre mums behaviour was. But honestly ... I couldn't be fucked! I'm so over it. His death ruled my life for the next ten fucking years. I drank over it, it was the best excuse in the world to get myself really fucked up.

Tigers due date was this date. (He wasn't born on this day, though). After so many years of hating this date, I had an amazing reason to look forward to it. It changed everything.

Twenty years on, I have proof that time indeed does heal. Not entirely ... I have scars from that time that will remain forever. Sometimes I feel tough, and proud of my scars. Other times, I feel so sad and fucked up. Meh.

Now, I don't feel that much towards my stepdad. I sit here, trying to have respect, trying to write out some positive aspects of his personality ... what he taught me, things I can hold on to.

Nothing.

Once, when I was about ten, I entered a Fathers Day radio competition. You had to ring up and say on air, what your dad did for you. I got on the air ... the announcer asked me what my dad for me. I stammered, and stumbled - realising to my horror that I could not think of one thing. Not one. I had to make something up. I told her feebly that he fixes my rollerskates. (I was quite the rollerskater in my youth. I still have a pair today.)

I didn't win. He never would have been bothered to fix my rollerskates anyway.

Actually, he did teach me a few things ....

1) How to fix his drink in the evenings. Johnny Walker Red Label Scotch, with dry ginger ale.

2) How not to be a step-parent

3) When you light a fire, start from the back first. That way, you won't burn yourself as you light it at the front.

4) Suicide is wrong. On so many levels

Actually ... number three is not bad!

So, thank you, stepdad. For teaching me how to light fires.

But I taught myself how to put them out.

Hay While the Sun Shines

2008-11-30T23:18:00.004+11:00

I've worked out what seems to be wrong with Monkey ... he's scared!!

The poor little sweetheart. If he sleeps through, til about 4am, he's fine. If not, and he wakes up any time before then, it's a screaming frenzy. It happened just then ... I went in, and he grabbed my hand in a panic and drew it close. He's so scared, and wants me near. He stops crying, but if I walk away before he's asleep again, he'll just keep screaming. Makes me want to just grab him and nuzzle and hold him close. But I can't, as he will just get used to that.

I hope it's just a phase. I guess we'll just fumble our way through, as usual.

In other, even more fearful news ... Mr TC is worried. He doesn't look good, has a big lump on his face, and today he asked me to feel his tummy for any tumours. His scan is in a few days, so I guess it's just on his mind. It must feel very strange, after chemo, waiting on scan results. Is that a lump? Am I sick again? Why do I feel so crap? Who was the second gunman on the grassy knoll?

Mr TC wins the husband of the year award this weekend, and actually, no - I'm not being bitter and sarcastic! Both mornings he has got up to Monkey, took him and Tiger out for a walk, and at 9am, arrived back home to wake me up .. with a soy latte AND the paper for me. Motherfucking hero! Then, we just had family time all weekend! And, he was interested and thoughtful, bought me a bunch of flowers, and told me how sexy I look lately!!! WTF! (I promised him the flowers were safe *ahem*).

Last week, Tiger said "Mum, I really want to see Australia." So last night I took him. Just me and Tiger, on a date. I vowed to spend more one-on-one time with him. Time is hard, these days. Parenting a baby, small child, stepson, wife of a sick guy, trying to work from home ... no wonder I kept blowing fuses. I had to pray and be gentle with myself, all weekend. Feeling SO much better.

Now, as for watching the film "Australia" last night ... let's put it out there, I do not think Nicole Kidman can act for shit. I see her on the screen, and think, oh look ... a wooden, stilted person who is trying to act. HOWEVER ... Australia was fucking wonderful, and she was really good in it! I was so, so proud to see the film focus on the whites' treatment of Aboriginal Australians.

It's the most expensive movie ever made down here .... us Aussies have a nasty habit of cutting down all our tall poppies, all the people who make it "big" and daring to give things a go. Baz Luhrmann has been castigated for audaciously naming his film, and the press are itching to call it a flop. But it won't flop. I loved it. Tiger loved it ... I was so proud of him, sitting there next to me. He was enthralled, and didn't get bored once. I kept kissing him and stroking his arm. Fuck I adore that boy ADORE.

Afterwards, we played air hockey, pinball, and a shooting game with rifles we re-loaded and hunted grizzly bears in the forest. PISSING ourselves laughing.

I had the best weekend. We are so fortunate. Yes I have felt the Big Fear around Mr TC again, thoughts flying around our heads. Yes the news of Patrick Swayze jolted us both, sitting at the park today, reading the newspaper together.

There has been so much sad news, lately.

I had the strange, unsettled feeling that I had travelled back in time from the future to today, so I soaked and drank and inhaled it in ... I kissed and kissed and kissed all my boys, all weekend.

Whatever happens, I am one blessed motherfucker. I don't want to forget that.

The Terrorist

2008-11-28T21:30:00.002+11:00

Every single night for the past seven nights, Monkey has awoken and screamed, screamed and screamed. Fed, changed, patted .... finally, if I walk around and stroke and whisper to him, he has drifted back to sleep. Until I put him back in his cot, whereupon he promptly wakes and starts again.

Poor old Michael Finnegan Begin-again.

Ummmm - I'm tired? I have ended up giving up and hopping into the single bed with him in his room, holding him close. His piece de resistance was last night, screaming blue, bloody murder for three motherfucking hours straight. Nothing would help. Nothing seemed wrong. His crying was trying. I ended up shooting myself in the head, and am typing this from hell. (Tee and Rex ... Dad says hi!)

Not really .... but close.

He cried every time I tried to make him have a nap today, and putting him to bed tonight was a freaking nightmare. I was trying to get writing work done for my new job, had a deadline ... and just fucked it up. She sent it back to me three times to be re-written. She wasn't happy. "I'm usually really good!" I wanted to say. "I promise!"

I wailed to Mr TC, gnashing my teeth. Cried to stepson. Sniffled with Tiger.

Hello controlled crying ... how YOU doin'?

I've always thought that I could never, ever do controlled crying. With Tiger, a mere whisper of a murmer and I would run in to his room. Monkey? Poor sweetie has had crying issues since day one. Obviously my head is trying to make it somehow my fault, but I am beginning to see that sometimes babies just CRY. It is what they DO. And, I get the feeling if I do not nip this in the bud now I am sharpening a MASSIVE rod for my back. My back is stooped enough as it is.

So fucked. I need to work on myself more ... lately I have grown more angry, bitter and venomous than I have ever been in my whole life. It doesn't feel very nice, my dreams are getting dark, and my Higher Self is sitting out on a rock ledge somewhere, twiddling her thumbs, bored as all fuck.

I guess I'll read some baby books tomorrow, because I have utterly no idea what the fuck I'm doing. Seriously.

Mr TC took pity on me ..... he is on call tonight. He told me to sleep upstairs, and he'll get up for Monkey. I nearly dropped to my knees and pleasured him then and there. But I knew if I did, I would have fallen asleep halfway through.

My days of sleeping during blowjobs are over.

GOOD NIGHT

And the Nominees Are ....

2008-11-26T20:59:00.005+11:00

About two millennia ago, the kind Rachel Inbar nominated me for a Kick-Arse Blog Award. Actually, it's Kick ASS Blog Award, but we all know arse has an R in it. Rachel sometimes leaves a comment here, which I do appreciate. Once she left one on a particularly disturbing post - probably about heroin use (mmmmm, heroin) ... she said how "boring" she was. Rachel you are not boring ... I wish I was more sedate, more even-keeled. Like you!

So, I'm passing the award on to a few bloggers. Now, I don't really like doing this, because I don't like to be exclusive. I'm sorry if I hurt anyones feelings - if I could nominate 57 people then we'd be sweet. So, I've decided to give a shout-out to those people who I have only started to read recently. Say, when my life got all fucked up back in May. A lot of people have come here and given their support ... I am eternally grateful. I'm so sorry I've not reciprocated much lately. My motherfucking useless modem hasn't helped. The very raw truth is ... lately I have wondered if I am:

a) Having a breakdown
b) Am depressed
c) Have post-natal depression
d) Want a divorce
e) All of the above

So that's my excuse. I could sit here and write a post on all my angst and demons, or I can take the motherfucking focus off myself and direct it to some others.

AHEM.

Palemother. Oh my God she is so wise and mysterious and cool. She has fish on her blog that you can feed. She knows stuff. She "gets" people. She has beautiful children. She can spot dysfunctional family habits at 10 paces. She. Rocks.

Flicka at Vacant Uterus. I thought she really did live in Greenland! I am an idiot! Flicka is real and raw and post pics of sparkly hair clips she has put in to cheer herself up on a fucked day. Her hubby Sarge and her have been through the wringer, back out, then around again. They adopted Sam, who is Monkeys peep. Flicka, never stop blogging. Please!

Annacyclopedia. She makes BORSCHT, AND she is cool. Hot hair. She looked around for a Womans Circle, couldn't find one .... so started one up. A person who IS the change they want to see in the world. Anna has taken a few beatings, lately. (From life ... not her hubby.) I told her recently that she is going to be an AWESOME mother someday. And she is. And I will be here, willing and cheering her on. I heart her.

G at Makes You Stronger. Hands down, has the best IRL name EVER. The fires of hell have burnt her. And yes it's making her stronger but I wish it didn't have to happen. She deserves EVERYTHING GOOD to now start happening. Truly a Kick-ARSE blogger.

R.A.W. (PWP) I think about RAW all the time. She is taking a break from blogging .... but her generosity and warmth meant so much to me at a really hard time.

Mrs Spock A wonderful and wise peep, who genuinely gives a shit. She totally must have known I was doing a thousand cries today ... for she emailed me THIS. Can't believe she took time out to edit pics of me and Monkey. Made me laugh and laugh, freakin' hilarious. She is wise, kind, and thoughtful.

A special mention to Nancy ... although I connected with her last year, I cannot NOT give this award to her, for her blog truly does Kick some Serious Arse. Nancy is unshockable. She stirs the pot ... went to a scrapbooking convention and women grabbed their children tighter, probably due to her cool tattoos. She's opinionated, strong, and very fucking pregnant.

I've already gone over quota - I wish I could choose more. Thank you for your support, all the peeps above and beyond, out here in Blogland. Your positive thoughts have helped me through the mire. XOX
__

I'm still mortified at the pic I posted yesterday. (Thanks for the lovely anti-uglynose comments AHEM)

Here is another, to prove that I actually am cool now. (Obviously Mr TCs tattoos help with my cool quotient).

At least my fucking nose looks semi-decent in this one. I smell coffee .. IN BRAZIL.

This morning, when I should have been working, I found the glasses I used to wear in high school, put them on, took a photo, and posted it on my blog.

2008-11-25T08:45:00.005+11:00

Yes, yes I did.

No WONDER I never had a boyfriend in high school. I cannot BELIEVE my mother made me wear them. I am re-enacting photos taken of me as a teen .... the face is smiling but the eyes sure as hell aren't.

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*** Admiring my own handiwork and congratulating myself on being SO hilarious, I was studying the picture for a while. For too long.
Ummm, MY NOSE LOOKS LIKE A CAULIFLOWER. How can I be 36 and never TRULY know how big and ugly my nose is???? Fucks sake. I'm SO asking Mr TC what he thinks of it. Obviously, for his own safety, he better lie.

The Big Reveal

2008-11-24T12:42:00.003+11:00

"I got lizards and snakes
Runnin through my body.
Funny how they all
Have my face."

- Sweet Dreams, Tori Amos

The day before I turned seven, I slipped up some thin, rusted metal stairs outside our house and sliced my shin straight open. You could see the bone. Blood curdling screams …. I remember my mother running outside with lots of teatowels. She said later that she knew she needed them because of the awful sound I was making. Sitting in the doctors surgery, I got my leg sewn up with no painkillers. It was horrific … I ended up with seven stitches, one for each year I had lived. I still have the scar, I can’t stand to touch it. Every time I look down it’s there, smiling creepily at me. I distinctly remember my mother being nice to me for the rest of the day … sitting me on the couch, waiting on me, talking and smiling. It was almost worth all the trauma of the cut. Almost.

One day next week, Tiger will wake up and be seven. He will open all of his birthday presents. Then, his dad will hop in his ute and drive down to the BIGGEST hospital, and get a PET scan to finally see, if all the tumours have gone. Like on a home renovating show, being blindfolded and waiting for “The Big Reveal.” We have to wait until around the 16th of December for the scan to be read.

I can’t believe that Universe would give Tiger bad news for his dad on his birthday.

Obviously, I have feelings around it. Everyone asks me when the scan is, and can’t believe we have to wait so long. I’m actually fine with the waiting. For here, in Waiting Land, lies the possibility that his scan will clear .. like a two week wait holds the possibility of being pregnant.

It feels like the worst is already over – we are now just mopping up the aftermath. My marriage has taken a huge beating, and I know we need to re-connect somehow.
But, whatever happens … the shock and trauma of it all has worn off. We got used to chemo. Monkey is bigger now. Life marched on, like it always does.

I’m having huge dreams. Huge. I do a lot of spiritual work and healing in my dreams, I always have. In my early twenties, I had recurring dreams for years about finally standing up to my mother … holding up a mirror to her shit, and fighting her anger with my anger. As scary and angry and AWFUL that she was when we were (trying!) to grow up …… I discovered I have more anger in me than she could ever imagine. I turned it inward towards me, during the Wilderness Booze-Fuelled Drug Taking Years … I still deal with it now. Anger is my (and my sisters’) default emotion.

Take last week for example. I was with Tee, and we had parked in a big carpark where everyone fights for a space. Walking back to the car, we noticed that a car had parked illegally behind me. So we were stuck. It took me SO MANY FUCKING tries to get my car out. I told Tee I wanted to smash the fuck out of this idiots car, slam into it like a monster truck rally. She goes ... "Do you want to leave a note?"

YES.

We dealt with our anger appropriately, and left the note. Laughing so hard so I could a photo of it, to post here and show the internet.

We felt SO much better.

Lately I have felt my skin crawling, like I can’t stand living in it. I went to an NA meeting in Sydney last week … fucking awesome. I love AA, but sometimes, in NA … especially if I’m feeling particularly fucked up … I just unleash my fury in my share like a torrent. NA is mostly full of hard-core people – burnt by the fires of hell itself. I swore and cried and even stamped my feet at one point. I’m much better behaved in AA. Fuck everyone was laughing at me … I was a stark raving lunatic. And they all related. One guy shared before me – about how he can’t stand himself lately. I SO understood. He was talking … “I mean, I’m just so sick of my own bullshit. My defects, my fucked-upness … I can’t stand myself. I really can’t. I hate myself. I just want to vomit all over myself.”

Everyone PISSED themselves laughing.

Yesterday, I looked at Mr TC and he looked sick again. Yellow, like how he looked before we found out he was sick. It rocked me to the core, the possibility that … well, you know.

Soon we shall all know.

Happy Half Birthday

2008-11-19T15:06:00.008+11:00

I got to Sydney and promptly fell apart.

But I don't want to blog about that, about how I feel a huge ball in my chest, and I, the recovering, in-tune person that I am ... cannot for the life of me work out what is wrong. But I am not ok. And in that ... the admitting that I'm not ok, makes me feel so relieved and better. I am NOT OK! I feel SHIT! Post-traumatic stress? Depression? Anxiety? All of the above? Who the fuck knows .... I just know that I am not ok. Paradoxically, that makes me ok.

I don't want to go home tomorrow, but I have to. Then again, I don't want to stay here, either. You know that feeling where you don't want to be anywhere?

Yesterday I walked down to an AA meeting at glorious Bondi Beach, Monkey in his pram, soy latte at hand. Before I even walked in, I felt emotional. So much has happened. What a most intense year it has been. But, I am SO SICK of myself. Just get the fuck over it already. The meeting started at 8am, in the Pavilion on the beach. An awesome way to start the day. I shared, and cried and cried and was mortified that I was crying in front of a roomful of strangers. Except they weren't strangers, they were my Family of Choice. Last night I was telling Tee about my day, and cried again, when I got to the part about how I shared about wanting a drink so much lately. I held my hands wide apart. "Not just any drink, Tee. A drink thhhiiissssss big." We laughed.

Anyway, I said I don't want to blog about all of that. For, today is an auspicious day.

My baby turns six moths old today!

I told his naughty, wonderful cousins that we are to have a Half Birthday Party for him tonight, after dinner. We shall sing "Happy Half Birthday, to you ....". I bought cupcakes. (He won't have one, we shall eat them in his honour.)

I feel like somebody has pushed their hands through the clouds and handed me a six month old baby. I have a baby. He has not been my priority. I solemnly swear, from now on, that he will be my priority. I whispered in to his ear, today .... "Mummy is going to watch you and listen to you and love you so, so much!!"

I give him three thousand kisses when I put him in the car, and seventeen thousand when I get him out again. I marvel at his big little feet (like blocks of cement, he has feet like his mama). People stop me in the street, to comment on what a beautiful looking little guy he is. His hair has gone from red to golden ... my Golden Boy. Tee tells me he has the most gentle, chilled nature. He rolls over, but is not interested in crawling yet. My Laz-e-Boy. Just like his mama! He can cry real tears, kicks like Ian Thorpe in the water, has been known to eat and crap at the same time. His personality is starting to come out ... he is really "here".

At mums most favourite cafe in the whole world ...

I love him.

I am so relieved, to love him so.

He looks at me adoringly, and breaks my heart. Tori Amos once sang that she has enough guilt to start her own religion. Hello.

The next six months will fly, so quickly. If I am thirsty .... then I shall drink him in, this most spectacular, amazing little human. I am blessed to have him. I feel blessed to love him, and not ever want to let him go.

Happy Half Birthday, my Wonderful Monkey Star. Thank you for teaching me The Way. You are heavenly, and magical, and sacred. I promise to celebrate that, my sweetheart guy. I am so sorry, about everything. I am flawed ... we all are. But I love you deeply. And that really is all that matters.

forever,

Mum
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOX

The Feet on the Fairy

2008-11-16T21:44:00.004+11:00

Tomorrow I shall make my escape.

I am going to my sister Tees house, down in Sydney .... I haven't been to her house since April, since I was very pregnant. Since the pre-cancer days. (Pre-cancer days! How I miss you!)

I. Can't. Wait. I need to sloth and not cook and read BLOGS and get my google reader sorted once and for all. I need to watch Tees cable and fart freely* and ponce around the Eastern suburbs in my gold sandals, pretending I am someone.

Now I just need to wrap up all the little pressies I bought for Tiger .... with little notes from me. He can open one a day, just so he knows I am thinking of him. He has found the transition of his big brother living here again a bit hard, lately. They have been clashing, and I see Tiger get upset because he just hates how much power the older sibling has. I get triggered badly, because of my own childhood issues .... sometimes, something innocent or even just "kid-like" can alert my bullying radar. I hate bullying, hate things not being fair. I've had to rope stepson in a few times, nicely, but just let him know I am on to him.

I was worried, about leaving Tiger here with stepson and Mr TC .... so I have done what every good parenting book would say ... and resorted to bribery. I told stepson that if he takes good, proper care of his little bro ... ".. and I mean proper! Because I will KNOW if you don't." - Then I will bring him home a set of earphones he wants for his iPod. (For, he always wants SOMETHING. But, don't we all!?)

Here is Tiger and stepson, mucking around directly under the Harbour Bridge:

I am an arsehole mother lately. It's true - I am. To both Tiger and Monkey. I am short on patience, frustrated, a little bit yelling. I really need some more Mo in my Jo. I need to love them and be nice and know how lucky I am.

I have had a post brewing about my feelings for Monkey, for months now. But I have been too gutless to write it yet. I will, because it keeps tapping me on the shoulder, demanding to be written. It's muck, that I need to shine a big fuckoff light on. It's hard and it's sad, that he got so tangled in the cancer web when he was born. But it was the truth then ... not now. Things are different now.

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Last weekend, I made us all drive down to Sydney. To park at Manly Beach, and catch a ferry over to Circular Quay. (Circular Quay is where the Harbour Bridge and Opera House are.) Tiger called it a "Fairy" (as I did, when I was a kid). He kept asking if we could buy fairy floss to eat on it.

We had a pretty cool day. Meaning - we were all getting along well. It is so dysfunctional, my family. Usually, one of us has the shits. The others rally around and try to pull the shitty person out of the slump. We take it in turns to be the shitty one. A lot of the time it is me. Heh.

So this day, no-one was particularly shitty. We were all happy that Mr TC was feeling so good ... a few more weeks, and it wil be the longest amount of time with no chemo in him. YAY.

Look - the Sydney Opera House is growing out of Monkeys left ear! Clever boy!

I LOVE this photo ... however, I don't love the gut overhang flapping over my jeans:

For more Show and Tells, check out Mel at Stirrup Queens HERE.

*Ummm, I fart freely anyway. I have to - if I didn't I would blow up like a blimp and float over the Southern Hemisphere forever. Mr TC is disgusted, because, obviously I fart louder and stronger than him. He thinks women shouldn't fart. Obviously, he married the wrong woman.

Playing in the Dirt

2008-11-15T21:59:00.004+11:00

So where do I start? I've had a crap, awful week. So sorry about the disappearing post. Had the worst night and day with Monkey the other day, involving him crying and crying .... then me falling over while holding him, then a shopping trip where he banged his head and his pram upturned ..... ending with ME crying and crying, having lost any semblence of Patience and Love and The Milk of Human Kindness. Mix that with the WORST week of arguing with Mr TC, and Presto! You got yourself one fucked up Redhaired Vengeful Topcat!

Then, I had a blogging crisis. Blogging can be quite the mindfuck ... what the fuck am I writing this for? What's the purpose? Where will it all end? Who is reading ... and why?? So, to appease the voices in my head - usually at 2am in the morning, I will calmly state the following:

*Ahem*

If you know me In Real Life, and you have somehow found this blog ...... go away. Or, speak up, and tell me you are there. I probably won't mind, I promise. My Spidey Senses are tingling, telling me somebody I know is reading. However if, you know me In Real Life, and I don't like you ... (you KNOW who you are ....) you need to stop. If you don't stop, every time you read from now on, I silently but stealthily curse you, like a rope around your neck. No I'm not joking at all.

(I told my sister I was going to write that, she said oh my GOD, it must be so tiring, being you! I said it IS ..... the lows are so low, but the highs are phenomenal!)

Thought of stopping writing here .... but I think I'll continue. Fucks sake .... I've come too far, to back out now!

Ok, moving right along ....

I haven't even mentioned the new job I got. As a copywriter for a website company, writing website text for different businesses. I have training next week. They received 150 applications, and employed 6 copywriters from all over Australia. I was one of six chosen. Fucking outstanding ... ever since Mr TC got cancer, my writing has taken off. So strange ... it's like, something so BAD happens, so something good has to happen, to balance it out.

I haven't told my new boss that I have a baby ... minor detail?! And, I kind of don't really know how I'm going to write and mind Monkey as well. There's only so long I can stick him in front of the TV for. (Joke. Kind of). So, controversially ... I'm thinking of putting his name down for a daycare. Only for two days a week. The company I work for is only brand new, and still getting their web system up and running, so we don't know how much work will be there yet. I'll get paid per website, and it took me one and a half hours to write one. So, we shall see. I badly need to earn money ... a LOT of it. I'm incredibly lucky to be in the position I am, yes, yes, insert obligatory gratitude here. But fuck I want to start making my OWN financial decisions.

Truth is ..... I kind of accidentally forgot to ever have a career. Well, I didn't really ... drinking and using drugs kind of sucked my marrow out, in my twenties. There was no room for much else. I would work in ice cream shops, be a receptionist, data entry clerk ... flailing around where I could. Til in the end, holding onto a job ANY job, was impossible.

The last few years I've worked freelancing my writing around. Before that, I was the editor of a craft magazine. So, I've kind of had money dribbling in here and there.

___

Had AMAZING ummmmm, "relations" with my husband today. Why yes, yes I did. It was like the bad old days again .... when I was heavily pregnant and a raging sex monster.

It. Was. Great.

___

And now, on a completely different note ..... introducing .... THE STORY BEHIND THE PHOTO.

A new thing I just created. Feel free to do it yourself, just link to me so we can all hang out together. I have been looking at heaps of old photos lately, and realise how many stories are behind each one. Riddle me this, My Motherfucking Bloggy Peeps Who I Absolutely Adore .... what do you see, when you look at this photo?

It's a photo of a girl who is seeing her father for the very last time.

I was around eleven ... my sisters were thirteen. Our real dad came to visit us at our house ... I remember being SO excited, and nervous, as I didn't really know him that well. My mum and stepdad let him in ... it was so strange. I had pictured that he would come in to our house, all the adults would talk, it'd all be chilled. SO not. Mum and stepdad were playing pool, acting cavalier and odd. Me, my sisters, and our dad, sat down in the adjoining room, having a stilted conversation. I quickly realised he didn't want to talk to me, only to the girls. At one point, I ran off to get my coin collection to show him, and sat there, patiently waiting with it on my lap, as he was talking to Tee and Rex. I never showed him.

He asked mum if he could take some photos of us, across the road. We all stood in a row, while he snapped away. Then, he wanted to take some pics just of Tee and Rex. It took a LONG time. I wandered off a bit. At one point, I crouched down and started swirling my hands through the dirt. He said my name and I looked up. That's when he snapped the photo. The look on my face ... I didn't know I was getting my photo taken. There I squat, in my ridiculously dorky green velour tracksuit, with a smile pasted on my face because I just wanted him to like me.

Once, I told Mr TC how hard that day was .... it was hard for all four of us, I'm sure. Mum and stepdad were on their way getting drunk, like they always did. Arseholes. Mum always told me that my real dad didn't love me, I should have been born a boy, blah blah. Mr TC put a different spin on the events that day. He reckons that because I was so young when we left our dad, dad felt like Tee and Rex would know him more. He was just trying to re-establish connections that had already been formed.

I know I have tremendous abandonment issues, however, it really is rare that I feel the raw gaping hole, left by dad - both of them, anymore.

Yet, I have felt it so many times this year. So close to losing Mr TC. So close, that it constricts my heart, re-opens a lot of old painful wounds. I am strong and I am tough and full of bravado .... but fuck it HURTS like a BITCH, that most of the important men in my life have just not given a flying fuck .... couldn't get past their own problems. I see friends of mine, and the relationships they have with their fathers .... and something in me stirs, so exquisitely painful.

My real dad snapped that pic of me, playing in the dirt, waiting for him to see me .. he was dead from the booze a year later. Four years after that, stepdad kills himself.

It's enough to drive a girl to drink!

Over and out. I promise I will be back soon .... I have chased those naughty paranoia demons away. Shoo!

XOXOX

The Baby Who Cried Wolf.

2008-11-13T19:16:00.003+11:00

(Post removed to protect the guilty.)

Two Photos

2008-11-12T22:17:00.003+11:00

I took this photo from our back deck, a few weeks ago. We were all watching TV, and I happened to get up and have a look. It was STUNNING. I grabbed the camera, and snapped. Made me feel silly ... that I was inside watching TV like an idiot, and Nature had put on this beautiful display.

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My Tiger, making orange juice in striped pyjamas. Note the determination on his face! The mussed up hair! I love him with such an ache, that my heart hurts. I know we have met before. We recognise each other, talk the same language. He has been my Shining Star this year. Shining.

XOX

Rehash Brown

2008-11-11T23:15:00.002+11:00

I don't like looking back. Even in my blog - ESPECIALLY on my blog. Freaks me out, that I have been so open here. But, I always end up thinking, fuck it. May as well just be real.

I went searching for a post I wrote last year. I needed to read it.

Something happened exactly two years ago today. If I ever get Alzheimers, I hope I get to relive that day over and over again. Hands down, best day of my life. Ever.
XO

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry

2008-11-11T13:28:00.002+11:00

Hi. It's me ... the arsehole who never comments on anyones blog lately, because she is so self-obsessed. I have been absent. I haven't wanted to blog ... because I feel messy. And when I blog when I'm messy, it always feels like I have hung all my washing out on the line, made some crackers and cheese, and asked the whole neighbourhood around to watch my big baggy yellowed undies flapping in the breeze.

Feels like some huge waves are crashing down on me, just as I was about to make it to shore. I am not on my computer, so I shall keep it short and sweet.

TOPCAT FAMILY UPDATE:

TIGER: Yesterday he handed out all of his party invitations at school. Except Jacks ... because Jack punched him, so he slid it back into his bag and told Jack he now wasn't invited. Jack was SPEWING. It is a fancy dress party .... but, Tiger told everybody it was a "Mario" fancy dress party. They can only come dressed up as a character from Super Mario Bros. Which means, all the girls have to come as Princess Peach. I told him to tell everybody today that they can actually wear ANY fancy dress costume.

MONKEY: The baby in the cancer ward. He is almost SIX MONTHS OLD. Soon I may even write a post all about him. Who knew? People say to me ... "Six months!? Wow, hasn't that gone quickly!?" I say ... no, no it hasn't, actually.

STEPSON: Broke my laptop ..... however, we are getting on very, very well. I love him.

MR TC: Who cares? Oh, I mean ummm .... his PET scan is booked in for early December. We should have the results just before Christmas. So, it'll either be a very great Christmas, or, not so.

Mr TC has now added going to the gym to his list of after-work activities. Every single day, he is either at soccer, or footy, or the gym. We had a HUGE argument just now. He told me that he is NOT going to change anything in his life, post-cancer. Told me that I need to "go out and get a job", I "do nothing around the house", and, yet again ...... "I was the one who wanted the baby, why should it change his plans."

I handled it very maturely. I threw every single bunch of flowers he gave me in the bin. Except the beautiful Peace Lily, that he thoughtfully chose for my office. I ripped that one out of the pot, flung it around, and scrunched and ripped it to shreds.

THEN I threw it in the bin. I can't tell you how much better I felt. Seriously.

Crackers and cheese, anyone?

Just Keep Laughing. What the Sisters Did Part Two

2008-11-07T11:34:00.014+11:00

Ok so where was I? Oh that's right, bringing a new life into the world, just as I thought my husband was going to lose his.

It kind of ended up that Tee stayed with me up in my hospital, and Rex went down to Mr TCs hospital. Rex was my lifeline to Mr TC. He is such a bravado, "I'm fine" macho guy .... like that Knight in that Monty Python movie, getting all his arms and legs cut off, but still wants to fight. "What, this? It's just a scratch." Until in the end, he's just this talking, bloodied head on the ground. I know that Mr TC would tell me he was ok, even if he was in agony and secretly scared shitless. But Rex was with him ... and Rex told me the truth. Her truth was that he was going to be ok ..... how I clung to her words, every day! She did everything for him that I could not. He had the worst bed in the worst ward, PUTRID. Talk about depressing. It was dark and dank, and there was a contaminated water scare, in his hospital. Nii-iiice.

Meanwhile, back at the ranch ..... Tee was the only person I wanted to see. She brought Tiger in to visit, every day. She brought nipple shields and expensive creams, chocolate, clothes for Monkey. We sat and waited and worried together. I took a photo of myself, in the middle of the night, once. I don't know why I did ... maybe because I couldn't get out of bed, and wanted to know what I looked like. What a person in so much pain looks like. Quite strange really.

It's a terrible photo. I would lie in my bed for hours, in a trance, holding Monkey .... frightened isn't even the word. In shock. And horror. Then Monkey would stir and I'd look down and see him, as if for the first time. "Oh, hello lil guy!!" Kept forgetting about the baby.

In the mornings, Tee would come in, and I would talk to Rex, and I had hope again. Just a bit. It was around that time, that my catchcry started. If I got a shit lunch in the hospital, or when I complained about nobody sending me flowers ..... I would harrumph, exasperated. "Geeez! Don't they know my husband has CANCER!!??" We couldn't find a car park? My husband has cancer. Bringing firewood in at home? My husband has cancer. Telemarketers? Sorry, I can't give money today ... my husband has cancer. I still use this one today .... works a charm.

I got out of hospital on Friday, Tee drove me straight down to see Mr TC. To the hideous hospital, where you need a machete to fight your way through the haze of cigarette smoke before you go in. I saw where he had been sleeping all week and just wanted to cry. We STILL did not know what kind of cancer it was, or how to treat it yet. Fuming. I sat in a chair next to his bed, Tee gave us some space then came back and cracked jokes. Suddenly a tribe of doctors appeared out of nowhere, doing rounds. Tee and I went for the jugular .... Tee, mainly, as I was breastfeeding a four-fucking day old baby. She hammered questions to them .. What type of cancer. Why don't you know. When will you know. How long in hospital. What can he eat .... on and on. Mr TC sat, bewildered, watching a ping-pong ball game of questions and answers. I'll never forget the doctor .... who had given us the bad news only days before .... turning to look at me. And he saw me. A breastfeeding, broken wife. He promised to speed things up - and he did.

Tee and I drove back home. Leaving Mr TC in the shitty hospital that day, was one of the worst, awful days of the whole fiasco. I felt sick, putting Monkey in the car ... to finally take him home. Without his dad. Happy homecoming, baby. We drove and drove ... right before we got home, the doctor gave us the news. "Non-Ho.dg.k.ins." The doctor said it was very treatable. We were beside ourselves with elation. We went crazy. Finally, after all this time, we KNEW WHAT HE HAD. For some inexplicable reason ..... Tee and I had a competition, to text as many people as we could, to tell them. And, to count how many replies we got back. "NON-HO.DG.KI.NS! V. TREATABLE!!" Texts started arriving to out phones ... "That's great!" "Awesome news!" "Ohh, what a relief!" We high-fived and nearly did cartwheels. (Tee won the comp ... I was spewing!)

Suddenly, something swam to the surface of my brain. "Ummmm ...." I said to Tee. "My husband has CANCER." It was very surreal. I lost it, and went quite loopy, laughing hysterically. "Wait! It's ok! It's NON-HOD.GK.I.NS!!! Wooo-hoooooo! Yeeee haaaaa!! Unreal!" I started tapping it out in morse code on my breast pump .... great news, husband has cancer!

Tee suggested I go to bed. I did.

I went to my lonely bed, and the baby cried and cried and drank me dry, and I got so stressed and worked up. I was crying bad. I did not want to do this anymore. I cannot handle a baby at this time. Tee came in .... and made me go upstairs to SLEEP, while she minded the baby for the rest of the night. He wasn't hungry ... just picking up on my stress. I needed that sleep like nothing I'd ever known.

Here is where the real work form the girls came in ... (as kids, Tee and Rex were always called "The Girls" I was a little jealous ... it was always "Topcat and the Girls." Was I not a girl too?!) .... they taught me how to look after a baby. Especially Rex, the Sleep Nazi. She was forever getting me to swaddle Monkey and put him to bed. Always. They gave me tips and advice, on everything. I was amazed. At one point, Tee turned to me, and said "Mate, what the fuck did you do with Tiger when he was a baby?" I thought, and realised."Well, basically just stood to his attention for three years. Whatever he wanted!" We pissed ourselves laughing. Rex got me onto the magical solution of preparing six bottles at once, so I knew exactly how much Monkey was getting in a 24-hour period. What a fantastic concept!

Monkey sleeps pretty bloody well now, due to their baby whispering skills. Once, Tee even stuck her boob in the pump, to show me how it was done. Now THAT'S sisterly love!

When Monkey was two weeks old, it was Rexs turn to be here. It was an awful week. I could not talk to anyone, answer the phone, or go anywhere. She was like, my total bodyguard. She'd answer the phone, say the persons name out loud ... and depending on my head nod or head shake, hand the phone over. One morning, I got up, and was getting brekky. She was chatting away, looked up to find me crying. She gave me the biggest, best hug, and told me she doesn't even know how I am getting up in the mornings. I wailed to her that I didn't want to go and see Mr TC that day. I didn't want to see him like that. She understood, and talked and talked. Suddenly, a car drove up. "Fuck!" I hid. It was the florists car. "Oh NOOOO. It's the fucking florists!"

(They are busybody, fucking idiots.) Rex goes, I'll handle this.

And she did. She got stuck talking to them for ten minutes, answering all their stupid questions. I was cracking up, having laughing convulsions that she was being so polite. She told me later they were ITCHING to come in, and she felt like a goalie in a soccer game, keeping them out. They wanted to "give me the flowers themselves." She said no. Mr TC had sent me a massive bunch, telling me he was thinking of me. Because, I hadn't called him for days. I kept pretending to him that I was ok, but I couldn't pretend anymore. I was fucked up.

Rex sometimes still asks me ..... how's those GIMP florists going?

My sister Tees present for me, when the baby was born? A FORTNIGHTLY CLEANER. FOR SIX. MONTHS. Yes. Can you believe that? My house gets clean every two weeks. NOT by me. Frickin' awesome.

Once, the cleaners were due when I was feeling so crap. I text Tee .... do you think the cleaners will mind if I sit on the couch and play Mario? My husband has CANCER, you know.

She told Rex, who told me to ask the cleaners if they could wipe my DS Gameboy screen, as I was sitting there. And if I get out, say "Ohhhh, CLEANERS! I was up to World SEVEN! My husband has CANCER!!!"

Dog whistle laughs all round.

The mums at Tigers school organised a cooked meal dinner roster, every single night. Whichever sister was there with me, would get excited come afternoon time .... ooohhh, who's on tonight? Oh, it's Jo! She makes the BEST lasagne!! We were all solemn and quiet, when they came, then they would go and we would rip it open, to see how good the meal was. Oh my God I'm laughing right now. I love every single woman who was on that roster - it was such an amazing thing to do for us. But sometimes ... the meal wasn't very big. Or good. And we would mock-complain. "Geez!" The girls would say. "Don't they know your husband has CANCER!"

When I was here by myself for a few days, Tee and Rex would text - what's for dinner tonight? To see what they were missing.

One night, Tee asked me. I was rather quite disgusted, and rang her.

"It was SAUSAGE AND LENTIL FUCKING CASSEROLE!!!"

Tee was outraged and laughing, all at once. "What did you do with it?"

"Mate, even the fucking DOG didn't want it. It's sitting outside in the casserole dish. Maybe some wild animals will come and eat it. It was filthy, I mean, come on. My husband has cancer. I'm going to have to go to school assembly, and announce over the loudspeakers that I need some decent food, not no sausage bullshit."

Tee couldn't talk for five minutes. The next morning, I get a text from Rex. "So how was your sausage hotpot HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH."

Tee said to me one day, that after this is all over .... I could still use the inappropriate excuse, just change the tense. "Oh, you can't give me a parking ticket! My husband had cancer, you know!!"

Sometimes, even long after Mr TC came home .... I would call one of them. And they would know something was wrong. And I would just say ..."My husband has cancer." And they knew and understood and brought me back time and time again.

Because .... Mr TC did come home. And he went through eight chemos, every three weeks. And now they are finished. And now we wait for the scan. I can't even look ahead, in my mind. To see what I think his scan will show. If I try to picture it, I just fall off a big cavern. So I can't. I think I believe his scan will be all clear. I think. We have an appointment with the doctor - the one who noticed me breastfeeding that day - next Tuesday.

Every day, since the diagnosis .... has been a gift with him. Even though sometimes we very nearly ripped each others heads off ..... he made it back home. He's in with a fighting chance. The other day, on our anniversary ... he couldn't decide which flowers to buy me. So he bought them all.

He is being SO nice to me lately. I keep asking why! It's odd, having him "present" again. I have been alone since May.

Except for my sisters. I have called them Tee and Rex .... as in T-Rex, the dinosaur. For they have such puny little hands, compared to my big manhands. Their hands are pathetic. It's hilarious. My sisters real names both start with the same letter. They are kind, wise, wonderful human beings. We may have had no proper parents - true parents, who gave a shit and loved their children ..... but we now have each other. We have each others backs. I would do the same thing for them in a heartbeat. (Heaven forbid I'd ever need to)

When I first got clean, my mother would tell me over and over again how I would never have a proper relationship with the girls, ever again. Boy was she wrong. SO wrong.

PS Thank you, for the amazing comments. AGAIN. I'm working on a way of saying thanks, to everyone in blogland. It is VERY COOL. xoxox

What the Sisters Did. Part One

2008-11-06T22:21:00.003+11:00

Ummmm, hi .. it's me again. (waves). I'm having an intense time lately. I started writing something else, but the story of my sisters came out instead. I also possibly need to get some things off my chest, before Mr TC gets his scan. Just so I can process shit. Because I can't afford the money or the time to do therapy. I hope that's ok.

When I was young, I had such a raging, burning hatred for my sisters. It was terrible - we were all terrible. We were all taught to hate each other. Not in your usual "sibling rivalry way". It was psychological, systematic, and cruel. Everybody agrees that our mother treated me the worst, but my sisters copped it too. They have both been dealing with a lot of our childhood crap for the past few years. They wanted to stop the cycle of abuse, instead of passing it on to their children. It's hard, getting real. But they have done it! And I am so, so proud and amazed and happy for them. I cannot believe how close we three are. I never would have thought this could happen .. not in a million years. They are my mainest peeps. My blood ... the Source of Much Sass.

They got me through chemo ..... and it wasn't even my fucking chemo. Actually, to backtrack ..... they helped me get through my pregnancy. I keep forgetting I was pregnant ... seems like a world away now. Halfway through my IVF, I told them I had a blog. So they started reading it. And we seem to have gotten even closer since then.

Their hearts were broken, back in May, too. They stopped their whole lives, just for me and my family. If I didn't have them I would have run screaming off a cliff. They have talked me off the cliff many times.

Strangely, my mother was the first person I called, to tell the news of Mr TCs diagnosis. Mr TC and I were two stunned mullets, driving back from the cancr clinic with the free sympathy parking. You know what he was babbling? How he had lived a great life, these past nine years. That was our mentality .... that he was going to die. I phoned my mum, so she would hear it from me. I lost it halfway through, oh how hard it was to say the word lym.phoma to her. It took three tries. She was calm, asked did I want to call her back, as I was so upset. I said no .... Christ sake, I was just getting her out of the way, I didn't want to call her again. She comes alive in a crisis, gets off on it. I just wanted to tell her, and be done with it. I hung up, and noticed a white van behind us, in the busy traffic. It was John, one of Mr TCs drumming buddies, waving gaily at us. We waved back ... how strange it was, that he had no idea what we had just been told. By the time we got home, we had a whisper of a grip, but not much. I picked Tiger up from a friends house, took him home and got him ready for bed. Me and Tiger stood next to each other in the bathroom, brushing our teeth together. I looked at myself in the mirror, thinking, wow .... I look exactly the same, but my whole heart has been ripped out and smashed. Tiger had no idea. My sister text me ... any news yet? Shit, I hadn't told them yet. I rang Tee, she answered. I simply said "Bad. It's just really bad." And told her all we knew. I asked her if she could ring and tell Rex, as I had to put Tiger to bed. Rex sent me the most soulful, heartfelt text, telling me she loved me, over and over again.

And then one of the worst nights of my life happened. And then Thursday was here, and I had to have a baby on the Monday, and I ummmm, neeed help. (Thank God, THANK GOD I had a c-section. Mr TC couldn't have handled a full-on labour and natural birth.)

My sisters wanted to come up straight away, but I put them off. Because I thought it would be the last time I would have my husband and child together, in the same house. So they were to come on Sunday.

The next few days, were just heavy. Like, we needed to be pushed around. Mr TC was in agony, the tumours so aggressive they seemed to be growing daily, pressing on all of his internal organs. How frightening, to have something growing in there and not know! And cancer is so common ... it's only a matter of time before somebody else we know gets it. Insidious.

My sisters rang and text me, those few days. Constantly. More people started to find out. I kept thinking I was ok .... then I so, so wasn't ok. SO NOT OK. There was just no thinking my way out of this one. I kept doing half prayers .... "Dear God, Please protect my ....... OH THAT'S RIGHT! YOUR'E AN ARSEHOLE! FUCK YOU, C*NT!!"

And I sulked to God, and refused to pray. For a while. We are back on speaking terms now, but my Faith has taken a battering.

Mr TC and I were in K-Mart on the Sunday, buying a car seat for the baby who was coming the next day. We weren't unorganised .. his mother promised for ages she would get one as a gift, but didn't. (Because she is a raging alcoholic, that's why.) My phone rang. It was my sister Tee .... she had arrived at our house, and wanted to know what she could do. She sounded really fucked up and didn't know what to do. I said .. "Ok, mate. Can you get the vacuum out ..." I heard her say "Yep. Sure."
I continued ... ".... and just start vacuuming, and vacuuming, and just vacuum the fuck out of the floor, for like, all day!!"

Cue maniacal, crazy, LOUD laughter. Me, nine months pregnant, in the middle of K-Mart, and her, standing in my house, at a loss, not knowing what to do to help. The first of the Thousand Laughs That Got Us Through.

Then Mr TCs phone rang .... it was his big official hospital, he had to go there immediately, to claim his bed. We rushed and rushed, not knowing if he would make it back out for the birth. We drove down together, all the nurses were waiting for us, knew who we were. Like celebrities, for a really bad reason. I imagined them, going home to their families that night, sharing stories over dinner about the poor couple who came in heavily pregnant, and the dad has cancer. Tsk tsk. What a story.

It IS a big story, isn't it? If I were reading it in a book, I would scoff, and think, well that's just STUPID. That wouldn't happen! Ha. What a way to find out how random the Universe can truly be. My mantra at the time was ..."It's not good, or bad. It just is."

It took four hours for him to get admitted. I curled up with him on his bed, and we both had a sleep. I broke the news to him that he was on a cancer ward. "What! What the fuck ... no I'm not, hon."

He was. Bald heads, vomiting, and skinny pale faces everywhere. He did NOT BELONG THERE. Then .. Mr TC was allowed one more night at home! Hurrah! I was so fucking grateful he could come to the birth. We drove home, to Tee and Rex, and tried to be normal. Rex brought Angel cards, and matching bracelets, and a heart full of love. I played card games with my Tiger, poor sweet guy. He has had his whole life turned around this year ... gone from being the only child to the middle child. The next morning, the sound of my two sisters laughing together upstairs, warmed me. They were SHRIEKING with laughter, at a comment that Stacie had left on my last post. They brought the computer down, to show me all the love and support you all here in blogland gave me .... I was, and still remain, blown away. By how much it helps ... to know somebody, out there, gives a shit.

Then I left home, and had a baby. And my sisters were Shining Beacons of Love and Strength, who laughed inappropriately and insanely with me, during the awful times. But I will have to write that next post, because this is way too long already. And if I don't shut my computer off right now, Mr TC will roll over and wake up and say "Fucks sake, hon. You STILL on that thing." And we're getting on so well lately I don't want to have a pseudo fight at midnight over my furtive blogging. XOXO

....... to be continued ...........

I Wouldn't Trade the Pain for What I've Learned

2008-11-04T10:19:00.008+11:00

"Sometimes you think everything

is wrapped inside a diamond ring

Love just needs a witness

and a little forgiveness

And a halo of patience

and a less sporadic pace

and I'm learning to be brave in my beautiful mistakes.

Oh .. I've .. felt .. that .. fire .. and .. I've been burned

But I wouldn't trade the pain for what I've learned

I wouldn't trade the pain for what I've learned."

Pink - Crystal Ball

One night in late 1999 I kissed a boy. A ridiculous, half-pash, that left us both embarrassed. It's hard, to kiss sober.

We got together "officially" in February, 2000. Lived in the flat, to the shitbox house ... to here. The House the Daggy Builder Built.

Sometimes I miss the flat. I miss being a waitress, and being carefree, and having sex in the loungeroom, pretending to be shocked by his porn. (SO tame). I miss pissing off for the weekend just because we can. I miss me. Most of all, I miss my daggy builder man-friend .... the friend that chemo ate.

I pestered and pestered for him to ask me to marry him. I still don't know why ... marriage is important to me, I guess. He reluctantly relented, but really didn't want to. We tried to keep it as simple as possible, but these things take on a life of their own. Three years ago tomorrow, I put on my silver shoes and pink Lisa Ho dress, and thought I would have a panic attack from anxiety. My sisters wore black ..... HOT. We walked up the main street, all laughing together. That's all my sisters and I ever do, now. Laugh together. We have a lifetime together, to make up for the rough start that was forced upon us as children. My sisters are the sisters my husband has never known ... loud, and brash, full of spirit. After this year, they have bonded for life. We can never repay them ... we can only pay it forward.

I walked in to my wedding ceremony, the strains of the song I chose floated through - "No need to run .... and hide. It's a wonderful, wonderful life."

I think I picked that song because for so, so long, I was living the furthest thing from a wonderful life you could imagine. Yet here I stood, triumphant in the face of my past. I expected a quiet crowd gathered .... it was more like a seething mass of humanity. I remember taking the vows, and being shocked at how solemn it all suddenly got. From that moment on, he fell utterly in love with being married - he said it changed everything.

We ate, had speeches. We took private lessons for our bridal waltz ... Frank Sinatra's "Fly Me to the Moon." We would practice at home .... I would sulk like a petulant child and he declared that "if I can't do the fucking dance he wouldn't do the fucking wedding."

My God but how tempestuous we are! We fight big. But we love big too. When things are going well between us ... I pity everybody else in the whole world, because they do not have what we have. Or, I ache to break free and leave and go do something - anything. Life is full of such interesting contradictions!

Tomorrow it will be three years since we tied the knot. Since I ended up totally trying to lead him on the dancefloor during our bridal waltz, thus ruining the whole thing. But I made up for it. Mr TCs African drumming band played .... and I had taken my own secret lessons, to dance to an African wedding song. He had always pestered me to take up African dancing, to his drumming. "No fucking way! I don't dance to the beat of your drum!"

Apparently I did, and he was most impressed.

We had both never been married before. Our child, Tiger, was almost four. He danced until 12.30am, until someone told him he was "allowed" to go to sleep. To this day, we walk past the restaurant where we got hitched, and he calls it the "wedding." I can't correct him.

What a year this has been. Continues to be. Nobody could ever accuse us of being boring!

The anniversary card I bought is laid out on the table .... I know he has forgotten, so there won't be a card for me when I get up. But he will be here when I get up .... something I wasn't so sure would happen, just a short while ago.

Happy Anniversary, my Beigest Turdburger. I will always try to lead when we dance. I can't help it.

May we have many, many, MANY more together. Growing old is a privilege .... hopefully we can do it together. I'm so sorry for not being able to help him more, this year. But I wasn't waving, I was drowning. Every man for himself. I know he doesn't hold it against me, part of the reason I love him so.

XOXOXOXXOXO

The Space Between Spaces

2008-11-01T21:35:00.005+11:00

I have taken almost every single photo of Monkey .... including the ones with me in it. My manhand easily presses the button, and I try to stage them so that it LOOKS like someone else has taken the photo. Mr TC has been too preoccupied - so if I didn't, we wouldn't have any.

At the exact moment I was taking this Halloween one yesterday .... Mr TC walks past, totally scoffing at how ridiculous I looked, trying to stage my own photo. Look into my eyes! See the total contempt and scorn I have, for the chemo-ridden vermin that is my betrothed! In that instant, I thought .... I do not care HOW sick you are, sweetheart, I am SO going out tonight and leaving you with multiple children HA.

And I did. And I was so, so glad I did. Because, the people I met were almost all total and utter losers, drinking heavily, taking the piss out of everyone, insecure and cynical and jaded.

I left at 11.30pm, so tiring. Can't believe cigarettes are sixteen bucks a pack! (Not that I smoked ... well actually, I only had one, but just for old times sake. Totally bum puffed it). And I can't believe how different I am .... funny thing was, the people I met felt a bit sorry for me, from all I have been through this year. But I actually felt a bit sorry for them .... them and all their vices.

I felt renewed, knowing that I CAN go out if I want to. It was so nice to drive in the driveway, safe in my house, with my wonderfully dysfunctional-yet-real family.

It is November. There is no chemo this month NONE. Waves of relief are starting to wash over us both. Mr TC feels different. He is still really sick, but he had a spring in his step. He was so very lovely to me today, SO present and in the moment with us. Tiger and I were playing Memory Match for over an hour ... I'm making a conscious effort to do proper "things" with him, instead of just TV or Playstation games. Mr TC came and played with us for ages, laughing and competitive.

Tomorrow I shall smudge the house. I want to bring new energy to it, get rid of all the bad crap hanging up there in the corners. I can see-ee you, negative residual auras!

Right now, Mr TC, stepson, and stepsons friend are all sitting on the couch watching footy, literally having a fart-off. Monkey and Tiger are in bed. We just ate chicken soup, and organic chocolate. We all watched the new Indiana Jones DVD ..... the post title came from a line in it.

We are in the Space Between the Spaces. Mr TC will get a scan in a few weeks, to hopefully see that all the "yucky lumps" (as I told Tiger) .... are all gone.

"But mum, what if the yucky lumps aren't all gone?"

"Well my sweetie, we will deal with that if it happens."

He thought, and looked up at me. "I reckon they're all gone."

"Me too, mate."

_____

Tiger and Monkey's first Halloween together. Awwwwwww .... a baby sacrifice!

Tiger kept trying to scare Monkey. He was jumping around, saying Boo! every chance he got, disappointed that Monkey would only smile.

"He's not scared, sweetheart. He hasn't learnt to be scared yet."

It struck me ..... how we learn things in life, that down the track ..... are better off un-learnt. We learn fear, and anger, and hate.

Look at how besotted Monkey is with his big brother. When we all start out, there is only love.

XOX

Not Dead

2008-10-31T10:58:00.004+11:00

This morning, I say my husband is "in chemo". When he gets home this afternoon, I will from then on say "My husband is recovering from almost six months of chemo."

I thought I would feel so elated today. So triumphant, air-punching, yeeeeeeees. But no.

Instead, I feel utterly spent. I'm so weighed down and drowning. Had the WORST day yesterday, involving writing quotes and invoices for Mr TC from morning till 11pm. Trying to mind Monkey. Cook dinner. Mr TC tells me how to WRITE, so we have the biggest, nastiest argument. In front of the baby. Nice. Screaming at Mr TC, do it yourself, don't want to be with him anymore.

Then, I apologise. Then, he goes out last night to play footy ..... he now plays footy, soccer, and goes out to a regular Monday dinner. Which means, he is not here Monday, Tuesday, Thursday and Friday. Do you think that's fair? Because I don't. Especially when I'm trying to cook dinner every night, help Tiger with his homework, and put the baby to bed. (Baby screamed for three hours last night! Right on! Mr TC walked in, sweaty from his game, just as Monkey finally fell asleep. I was a jangly mess with a nervous tic ... Mr TC goes "Hey hon! What's for dinner? Mmmmmm, schnitzel!") After refraining from shoving schnitzel up his arse, I told him in NO uncertain terms that it was not fair he goes out so much.

Blah. Mr TCs comeback was that I was the one who wanted the baby in the first place, why should it interfere with his plans.

Oh.
My.
God.

Mr TC may be having his last chemotherapy today .... hopefully for ever. He will be getting no sympathy from me. I (SHOCK!) have not organised dinner yet! The kitchen sink will stay exactly how he and stepson left it this morning! I keep telling them I am not their slave ... I am NOT nanna.

Pricks. I hate them. Marriage is TOTALLY overrated. I mean seriously. I'm not joking.

Today I feel awash with the years heartache. It's been so terribly hard. I danced to Pink on my iPod in front of Monkey and made him smile. Tonight I will take Tiger to his school Halloween disco. I'm planning my next tattoo.

Tonight, there is also a school reunion of sorts, near where I live. It's being held at a pub. Which is fine ... I can totally go to pubs these days. But, I used to work at this particular pub, in my early twenties. (My mother got me the job there .... me, her alcoholic daughter. Ha!)

Apparently I fucked half the bar staff and most of the clientele there, so I probably won't go.

Although, given the mood I'm in, I'm likely to go and DARE someone to say something to me.

Heh.

Gifts

2008-10-28T23:03:00.008+11:00

Yesterday at Tigers school, I saw a man carrying his son inside, to pick up his daughter from kindy. His son is disabled. About three years old. He will never walk .... his legs stuck out from his fathers side, splayed awkwardly. They were skin and bones. Monkey has more fat on his chubby little legs. Instantly, I was dealt a huge rush of overdue humility. Everything I am handling is just that .... handle-able. This little boy will never WALK. I have two healthy, wonderful, amazing little boys. I am blessed beyond relief. (Freudian - I mean to write 'belief') If I focus - properly focus, on my two guys ... I feel calm, and re-energised, and grateful.

Then I got home and my sister sent me this link. And I cried.

Then, my monthly AA Wisdom thingy came through ... I needed to read it. Here it is ...

________

"I may not be much, but I'm all I think about."

If I add up all the time I spend thinking about myself - at least 70% of the time I'm thinking (usually worrying) about my future, 20% of the time I'm thinking about my past (usually wishing I had made different choices), and about 10% of the time thinking about what I should do next - it's easy to see why I don't have time for others. I'm busy!

The paradox, though, is that all this self-centeredness isn't driven by a big ego or high sense of self. Rather, it's the low self-esteem of alcoholism that fuels my thoughts, and it's why most of my thinking is negative and self defeating. Self-loathing is a core characteristic of this disease and when combined with self-obsession, it becomes a depressingly deadly combination.

Thank God there is a way out. I was taught early on that self-centeredness is the root of my trouble, and that true recovery comes from thinking about and working with others. I've found that when I'm focused on you, I'm not thinking about me, and that's the only time I begin feeling better about myself.

And when I feel better about myself, it's easier to think more about others.

________

Mr TCs cancer blew everything in our lives out of the water. Everything. "We're gonna need a bigger boat."

THREE MORE DAYS TIL CHEMO. THE. LAST. CHEMO.

___

A pic of Tiger and Monkey. Tiger says to me "Ohhhhhhh, man!!!! I just have SO MUCH LOVE in my heart for Monkey, mum!!! It's like a volcano of love!!"

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Nemesis

2008-10-27T11:12:00.005+11:00

Sadly, I've had to take this post down. But it was FASCINATING.

"Choose your enemies wisely .... for they will define you." - Bono

GASP A Whine-Free Post!

2008-10-26T22:06:00.003+11:00

(And wine-free! Get it, get it!!! Heh heh) ......

Look! Random pics instead of the usual cancer cancer cancer chemo chemo stepson stepson cancer chemo. Poor me poor me pour me another drink fucks sake GET GRATEFUL WOMAN.

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Aren't they great? Wait - I've been sitting here for an hour, trying to upload pics. But Blogger won't let me.

But, I have to post this, because the WHOLE PURPOSE OF THIS POST WAS TO GET THE PREVIOUS POST OFF THE TOP BECAUSE ALL I DO IS WHHHHHHHHIIIIIIINNNNNNNEEEEE.

I have officially lost the motherfucking plot. If it's not one thing, it's another. Just when I have everything sorted, and I'm ok ..... something else happens. When my head is a can of worms, I start thinking, what's the point of anything?? I've decided to do the 12 steps, as it appears recent events have brought me to my knees and I'm starting to worry about my recovery. Fucks sake.

I drove back home, and thought of how annoying I am being. Then, as if on cue, I hear Monkey stir, and I want to run screaming from the house with my hands waving high in the air.

But, instead of blogging all that, my plan was to just post some pretty pics, so I could prove to you that I have a grip.

But Blogger won't let me, because, you know - Blogger takes it up the arse.

Goodnight.

The Stepmother of All Posts

2008-10-26T12:38:00.005+11:00

This post was all about my struggles when my stepson came back to live with us after a year and a half of being away. Taken down to protect him ..... but here are some cute photos:

I love my stepson so much. And I don't steplove him, I REAL love him. XO

The Highlight of my Saturday Night was Doing This Meme

2008-10-25T22:09:00.004+11:00

Ignorance alert .... what the fuck does meme mean? Is it some kind of French word? Or is it literally a "me me", as in, all about me? I have always wanted to know but felt too dumb to ask.

Anyway, the two ladies who tagged me have big things happening in their lives.

The Bruce-the-borscht eating Annacyclopedia ..... is living in IUI land. And G ... well, just please click on and give her a virtual hug. Fucks sake.

So here's my meme taggy thing ...

1. Where is your cell phone? I have to ring it to find out
2. Where is your significant other? Don't care
3. Your hair color? Red
4. Your mother? Fucked
5. Your father? Dead. All of them DEAD MWAH HAH HAH HAH
6. Your favorite thing? Raindrops on roses ..
7. Your dream last night? Went to a SaltnPepa concert with my two sisters.
8. Your dream/goal? Get published
9. The room you are in? Living Room ... or is that, the Existing Room?
10. Your hobby? Don't know!
11. Your fear? Spiders
12. Where do you want to be in six years? Anywhere but here
13. Where were you last night? At home
14. What you're not? Happy
15. One of your wish list items? Cup holder for Monkeys pram
16. Where you grew up? Too many cities and houses
17. The last thing you did? Ate chocolate and hated myself for it
18. What are you wearing? Ugg boots, tracksuit pants, T-shirt that Gemini Girl sent me
19. Your T.V.? Massive
20. Your pet? A white siberian husky who keeps running away because there are no fences here. Mr TC is an irresponsible dog owner and it shits me to tears
21. Your computer? Password-protected since stepson is back
22. Your mood? Shitty
23. Missing someone? Myself
24. Your car? Black Audi A4 Turbo sedan .... if I were a guy I would crack a hard on when I drive it
25. Something you're not wearing? A bra
26. Favorite store? Any fancy stationery store
27. Your Summer? It's coming, baby. it's coming.
28. Love someone? Yes
29. Your favorite color? Teal
30. When is the last time you laughed? Putting Tiger to bed. I was giving him a piggyback and we looked in the mirror and cracked up
31. Last time you cried? This afternoon, thinking of how emotionally apart Mr TC and I are, and I don't even care anymore. Close to giving up

Well ... that was telling! You're supposed to only write one-word answers, but I hate rules.

I tag:
Imy
Geohde
Bleu
Mrs Spock
Diana
Evil Stepmonster (to get her mind off Tuesday)
and Lori

36 Years Old and my Bedroom is a Disgrace to Humanity

2008-10-24T12:23:00.011+11:00

Yes, this really is my bedroom. I am sooooooo together right now.

Once upon a time I wanted to get pregnant through IVF so I had this bright idea to google it, to see how the fuck it was done. Up came boring, medical, technical, shit ..... and, a blog. "A blog!" I thought. "Hmmmmm, how interesting." I clicked on, and started reading. It was M. Beautiful, wonderful M, whose story broke my heart. But I read and read and read ... for hours. Then I started clicking on other blogs, in her blogroll (which is why I think blogrolls are important) .... and then I'm like what! Omg! Sheee-iiiitttt!!!!!!! I read more and more of your stories, and like the true addict I will always be, I couldn't get enough. Television fell by the wayside. I would go to sleep at 2am.

Then, I really WAS going to do IVF, so I (so nervously) started one of my own. Then I started commenting .... and people started commenting on mine!!! Blogging is fucking outstanding ... specifically, women bloggers who are trying to build families. Or parent their children. Live good lives. In the early days of pioneering in Australia, it was very lonely for the womenfolk. It's such a harsh climate, they were very isolated, and missed their families back in England. So they would write to each other, write and write and write. Books have been published, of these womens letters, and the friendships and bonds they formed.

So, even though blogging is new, it is age-old .... this connecting.

Anyway, please bear with me, as I am belatedly entering M's Virtual World Tour. She asked if we could snap random pics of things around our house. Anything M asks, I will do. For she was my entryway into blogging, she is still trying to have a child, and I simply will not rest until she has one in her arms. Spirit owes me a few IOUs this year, and I've paid them forward onto her .... and others like her. Because infertility and loss is so not motherfucking fair, so not fair.

Tiger took this this morning, as we were about to leave on our walk. I walked him to school, which takes just under an hour each way. (It's only the second time I've ever done it. But Christ I feel better when I do!) ......

This is the view looking down our street .......

Mr TC made this rock stand upright, during landscaping. I was looking at it the other day, and said to him ... "You DO know that's your penis, right?" He had no idea what I was talking about, I thought about explaining phallic symbols, but couldn't be bothered ....

This is the bed I cried in last night, curled up. Thinking for SURE I would be off house hunting today, because I simply cannot live with my stepson .... (it's not made, Flicka!)

This is the chair I was sitting in when Mr TC told me he had cancer. Worst conversation of my life .....

This is what happens when you make a carrot cake for your husband and stepson, and they leave it out all night so it goes rock hard, but then they throw a tea-towel on it so the icing sticks to the tea towel, and guess who is the prick that has to clean it up? ME ......

Here is my disgusting pantry. My heart feels heavy even looking at it. It's so unorganized ....

Even though I want a divorce today, here is a nice wedding pic. With the wedding cake topper - that's Tiger as a red-cheeked baby next to it ...

Lastly, my favourite painting. I bought it before I met Mr TC ... it's called "The Happy People." It's of a group of Hare Krishnas, dancing. The artists son died of a heroin overdose, she is aamzing ....

So. Click HERE for more participants.

___

I'll come home, ignore the messy house, and blog until I have to leave to pick Tiger up again. Sitting here, I saw an email come through - from Pam. Wishing me a happy clean birthday - and so much more. So I've sat here crying/blogging this whole time, marvelling at the power of words, and people, and amazing friends on the other side of the world. Somebody noticed I was clean today! Somebody whose own father was an alcoholic too ... and whose mother also still drinks, and knows the emotional carnage that comes with all that - knows how fucking hard it is to stay clean and sober. Thank you, my Kindred Pam.

___

Ok, so I just changed Monkeys nappy but I forgot to do it up properly after I changed it, so when I stood up, shit got flung everywhere. And I didn't just stand up, I sort of swung around so shit literally went flying across the room, but at least now I am laughing.

Eight years on, and there's still a whole lotta shit in my life. Heh.

XOXOXOXOX

The Cancer Brought Gifts, Too.

2008-10-22T21:14:00.005+11:00

A severe hailstorm woke me up at 3.30am this morning. It pelted down, so suddenly and so quickly. No warning ... it just let loose. I sat straight up in bed, scared shitless. Then, as quickly as my fear ... came my anger. I loved that hailstorm. I egged it on. I wanted every fucking window of our house to be smashed in, so that we would be bloodied and gashed, clutching each other. C'mon, motherfucker!!! Is that all ya got??!! I wanted all of our cars to be smashed beyond recognition, dented and stripped and all fucked up. I wanted the wild water to come streaming into our house, pouring over the floorboards and into our rooms, frothing and foaming.

The most intense feelings of rage came over me. I WAS that fucking hailstorm.

Then, as quickly as it came, it left. Leaving a strange stillness. I ran to check on Tiger, and then Monkey. Then I wondered why I checked on Tiger first.

I went back to bed .... Mr TC is officially back in our bed. It's quite nice, actually. Just to have human contact again, after so many months in Newbornland and Cancerland, respectively.

My hailstorm is always there, just underneath the surface. I am so thoroughly tired and pissed off, at everything my family has been through this year. Beggers fucking belief. Spent. We are at the end. My sister Tee reckons we've done the marathon, now we have entered the stadium. We have one lap to go, but the finish line is in sight. Mr TC can't even think straight. I am fatigued, deep down in my bones. I have been so terribly busy lately - too busy. I'm not good at being busy, I get overwhelmed very easily, so I just overload and shut down. Mr TC is like a machine .. bang bang bang work work work. All through chemo he has worked. He has recently signed up for another season of touch football. He sometimes leaves me for dust in his wake .... all fucked up, can't fight my way out of a paperbag. Sometimes I do wonder what he sees in me .... what did I bring to the table? Certainly not a hard work ethic.

I asked him once .... I said "You've given me so much, hon. Name three things I have given you." (You know, one of those typical female questions).

He couldn't think of one thing. Not one! I was so hurt and annoyed ... until I struggled to think of something myself.

"Well.." I spluttered. "Just remember you had NO style when I met you. I made you cool! I made you! And I can break you." I was only half joking about the second part - but it's true about his un-coolness, and I have the Marvin Martian T-shirt photos to prove it.

I have thought this a lot, during our relationship. How different we are. He is SO black and white. So strong. Practical. Ambitious. All what I am not.

But .... I think I bring a lot more to the table than most of us are aware. I have a huge inner-life. My dreams, my whimsy, the way I look at the world. At times, I tell him what's happening in my head .... and he just shakes his head. Sometimes in disgust, often in wonder. I can be the biggest motherfucking moody, horrible bitch on the planet. It has taken me YEARS to work on handling the terrible white rages that used to come so often. (A family "heirloom", if you like).

He got the best of me, too. Winds are shifting. Change is afoot. We will never look at our lives the same way again. it's like, every day with him is a gift, because I honestly thought he was going to die, back in May. I was sure of it. Death Himself came to me, in hospital on the Wednesday night. Monkey was being looked after by the nurse, so I was all alone. Twice Death entered the room, I was paralysed. He choked me ... He never came when Monkey was with me, all that purely powerful newborn energy too strong for Him.

You know how there is a flock of sheep, a herd of cows, a gaggle of geese? Well, Mr TC had what I named "A nest of tumours". There was a nest of tumours in Mr TCs stomach and chest. I don't believe it is there anymore ... but the nest has taught us a lot. It brought fear, and helplessness, and darkness - yes. But I choose to look at the gifts as well. My relationship with my sisters has been cemented forever. We are real sisters ... I could buy them a soppy Hallmark "For my sister" card and it would be true.

The nest brought me such a despair, that I started writing in a way I have not written before. My writing is now stronger ... I am stronger. Lately, I have written the text for a childrens book, to hopefully be published in February. Today I got offered a job as an editor at a fancy magazine. (I won't take it, but it was awesome to be asked). I can handle anything. I am prepared for anything to happen in life. My endless worrying has ceased - no point. Life's too short.

I have met you! I have opened myself up to you. Like Jim Carrey in Liar, Liar .... this blog is peppered with sprays of my truth. I can't lie, here. It's so ironic - I'm extremely private irl; the exact opposite of here.

So I choose to receive gifts from cancer, as well as the misery. Cancer is so many awful things - but it is one of the most powerful teachers on the planet. If I could live it all again, I would NOT have this happen. No way - especially not with a poor tiny newborn amidst it all. How Monkey was an afterthought to me, for many moons! Nowdays, if I don't answer his cry, he gets so angry. He demands to be my priority. As he should.

It's time for me stop dwelling on this all, soon. I know that. I'm nearly there. I have many blessings. Things could have been so much worse - but I will always have a hailstorm, underneath my skin. I like it there.

BEFORE and AFTER Hair Photos. Oh, and I lost the plot again.

2008-10-20T21:47:00.005+11:00

And then, the baby cries all fucking day and all night, I get no work done, and have a complete meltdown by 6pm. Total meltdown. Epic.

It's like, I'm going really well and then suddenly I'm not again. My house took 5 seconds to dirty again, after I cleaned it. Mr TC is so thoroughly irritating, right now he is using Tigers craft scissors to try and cut his toenails, because he is too lazy to get up and get the proper clippers. He keeps farting. He is SO not getting lucky tonight. My revenge is to tell the whole internet how repulsive he is HA.

Stepson has opened the chocolate advent calender I bought, and is happily chomping away on Freddo Frogs. It's strangely endearing.

Just another night here at Chez Topcat.

Nothing to see here ... oh, except my BEFORE and AFTER hair photos!!!! Ooooooooh, I LOVE me a good BEFORE and AFTER photo session.

Monkey is five months old. The last time I got my hair done was five months and two weeks ago. My biggest concern at that time, was how my hair would look in the hospital photos. As it turns out, my hair looked GREAT in the hospital photos ... it's just a pity my eyes were filled with TERROR.

*Ahem*

So, here is what my hair looked like on Saturday morning. Shapeless, heavy, faded.

And here, is the after. So sleek. I wish it stayed that way .... I wish I knew how to do it like this.

All purdied up and no place to go! XOX

Since I Last Posted .....

2008-10-20T09:59:00.002+11:00

..... since I last posted, I have discovered that I can, indeed, be a stepmother again. My stepson is here, his muscles are huge and he never fails to show them off. We spoke, late at night, of how things were going to be around here. He really wants it to work as well. I told him that all he has to do is show us respect. My exact words were "Mate, just don't fuck me around. Do not take my car for a joyride, have any parties, or steal money from us. If you want money, just ask. I love you, and want the best for you." He told me that he feels like he needs to tiptoe around me, worried he will piss me off. I told him that I'm so glad he is here .... his dad needs him, this is his home as much as it is ours. Of course, there has been some prickles. I keep them hidden, but it's tricky when I feel the familiar feelings of jealousy, that he is taking all of his dads attention. It's just human of me, I guess. I notice the feelings and try to set them free. Because as much as step-parenting is hard, hard work .... it is also wonderful. There are times that we are all laughing at something stupid, we are all getting along so well ... that I catch myself and think, Oh my God, I belong to a real, live, proper family. And it's fucking awesome, and I count my blessings because I am so fucking lucky.

..... since I last posted, my sister Tee got her spiritual healer to do work on me from afar. For a whole hour ... I walked Monkey to the lake in the pram, listening to Newton Faulconer on my iPod. I felt release, rocks being lifted. I felt at peace, grateful, better. The worst is over, stop worrying, eat well. Spring is in the weather and in my step.

.... since I last posted, I printed off the previous post and gave it to Mr TC to read. I left it on the kitchen table one morning, so that when he got up at his usual Godforsaken hour, he could read it. I asked him later what he thought. (Of course, he doesn't bring it up) .... He had a strange look on his face, and goes, well, hon - what do you mean you "Can't wait for my spring?" Do you mean you're leaving, because you can't wait for it?

He got annoyed when I laughed so hard. "Mate! As if I could ever leave you! We're in it for the long haul, I'm afraid!" He said he loved reading it, and he was surprised that I seemed to know what he was going through. Than after a pause .... "I can read and write, you know."

..... since I last posted, I have applied for a new writing job, gone to three AA meetings, and most exciting - had my hair done.

.... since I last posted I have hardly thought about drinking at all. Thank fuck for that.

.... since I last posted, I am slowly but surely making my way around blogs, adding them to my new "Blogs I Follow" list, and my blogroll. Finally I can start giving back again, self-absorption begone!

... since I last posted, not ONE piece of chocolate has passed my lips. I know, I can't believe it either. Driving over bumps in my car, I realised that my ARMFAT was wobbling. So, I am on an exercise regime, and eating proper. Did you know exercise + good food = feeling fantastic? Who knew!?

... since I last posted, I have realised that Tigers school disco is at Halloween ..... also the date of Mr TCs last chemo. (LAST CHEMO OH MY GOD LAST CHEMO YEEESSSSSSSSSSSS). It is a fancy dress disco ... Tiger might go as a skeleton. I told Mr TC he should come .... he won't need to dress up, he can just go as a chemo patient. As always, I totally crack myself up and he stands there, stony-faced.

Seasons

2008-10-15T23:00:00.006+11:00

"There's a kite blowing out of control on the breeze,
I wonder what's gonna happen to you ..
You wonder what has happened to me..."
U2 - Kite

He is so far away.

It's spring here - the warmth, the birds, people are out and about, glad for their time in the sun.
Happy, busy making summer plans.

Yet he - he is trapped, deep in the harshest winter he has ever known. All of his branches stay bare, no bird comes to sing in his heart. How it must be so very cold, deep down in his bones. How he must just ache with the memory of who he used to be.

Everybody agrees ... "Oh, but he is such a fighter! If anyone can get through this, he can!" It is true.

He has had to be strong, his whole life. No father, sent to boys home. He left school early - could hardly read or write. He's not that great at it now, but I tell him he doesn't need to be, for he has me. He is an amazing builder. Some people spend their lives tearing things down ... he has spent his building things up. I am in awe of him. He showed me what it means to love someone ... no matter what. He grounded me. He gave me the world. He built his own home, in my heart. I never thought anyone could get through - but he did.

Lately I have pulled away. I am tired. It is tiring, being married to a sick man. I have been angry, blaming, resentful. He broke my heart when he got cancer. No man has ever broken my heart before. Except my dads, I guess.

I slowed down my car to take this photo the other day, pissing off all the drivers behind me. I have been living in the same town for 10 years. It's spring here .... people come from far and wide, to see the amazing gardens on display. The colours are spectacular. I never noticed seasons until I got sober. It took a three-year old Tiger, to say to me one autumn day .... "Mum! Look at that big red colour in the trees!" ... and for the first time in my life I noticed autumn.

This year - these last five months specifically - everything has a certain clarity. I have driven past these blossom trees almost daily - bare in winter, they grow their flowers in spring. I only realised ...the other day ... that they blossom for around three weeks. Then the wind plucks the flowers from their branches and they scatter all over the roads, like natures own confetti. It's so breathtakingly beautiful. I can't believe I have never known this. Where have I been?

I can't wait for your spring, my sweetheart. I miss you.

XOX

Break it Down

2008-10-14T09:45:00.004+11:00

Last night I dreamt that the world was running out of oxygen. I was on a train, and people started turning blue. I ran, jumped up on to a telegraph wire, as lava streamed through the city. I saw Tiger and Monkey and scooped them up ... not caring about Mr TC and stepson. The world was about to end, so I took the boys off in search of a bar so I could get drunk.

In real life, my coffee machine AND MODEM is broken. Life is not worth living without internet access. Yesterday I drove around the streets near my house, trying to hack into to someones wireless. They were all security-enabled. I mean, c'mon! Where did all the trusting people go? This morning, I drove to an internet cafe - shut. Skanky video store with computers - not working. I pushed Monkey up the street in his pram, sweating, my hair looks SHIT, fighting back my tears. I hate this town. I hate the people in this town. Alternative FREAKS. I have said to Mr TC for years that I don't want to live here anymore. He will not be the only one to re-assess everything after his chemo.

Stepson coming back is a huge shock. I'm not sure what I can do .... the only, only thing that has helped me get throught the last few months is having my own space, at home. Especially after everyone has gone to bed at night. His room is upstairs ... almost directly above me. I heard the toilet flush last night and mused that he is literally shitting on top of me.

It's not fair to him, to feel unwelcome from me. And I'm not being unwelcoming, I just don't know if I can live with him. He started looking through every drawer and cupboard, checking everything out. His phone kept ringing. Tiger thinks the Messiah himself has arrived, so excited and overwhelmed is he that his big brother is back.

I just went to bed early, cried myself into such a state that I rang my sister Tee, who consoled me with stories like her husbands work friend who got the letter W tattooed on each bum cheek, so that when he bent over, it spelt WOW. She saw the photo to prove it.

____

My miraculous, 4-celled IVF baby has woken up. Clutching his little Beru Bear in his fist, smiling at me with his little red hoodie on. I have to stop typing now. He gets the shits when I'm on my computer - or if I'm preoccupied doing anything else but concentrating on him.

_____

So, without further ado, I announce the winner of the great Downunder Dork-Off 08 Plate. It was very, very close. I can't talk to Mr TC right now, so my sister chose the runner-up and winner. In second place, Kate at It is Tuesday, Right?. Kate posted a LOT of pics, all equally dorkified in their glory. Way to go, Kate!!

Now, the winner. Well, there could only ever be one winner. I'd like to thank all of you who entered ... I will be emailing you to ask your addresses, so I can send some Aussie chocolate your way! Maybe even an Australia tea towel if you're lucky!

The winner is ...

*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*
*

Pam!

Oh, Pam. I have no words, for Worgirl. Look how beautiful you are now, though. For therein lies the big secret .... dorks grow up to be amazing, beautiful COOL creatures. You win the plate! AND some choc.

I am now leaving this internet bookstore. I don't know where to go - I don't want to go home. I am ITCHING for anyone to stop me, and grill me about Mr TC. Itching, I tell you.

Midnight is Where the Day Begins

2008-10-11T23:51:00.003+11:00

Just quickly need to clarify something. The reason I said I didn't want uplifting comments on a recent post is because ... well, I keep getting so many uplifting comments. And it makes me embarrassed, and a bit "get over yourself, fucks sake." Because, ummm, I keep being in pain and writing it and you are all too nice, and I imagine a nasty person reading thinking oh, shut up already. You only want uplifting comments!

And it's not true - I mean, uplifting comments are very, very nice. Unreal, in fact. But, you know how, when your husband's got cancer, and you're minding 2 kids, how stressful that is. Well, I'm behind in commenting, and reading other peoples blogs, and I feel worried that all I do is take take take.

My plan is to FINALLY try get a google reader happening, get up to date with reading all the blogs I'm itching to read but too busy being all fucked up.

Because, it's nearly the end of chemo, and the end is triggering memories of the beginning of chemo, and spiral spiral spiral ........ I blog, and keep ending up with uplifting comments. And yes I'm over my childhood, but the scars that remain include a very big sense of "I'm not worthy".

You have all kept me propped up. (Props for Topcat!) And fuck me, you simply make me hate people less. Thank you for every. Single. Uplifting. Mofo. Comment.

It's midnight, I am so fucking tired. But I just love the night. I come alive, feel the safest, get my groove on.

Apparently my groove needs to go to sleep. Immediately.

XO

Dorks, Dorks, Everywhere

2008-10-11T15:14:00.003+11:00

New additions to the Great Dork-Off 08 Plate.

Did I mention that Mr TC will be judging the winner? I can't pick. The thought of choosing one winner makes me break out into a sweat, flashbacks of Meryl Streep in Sophie's Choice replaying in my head. "Take my boy. Take my little boy!"

Entries close (and winner announced) on Tuesday. Thanks to all who have participated so far. Mr TCs chemo sux big fat dirty dogs balls, so the Dork-Off is making me smile.

XOXOXOXOX

"You Gotta See the Bay-bee!"

2008-10-10T21:30:00.006+11:00

Considering I have, you know, A BABY, I thought I would give an update. Because, I did actually pine for him for years before he came - and now he's here - and I'm still trying to be not so damn preoccupied with the stupid Fiasco.

Sometimes, I sniff and sniff and sniff his head, and get sad that one day he will grow up and leave me, and I will never be able to sniff his head anymore. I want to travel to different countries with him ... with Tiger too. I want them to love me. I want to not fuck them up too much. Monkey smiles at everyone he meets .... even scary dudes. (Like, in the grocery store or something. I don't take him to biker hangouts or anything).

He has his mums big man hands and feet. He still doesn't roll over. I have asked my sisters ... "Hey, what do babies do?" I click on blogs - "normal" blogs, where people don't swear and rage at the moon, and recover from heroin. I click on them to see what Monkey possibly should be doing by now. (My brain just does not work these days). Then I do the same things with him, and he loves it. Thank God for the normal people, otherwise he would just play with my keys for a year.

He is on solids ... I know it's early, but trust me - the guy wanted food. I've pureed up some veggies for him, he gobbles it down in two seconds flat. Most of this week, he had store-bought food, because I couldn't get my shit together. There is a whole fresh, organic range in the fridge at the supermarket. Oh yeah!!

I finally got him weighed at the clinic - the nurse gave me grief about putting him on solids too early. Previously, the other nurse had given me grief about having him on soy milk. I will never go back there again - I have enough grief. I also have a healthy baby, so fuck off. Some people just shame other people, for no good reason.

Monkey weighs 7 kilos. In nine days he will be five months old. He smiles with his entire face, loves chewing on his hands, and ADORES his big brother Tiger.

He is sleeping pretty well, sometimes five hour stretches, occasionally the whole night.

Tiger was eating a pizza bread roll. I was out of the room, came back in, and sensed something happened. "What?" I said to Tiger.

Without missing a beat, he told me he crushed up a tiny bit of ham with lots of water and gave it to Monkey, and Monkey loved it. Pork water, ladies. My baby ate PORK WATER.

We went out for dinner for the first time the other night ... I forgot his food, bottle, bib and nappies. Seriously! Lucky it was my friends pizza restaurant. I went over and asked if he could make Monkey some pumpkin soup. He loved it.

Last year, when I started to tell people I got pregnant on IVF #1, I got mainly the same response ... "Ohhh, it worked straight away! It was meant to be!"

It irked me. What of the people who it didn't work for straight away. Was it not meant to be? Then, when Mr TC got diagnosed, people would say ... "Ohhhh, what terrible timing!"

If it was "meant to be" from the beginning, then there would have been no terrible timing at the end. I kept repeating myself to people. "Look, sometimes there's no good or bad, right or wrong. It just IS."

Of course I have wondered how differently I would be parenting a baby, had my hubbie not gotten that pesky cancer when he did. I don't know. I also wonder, how would I have coped with Mr TCs cancer if I didn't have a baby? All pointless questions, really.

He is beautiful. So handsome. I'm not biased ... he really is a fucking handsome little guy. Like his big brother. Speaking of which ... his BIGGEST brother, the sixteen year old one ... will be back here on Monday. Where IS that stepmother hat of mine? I know I left it hanging around the place somewhere ...

___

Tonight, my Beige Guy is the Beigest. Chemo day is so putrid and grey. The energy here gets all fucked up. I realise that every chemo, I always spend a bit of money. Tiger always gets Lego. I treat myself ... to some top-shelf chocolate and European mineral water. Found myself doing things today ... but always thinking of him, sitting down at the big hospital next to one of my sisters, dreading the poisoning. He cannot hardly stand another second of it. There are three weeks left. I wonder whatever will happen next? Will he go into remission, and then the cancer will never come back, so we can wipe our brows and say "Phew! Lucky we made it through that one!"

Can shit like that happen? Where IS that crystal ball of mine ... must be next to my stepmother hat somewhere.

See - see what just happened? The Fiasco hijacked the baby news again.

But, he brings us back every time. He cuts through chemo clouds with a single smile. I look at his amazingness, and I can't believe how gorgeous he is and how lucky I am.

The Great 08 Dork-Off Plate

2008-10-10T08:02:00.007+11:00

Calling all dorks! Welcome to the Inaugural Downunder Dork-Off.

Things have been getting a little bit too serious here, at Chez "Husband Battling Cancer" Topcat .... so some comedic light relief was in order.

Please, please join in the dorky fun! Have a laugh at yourself ... but more importantly, let others laugh at you! It's good for the soul! All you need to do is find the most dorkiest photo of yourself ever. Some of you will have a lot to choose from - I know I did.

Here is the current list of cringe-worthy participants. Don't be shy! Let me know you've posted a pic and I will add you, STAT.

1. Stacie at Heere, Storkey Storkey

2. Maya at Gemini Girl

3. Pam at Bloodsigns

4. Flicka at Vacant Uterus

5. Dora at ISO the Golden Egg

6. My sister Rex

7. Me, here. But, I can't give the Dork Plate to myself. Well, I could, but you know, defeats the purpose.

8. Evil Stepmonster

9. Beth at Living the Mile High Life

10. Lori at Weebles Wobblog

11. You! Come on ..... release your inner dork!

Here is the Great 08 Dork-Off Plate, in all its glory .....

You KNOW you want it!!!! Look how much it cost ....

Every single participant wins CHOCOLATE, the winner gets chocolate AND the Plate. It's like, the total Motherfucking Oscars all over again.

Ok, so today is chemo day. I'm off to find a rock to hide under.

See you on the dorky side ...

Better

2008-10-09T23:19:00.003+11:00

I totally feel so motherfucking much better .... the awful, relentless fear I've had since Mr TCs funny turn the other night is finally starting to lift. I was starting to get so over myself, as the only thing that has helped this week was climbing into my bed with my laptop at the end of the day and letting loose. I was starting to get so embarassed about being stuck in the mire.

Wondering incessantly all over again if Mr TC was going to die just threw me for a six, along with being quite worn down with the Fiasco.

Mr TC has chemo tomorrow, he is absolutely dreading it. He asked me to book a ticket for stepson to come back ... on Sunday. Ummmm, shit. I feel strangely ok about it, right here in this moment. My theory is, we can't handle any more clusterfucks, so perhaps stepson coming back is going to be a positive thing. I love him, very much. He lived with us for six years, that's a lot of memories, history, laughs.

Today, me Monkey and Tiger went to an op-shop. I found the Dork Challenge Prize. It is awesome. My sister Rex gave me some pics for her entry ...

Rex and Tee

Rex and the Mullet, by Dr. Suess

Tiger came up from behind me when I had this pic up on my computer. He says "Mum, who's that guy?"

I Need a Bullet

2008-10-08T21:51:00.003+11:00

Just clicked on my blog and almost shat myself .... that photo!! I clearly see why I had NO boyfriend in year 8, for Christs sake. My mum used to take me to the hairdressers and TELL them what kind of style to cut. Once, I had really long hair ... and she made the hairdresser cut it all off. I sat there, powerless in the chair. The hairdresser knew I didn't want it cut. She kept asking me .. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Mum was standing right next to her, answering "Oh yes, she does. Just cut it."

So traumatic. Fuck I hate her for that, she had such a hold over me. I've felt a lot of anger towards her this week, actually. I think it's because I've had such a hard time the last few days, and I cannot rely on her for anything. She's useless to me. I actually called her last week, to be nice. She'd just moved house, she's moved house every few years for her entire life. I want to get her a sticker printed .. "Wherever you go, there you are!"

She just raved on with crap for over ten minutes, no kitchen cupboards in her new place, her workfriends, blah blah ... and then she asked how I was.

Anyway, I didn't log on to write about her. Fuckwit .....

Here are some bullets, for no particular reason:

* Please, please stop by Only Half Nuts. She is facing some seriously scary, tumour-like shit with her husband. Please give her a hug, love, and support.

* I cannot believe how shithouse I feel. Had at least three meltdowns today, punching the floor, ugly crying, etc. If it wasn't so fucking painful it would be funny.

* Mr TC keeps shitting me so bad. We keep having stupid arguments. Fuck I'm over him. But, there's this tiny little voice in the back of my brain telling me to back off, because if something bad happens to him, I will regret being such a bitch. I hate that I think that.

* The only reason I am not smoking cigarettes is because I don't want to get cancer. I don't want my kids having BOTH parents with cancer.

* My friend who busted isn't answering her phone. She said she's only had "just pot". But for an addict, there's no such thing as "just" anything. Once you start having anything that is mind-altering, it's only a matter of time before the beast is awakened, and you get led on your merry way to your drug of choice, with full-blown addiction not far behind. I'm worried about her kids, and pissed off at her. I can't stand it when I hear of drug-addicted parents. If you want to use, go ahead. It's your right. But, if you have children and are a practising addict, then you lose the right to have your kids. Unfortunately, most times the kids get dragged through their parents addiction. It's called "taking hostages." I only rang my friend to see if she wanted to come to a meeting with me.

Now I need to steer clear of her, because I need to keep myself safe. If I make it ok that she is using, then I could make it ok for me to use. And I do not want to use. Actually, a big part of me probably wants to. I mean, come on!! I've hit the junkie jackpot here .... people would understand .. poor Topcat, she had a baby and her husband got cancer! What a wonderful excuse! (My friends mother died recently. There's her excuse right there). Last week, for the first time in my whole recovery, I cried because I couldn't have a drink. I just wanted to take the edge off. (Well, more like "take the cliff off.") I won't, and I'm talking to people about it, sharing in meetings - writing about it. If I was really in danger of picking up, I would keep it all a secret and pretend and let it fester inside me.

I am NOT dragging my kids through that. Also, I will not give people the satisfaction of more gossip about my family. And, I have things to do in my life! So many dreams I still want to fulfill. This shitty, awful period is nearly over. I hope. Oh dear God I hope so.

* Mr TCs stomach is swollen. He's worried the tumours are back. I told him not to worry ... it's probably just fat. I made light of it, but I am worried too. Especially that he feels so bad and it's chemo on Friday. I'm scared about how his body will cope.

* Sometimes I want to grab both my kids and run run run out of this house away from him and away from the sick and the tumours and not look back.

* Monkey is seven kilos. I will write a whole post about him soon. He smiles at everyone he meets - LOVES it when people talk to him. He's so beautiful. Sometimes, though, I think that babies are such hard work it's hard for the mother to simply enjoy them.

* I'm in constant emotional pain. I cannot WAIT for my sister Rex to get here tomorrow night. She told me she's bringing her 90's CD, so I will clear us a dancefloor.

* You're not allowed to leave any amazing, uplifting comments to this post.

* I keep finding people on Facebook who I really wished I'd forgotten about.

* My heart is so heavy, I may have to build it a little cart to sit in and wheel around. Cannot wait to talk about the present day in the past tense.

* Christmas decorations are up in shops. WTF!!!!!!!

* I will do a proper post about the dork competition. It's like, my comedy relief. Fucking hilarious. I will link to everyone who's posted their pics ... you have until next Tuesday. Check out Stacies bowling trophies. BOWLING TROPHIES!! Or, Dora's pic, of her adorable, cross-eyed, baby self. (Dora I HEART you for posting that. And you are adorable, I mean it!) Gemini Girl had some serious afro situations goin' on ... plus some ve-ry saucy pis of getting spanked! C'mon, join the Dork Challenge!! Let me know when you post a pic.

* I'm starting to get really concerned about my stepson coming back here. Makes me panic. A lot.

* Today, I thought I'd better pick an Angel card. I was reaching my hand out towards it, thinking "I really need to pick the surrender card." (The card that I kept picking on the day Monkey was born).

* I picked the surrender card.

The Dork Challenge

2008-10-08T07:55:00.003+11:00

Sad thing is I have SO many photos to choose from.

In Sickness and In Health

2008-10-07T22:36:00.004+11:00

Ok so I need to get THAT post off the top.

When I was writing it, I thought, "Well, there's NOTHING that ANYONE can say that could possibly make me feel better."

Wrong, wrong, and wrong. It's like, you incredible women are all in recovery. So wise and sage-like. Fucking amazing, profound and powerful. To think I used to hate women! Competition, all of you. When I first got to rehab, there was talk of how same-sex AA/NA meetings were really good. "Womens meeting! Why would I go to a stupid womens meeting? There's no men!"

Now, my most favourite meetings are womens meetings. We all share differently, with little restraint, really get into shit and open up. It's fucking awesome.

When I blog of the difficulties facing my family ... or when I read of other peoples hardships, I get reminded of the power of meetings, and how and why they work. Witnessing each others lives, helping each other out. Connecting. You have picked my faith up, when I have dropped it. Dusted it off, and handed it back to me - shinier than before. You make my spirit feel like a river.

So, even though today still sucked some serious arse, (or ASS, as you Americanos call it) ... it was of course better than yesterday.

Mr TC really made an effort tonight .. was teaching Tiger how to make a cup of tea. They laughed and talked for about 10 minutes, how it warmed (thawed) my heart! Then, Mr TC was talking about how he sleeps upstairs. He said something about how I "don't care about the old sick man upstairs anymore." I felt so bad. I kissed him, told him I wanted to breathe his breath. (We used to say that when we first got together). I said I'm sorry, I had reached my limit with it all months ago, and I just don't know how I'm getting through these days.

___

I'm about to fall asleep on my computer. I need to shut it off ... without even reading anybody's blog. Take take take, tsk tsk. I still haven't set up a google reader account, but I will.

__

Now, as for the Dork Photo Situation?? Awesome. Some people have posted theirs already, next Monday I will link them all to a post and name the winner. The cool news is ..... you get a prize even for just posting a pic. Cool. A prize all the way from Topcat Town, Australia. What could be better! So realease your inner dork immediately. You KNOW it's in there, girlfriend. XOX

Not such a Motherfucking Beautiful Day

2008-10-06T21:44:00.008+11:00

Today has been one of the worst, fucked up, rotten days in a long motherfucking time. It's now 9.45pm ... two hours and fifteen more minutes of it left. You are going DOWN, motherfucker.

Let me just backtrack .... the last few days I have been feeling really crap. I was on a high when Mr TC was away - I was free from his black, energy-sucking aura. Usually I miss him when he is away, but no, not this time. I needed a break. I did so much when he was gone, just accomplished a lot of crap that has been building up for, oh, four and a half months.

Last Friday I was looking at my blog stats ... a lot of people find their way to my blog by googling bowel gas (heh), and bad nuchal, and missing ovary. (Mine went MIA for a while but was eventually found). I notice that a lot of the time, people come here, then go clicking through May's posts. May was when we found out about Mr TC, and when the baby came. So, it was a pretty fucking busy month, no?

I don't mind that people do that at all .... I decided to have a go myself. So, there I went, back into my late-pregnancy days, all bitching and moaning. And I knew what was coming. I wanted to travel through time, whisper into my own ear some gentle words of warning. "Brace yourself, sweetheart! We're in for a big one!" Then BANG, tumours. POW. Baby. BIFF. Chemo. The onslaught. Us AAs have a saying for this .... it is called "life on lifes' terms". Well don't I win the fucking prize for that one.

Of course, rehashing it all made me quite upset. And shocked. I think I'm in a bit of denial around it all, maybe. But, I re-read all the comments from that time also, and the shock from people was just so great. And the total compassionate outpouring of love from people I have never met in the flesh. And it all just kind of hit me, and I haven't felt the same since I read it all.
Then Mr Chemo comes back, and the weight resumed it's chains around my neck, and we are back doing time again. And we had a big argument, because he just picks apart every fucking thing I do. He has always done this ... such a control freak. (The Fat Bald Beige Controller.)Usually I can laugh about it and stand up and mime out an air traffic controller trying to land a plane, to remind him that he's doing it. But it wasn't funny. I'm busting my gut here. He's been off in Queensland dealing with his other children, while our children here don't really even notice that he's away because he does nothing for them anyway.

Oh my God life is so hard these days. I did not sign up for this bullshit.

Anyway, cut a long story short (too late!) ...... my day started at 4am this morning, with Mr TC calling out to me from the upstairs toilet. He must have called my name 20 times. Suddenly I realised and sat straight up in bed, my heart sinking and the terror forming all over again. I don't think I can adequately describe the horror, of hearing your formerly tough, strong, macho, proud husband ... feebly calling your name in the middle of the night like that. It was the same as the night that we first found out about his tumours, I had to take him into the toilet and help him back to bed. I was nine fucking months pregnant - do you know how hard it is to squat on the toilet floor when your belly is so big you can hardly breathe? And your baby kicks to remind you that he's there, because you know, you forgot? And you don't really care?!

This morning, I ran upstairs to Mr TC. He was on the toilet, shaking, clammy, heavy breathing. He gets worked up into such a state, that I think just my presence calms him down. I literally had to hold his head up. He told me later that he really thought he was going to die. (Of course, no ambulance or doctor for him. Pfft. Ambulances are for pussies, apparently.) I laid down next to him in his bed, he kept apologising, I kept reassuring him it was cool, I was cool. I was feeling like such an arsehole because of the big fights we'd just had hours before.

I laid there for an hour with him, holding him, listening to him breathe. Then Monkey woke for a feed so I came downstairs.

Wake up, Mr TC has no "energy" left to do anything with us - fair enough. But then he cleans his office for two hours. Then he goes to work. Leaving me with both boys. Tiger is on school holidays ... and today was a fucking public holiday. I have an overdue article, and other writing work. Took boys to park - starts raining immediately. Got movies out. Went back home. Monkey crying. Tiger addicted to playstation. Overwhelmed. Can't do my AA meeting because I have kids. Have to cancel hair appointment on Thursday because Mr TC is too busy to mind them. My split ends have split ends.

Then he comes home and "minds" Monkey, while I go upstairs to do some work. Monkey frets for 2 hours. Mr TC puts him to bed - at 4.30 pm .... then he gets ready to do his NA meeting. because, you know, it's HIS cancer, so HE gets to do whatever the fuck he wants. Monkey wakes up, of course. It takes me two hours to put him back to bed. Then I sat in my dinner. Then I realised I left my chocolate in my car, the car that Mr TC has borrowed.

I sit down to watch Nims Island with Tiger. Pretending to be all composed, but I really felt like this

If you saw Mr TC in the street, you would know he is a cancer patient. It's gotten all just really fucked up now. His body must be so, so toxic. The poor thing. I do love him . It's just so hard. Watching the decline. There are two more chemos left, the thought of which makes me sick. One is this Friday, and then the last one has been moved to the 30th of this month. I can't wait until it stops, and he can come good again.

So, Mr TC walks in tonight after the meeting, and tells me the news that his son will be coming back to live with us next week. I kind of knew it would happen. It's just, I seem to have no control over my life. Everything is just happening and I can't stop it. If things turn to shit with my stepson, then I will not fight it, I really will leave. The thought of him staying up late every night makes me truly feel ill. For some reason, I need everyone in bed before I go to bed.

I sat there, watching the rest of Nims Island, waiting until Tiger was in bed before my mental breakdown. Whaddya know ... at the end of the film, what song gets played but a U2 song. And not just ANY U2 song ...... Beautiful Day. The tears flooded, hot with rage. No, Bono, it's not. It is very far from a fucking Beautiful Day.

Blah. Ran out of steam. End of my tether, give it all up and let it all go.

I don't understand anything.

Show and Tell: Squizzy and the Dork

2008-10-05T18:08:00.009+11:00

Meet Squizzy .... my grandfather. He hated Americans. He fought in the war, escaped from Japanese war camps twice. He had the bluest eyes, with a humour to match. Watching the news, if it had anything about America, he would sneer at the TV. "Only the bloody yanks!' He would mutter to himself. He said it was because their celebrities, evangelists, sports heros ... were just too loud and brash and showy.

The real reason for his hatred was because American soldiers used to come to Australia during the war years, and steal all of the Aussie women. They would tempt them away from their beaus with gifts of chocolate and real hosiery. Squizzy .. and all of his Digger mates .. never got over it.

If he was still alive, I picture him watching the incessant media coverage on the American election down here in Australia, shaking his head, barely disguising his contempt. "Only the bloody yanks!" Especially if he saw Sarah Palin ... I mean seriously.

Now, I have no authority on this, except I am a citizen of the world. President Bush has been a laughing stock downunder for many years now ... he actually visited us last year, and was on the news that night calling us "Austrians." Yes, yes he did. It was so wrong, and so very funny. We expected nothing less.

Obama instills a sense of hope in me ... not just for America, but for the world. To keep this short and sweet ... I truly hope Sarah Palin does not make it to VP. She is being caned on the talk shows down here, the footage of her acting like an idiot in interviews is getting shown over and over. The sad thing is, I don't think people would be surprised if she got in.

Pam has said/shown it all best in this post. What really had me worried was that Sarah Palin needs the word "nuclear" spelt out for her on the tele-prompter like this ... "new-clear". Otherwise she pronounces it "nucu-lar". To me ... a spelling, editing, proof-reading freak ... that's completely inexcusable. Especially considering, you know, what that words actually MEANS.

It's not my intention to insult anyone ... hell, you should hear what I have to say on Australian politics. Most of our politicians are fucking elitist, lying, out-of-touch WANKERS. Just putting my two-cents worth in. I'm intrigued about the outcome, in a months time.

And I would like to clarify ... Squizzy was quite a racist turd, but he was the closest thing to a father figure I had. He ADORED me and my two sisters, I think because he saw the bullshit we were being brought up in. He would have adored all of my bloggy friends, too. Flirted and batted his baby blues at you.

I found this pic of him holding me when I was a week old. Of course, there's no pic of my actual father holding me at that time. I was too busy being a girl for him to be bothered doing things like bonding or nurturing ....

And, if I really did offend anyone, here is my penance. You can laugh at this photo of my totally dorky, cringe-worthy teenage self. In baggy purple track pants, and plastic glasses so large they cover my entire face ....

... I know, I know. You are SO jealous of my hotness right now.

EDITED TO ADD: Ummm, I would like to clarify that I LOVE America. I went to LA as a dorky fifth grader, and never ever wanted to come back home. America rocks. Shizzle 'fo wizzle.

___

Actually, I propose a competition. You must find the dorkiest photo of yourself, and post it on your blog. Say, in a weeks time. There will be a prize for the most dorksome. A really, really dorky prize. xo

Go and check out the other kids Show and Tells at Mels place ... HERE. Go on. You might find a blog you fall in love with.

Recent Conversations in my House

2008-10-02T22:08:00.003+10:00

Playing DS next to Tiger, I randomly realised I could bray like a donkey. The likeness was uncanny.

Me: "Hee-haw!!"
Tiger: "Doooonn't."
Me: "But it sounds exactly like a donkey. Hee-haw!!"
Tiger: "Don't mum!"
Me: "HEE-HAW!"
Tiger: Pauses his game and looks at me sternly. "Stop it mum! You are being so annoying to me!"
I stopped, suitably chastened.

______

Monkeys cradle cap is DISGUSTING. My sister Tee tells me to put oil on it. I walk up to her with a can of spray cooking oil.
Me: Deadpan "Can you hold him, and I'll just spray this on his head."
She looked at me like WTF!!!! We pissed ourselves laughing.

______

After I SLATHER the guys head in oil, Mr TC gets him up after a nap.
Mr TC: "What the fuck have you done to him!"
I told him I put oil on his cradle cap.
Mr TC: "Oh, hon. You need to dry it out in the sunshine, not put oil on it!"
Me: "No, it's oil."
Mr TC: "Sun."
Me: "Oil!"
Mr TC: "Sun! Sun! Sun!"
Me: Grabbing Monkey, running away, desperately trying to get the last word. "Oil. Oil. Oil. La la la la la ..." Slams door.

_____

Driving in the car ...
Mr TC: "Geez, I've got a few pimples."
Me: "I know, the chemo has given them to you. Looks a bit like acne."
*Crickets*
(Mr TC is so proud about his appearance. He thinks for a moment.)
Mr TC: "Well. Look at your toe hairs!"
(It's true, for some ridiculous reason I used to shave my toe hair as a kid, and now it looks like pubes growing from my toes.)
Me: "Piss off!"
Mr TC: "Well you're telling me I'm an acne head! I'd blunt my razor on those toes of yours!"

_____

My sister said my life is a sitcom.

Mr TC is Incredulous

2008-10-01T19:13:00.002+10:00

He read the comments. He couldn't believe it, was totally blown away. He rang me, crunching chips down the phone.

Mr TC: "Hon! I can't believe all of those comments! It's like, they know me! How do they know me? And how do they know what I look like?"

Me: "Well, I've written about you a bit, and *cough* I've put a few pics of you on there. My whole blog changed when you got crook, mate. How awesome are they all!?"

Mr TC: "Yeah ... I can't believe it! We've got fucking places to stay all around the world! Tell 'em I can go on for another six months with that kind of a lift. Amazing! "

Me: "Well, hopefully you won't need to. Hey - it's October! Chemo finishes in October!!"

Then we had a faux argument, he said it was September 31st. I told him there was no September 31st. He said his watch told him it was. I said who do you believe, your watch or your wife? Silence. He believes his watch!! I said fine, have another day of chemo if you really want it. Then he goes, hon did you know it really actually is Paul Newman on those spaghetti jars? I said well yeah, who did he think it was? He didn't know.

Me: "Did you know Paul Newman died last week?"
Mr TC: "You're kidding! What from?"
Me: *Cough* "Ummm, ahhhhh .... hmmmmmm. I think cancer."

Wife of the Year.

(Mr TC says to tell all of you thank you, so much. Of course, he's all puffed up at the compliments ..... "So. They like me!! Heh heh.")

xoxoxox

Three Pics of My Three Sons

2008-10-01T16:01:00.003+10:00

I actually have three sons, you know.

Tiger, Monkey, and Crash Bandicoot.

Aint Nothing Like the Truth

2008-09-30T20:51:00.004+10:00

Ok, so Mr TC is flying to Queensland tomorrow to watch his son play soccer. Stepson is an amazing player, and is in the trials to possibly get picked for Australias Under 17's. He will be flying back to his mum and sister. I'm too tired and overwhelmed to go, and truthfully - I need a break from Mr TC. Cancer is a full-time job, and it's killing me. (HA).

I've spent all afternoon adjusting, scanning, and collating a shitload of photographs, spanning the last eight years. I've made an album for stepson, and an album for stepdaughter. (I'm REALLY going to have to think of some better names.) I'm an avid photo taker - there are so many happy, smiling, amazing memories. They are very alike, Mr TC and his daughter. The same looks, same laid-back attitude, same quirkiness.

Finally, after a hectic afternoon of photos, writing quotes for Mr TC, minding Monkey .... I bolted up the street at 4.30pm to get all the pics printed. Only to be turned away again, and again. Three photo places I went to, all said they couldn't do it because they are closing soon.

I had one more to go to, ran up the hill panting with Monkey in the sling, and Tiger running after me, starting to get worried himself the poor sweetheart.

"Mum ... ummmmm, what are you going to do if they say no too?"
"Well my love, I might cry. But hopefully they will print them."

I went in and asked the lady, she said sorry, but she didn't think they had time. Tiger was browsing off in the store, so I leaned over to her and spoke quietly.

"Look, this is so important to me, and I would really appreciate it if you could do this. My husband has cancer. He's flying out to Queensland to see his son play soccer tomorrow, between his chemo treatments. I've spent the day copying all of these pics to get them printed off, to remind both of my stepkids what an amazing father they have. I need my stepdaughter to know that she has a place in our family and her dad will get better and hopefully be able to see her soon."

Without a word, she patted my back, closed her shop and printed every last one. They look magnificent.

________

And as for the APB follow-up? Oh my God. Oh my GOD. I am printing all of the comments out now .... EIGHT pages worth. Just - unbelievable. I'm going to give them to him in an envelope to take with him tomorrow, with instructions to read them when he is in his motel room alone. He will just be so blown away. Blown, I tell you.
It may take me a few days, but I'm going to thank all of you personally. He won't know what hit him - POW, an avalanche of love, and support, and humour and sageness. How much do women rock? You all ROCK the whole FUCKING HOUSE DOWN. Goddamit I want to have a fuck-off cancer party, and invite every single one of you. I'm going to pay this forward so much .... thank you doesn't even cut it. BUT THANK YOU!!!! xoxoxoxoxxoxooxo

Putting Out an APB

2008-09-29T19:25:00.007+10:00

"... you gotta cry without weeping,
Talk without speaking ..
Scream without raising your voice.
You know I took the poison,
From the poison stream and I floated
.. outta here.""

- Running to Stand Still, U2

So fucking melancholy and weepy lately. I keep turning around, because it feels like someone is behind me. I'm either being haunted - by one of my dads, or my nan ... or it's the long-lost monkey on my back come to say hello. Incessant dreams about drinking and shooting up ... it's my sub-conscious, really wanting to use. I've stepped up my meetings, and will most likely even reach out *gasp!* to an older woman in recovery I know, see if she can help me do some step work. I need to shift some of this bullshit - take some rocks out of my backpack. My whole neck and upper back has seized, most likely from carrying the whole weight of the world on my shoulders. A good friend of mine busted this week, which has really shaken me up. Both her and her husband had almost nine years clean time up - I can't believe it. They have four children, and I just know that it's going to end badly. So sad - but makes me realise I am not immune. And fuck knows, the past 4+ months have reminded me of why I used to use drugs .... takes away all the pain. (Also takes away everything else, too ... unfortunately).

My shining light this week has been finding a new version of "Running to Stand Still" on iTunes. It is my favourite U2 song of all time - big call, I know. Bono wrote it about a girl he knew in Dublin who was a heroin addict. I want it played at my funeral. Specifically, in the middle of my funeral, after the eulogy. Very, very loud. In its entirety. Does anyone else plan the songs of their funeral, or am I the only freak?

Today I did a load of washing, but had no desire to hang it out, so it's still in the washing machine. Lethargic, useless, stranded, and a bit fucked up.

Blah blah fucking fucking cancer cancer cancer cancer cancer chemo chemo chemo chemo.

Some photos might save this post ......

It's Mr TCs new favourite thing, to carry Monkey around the lake in his sling. See that hat he's got on? It's MINE. But, he loses his hair, and asked if he could "borrow" it. I mean really, all with the excuses to wear my headwear. We got another one - so now we both wear matching hats. Which is very Keith and Nicole of us, I know. But hey - she copied off me, by having a baby with red hair.

Oh, and as for Monkey? Yeah, nothing much to report, except he's ON SOLIDS. Yes. yes he is. He is SUCH big baby, I'm getting him weighed tomorrow. I have been putting it off. Why?
Because the FUCKING midwife always asks "HOW'S MR TC????" In front of a room full of people. So, I have no idea what my baby weighs. None. Anyone got a good comeback for the midwife? I'm so tired of dumb people. Someone asked me about Mr TC yesterday .... I very nearly told them he was dead. Just to fuck with their puny, miniscule brains. (I wonder if my bitterness will go away, after the Fiasco fades??) Ahem - anyway, look, a cute baby eating ...

He has eaten pumpkin, rice cereal, lentils, and vegetables. The very first thing he tried was mashed banana - very fitting, considering his blog nick-name. He LOVES his food. It's such a relief, I was so pissed off that he was only getting his food from a can. (Formula). Tiger keeps wanting to eat it too ..

(Lately I confess to fantasising about young, hot, cancer-free men, whisking me away, to an island in the sea where the drugs are on tap, the sun never sets, I have no husband, no children, no responsibilities, no guilt.)

However, I still smile ....

Lastly. My most beautiful, amazing peeps. My bloggies. You myriad of wonderful, amazing women, from all over the world. I need you! I have a favour to ask you - all of you.

Mr TC has really, really had enough. Not seeing his daughter recently has been the final straw - he is so depressed, and downhearted. Every morning he wakes up defeated, talks of leaving, moving, selling, fucking off to anywhere but here. The chemo has almost crushed him. It won't, but in his words he's really "Doin' it tough, hon."

I was wondering if you could leave him a comment? A message of love and hope, directly to him? I will print them off and give them to him to read ... I know he will appreciate it. He'll probably get all big-headed and annoying, but I'm willing to cop that. He needs a bit of a lift, and my back is so sore from holding us both up lately.

XOXOXOXOXOXOX

(Oh, one more thing ... this week, I shall devote a whole post to Sarah Palin. Oh yes. yes I will.)

Maybe I Am Beige Now Too

2008-09-25T17:18:00.011+10:00

Had a hard few days. I'm putting WAY too much pressure on myself lately, to work from home and mind Monkey. It's getting harder, too, as he gets older. I end up getting nothing done. I half mind the baby, half work, and half go crazy. I'm swimming through mud.

Mr TC and I take it in turns to get all morose. It's been his turn this week, my God he looks so pale and awful, depressed and fed up. We are having SERIOUS financial issues, which I feel quite guilty about. I always promised him I would continue to work and earn money, even with a baby. But, umm, it's a bit hard! Especially, you know, after the whole Fiasco and everything. I just can't believe how much grief he's getting from people .... we are not on the breadline, but it's been hard for him, realising he might have to sell stuff that he has spent years building up ... for his kids, and for his superannuation.

There's heaps of other shit going down. Blah blah I hate people blah blah.
_____

Buoyed from the fucking incredibly insightful comments on my last post, I rang Sandi (that silly masseuse!) to tell her that I won't be using the voucher, maybe she could offer my friends their money back. She was quite cold, I was quite weepy from calling my favourite auntie to tell her she can't come up and visit me tomorrow. (I blamed Mr TC, but the reality is I just don't want to see anyone. Ummm, anxious, much?) Anyway, I told Sandi exactly why I got so upset. She denied it, which made me turn into a kid again and doubt my whole reality. It was weird ... having this nitpicking conversation with a massage therapist about the state of my husbands tumours. I mean, seriously. I softened my tone, and brought it back to my reality on a daily basis of people putting in their two-cents worth. I just wish she could have owned her stuff, instead of flitting around. She said I "misunderstood" what she was saying .... she also said she hardly slept all weekend because she felt so bad. I believed that bit, for she is a mainly nice person. Just fucking dumb. She kept telling me what the internet told her ... finally I said "Sandi! Do you think you are telling me things I don't know?? This is our life! We have been living this every day for five months!"

She shut up. And offered me a limitless supply of massages, which I shall never redeem. Because she's a liar liar pants on fire sitting on the telegraph wire.

___

Recently, I received an email out of the blue, from someone I had never heard of. She said her name was Kate, and that she had been reading my blog for a while. She told me all the wonderful stuff, (how cool I am, naughty cancer, I rock, etc) ... and asked for my address, because she lived near the HERSHEY FACTORY in AMERICA ... and had a crazy idea that some chocolate might make me feel better. Now. My dilemma ..... on one hand, she could be some 47 year old, obese, psychopathic rapist living in Sydney with a penchant for redheads, OR, she could be the real deal. My brain was chanting "HERSHEYS. HERSHEYS. HERSHEYS." I risked the rape, and gave my address. (Yes, I AM joking about rape. My husband has cancer. I can joke about whatever the fuck I want.)

She. Sent. Emergency. Supplies. OMFG.

And, when I wear my "Go Away" t-shirt so much it needs a wash .... (and I SO will. I have B.O. issues - ask my sisters. It's like, I have man glands or something. I actually have to throw t-shirts away after a while, because they just stink so bad. Or, I have to soak them in disinfectant. Good grief, is NOTHING sacred with me? No?) ...

I can swap it for this one ...

Thank you, oh Kate from It Is Tuesday, Right? For the hats and the Monkey rattle too. Totally was a bright ray of sunshine, in our otherwise fucked week. I have been on the recieving end of quite a few goodies in the mail, I am so lucky and blessed. You American chicks are so freaking generous. I think I'm an American at heart, I have always felt like I could live in Tucson. I don't even know where the fuck that is!

The hilarious thing? Mr TC thinks all the parcels recently have been from the same person. I pressed him on it.

Me: "Who? Who do you think the parcels are from?"

Mr TC: "Ohh, you know hon. That woman from your email support group."

He does not understand the concept of blogging. The chemo hasn't fried his brain - he's always been like this.

"Wake Me Up, When September Ends."

2008-09-23T12:26:00.005+10:00

This is the story of how, last Friday at approximately 5.10pm, I tore somebody a new arsehole.

*Ahem*

I live in a small community. Five days before my baby was born, my husband gets diagnosed with a life-threatening illness. I KNOW that is big news. I KNOW it stopped people in their tracks. I'm only just now starting to come to terms with it all myself. The trauma was fucking despicable. For those last pregnant five days, I felt OBSCENE. I wanted to hide. The news of Mr TC was starting to trickle out, and people would eye my big bulging belly, with the most horrible look on their faces. It felt like pity .... I HATE being pitied. I am nobodys victim. From the beginning, I have fielded all the questions that people would never ask Mr TC to his face. He can't believe how accosted I can get just out buying a carton of milk. It started to piss me off immediately, and I would put on a bright smile and say he was doing ok. The most annoying question, which I got a LOT, and still do ..... "Is he going to be ok?"

Ummm, let me just consult the magic crystal ball I have handy in my pocket. Let's see ...... oh, would you look at that. No. No he's NOT going to be ok. Thanks for asking!

I feel like I am already pitied in my life anyway. At parties, especially big family functions ... the fact that I don't drink is so incredulous to some people. People cock their heads to one side, and say .."Ummmmmm .... lemonade?" One of my aunties actually turned to my sister, during the bridal waltz at my wedding, and said. "Oh, so she can never drink again?" Like it was some sorrowful thing. Fuck - I am more free than most people I know. I have a peace in my life that that particular auntie can only dream of.

Anyway, so the Topcat family got dealt a most serious and heavy blow, back in May. Some people were respectful, gave me space, and didn't grill me like a fucking cheese sandwich. I had to go to a concert at Tigers school, when Monkey was 12 days old. I had him in the sling, my c-section scar was killing me, but I had to go. Because Tiger needed at least one fucking parent functioning. One husband there ended up chasing me out of the school after the concert, so insistent. How's Mr TC? What kind of cancer? Will he be ok? I told him I had to go. I am so rude to him now, whenever I see him. SO rude. How would he like, if HE was sick and some fuckwit chased his wife out of school?

That's what a lot of people seem to be missing ... empathy. And tact. And appropriateness. One woman I know saw me driving around the car park, and motioned for me to wind down my window. I did. She's like, "OH MY GOOOOOD I HEARD ABOUT MR TC! IS HE GOING TO BE OOOOOKKKKKK????" I had Tiger in the car with me. Do people think that he has no ears? How does he feel, when the clueless masses have their inappropriate outpourings in front of him? I asked him.

"Oh, I don't care mum. I know dad's going to be ok. They are just silly."

I have been open with Tiger from the start. Daddy has yucky lumps in his tummy, and needs yucky chemo to kill all the lumps. He asked me where the lumps came from, I said I didn't know. Then we were watching a show about a little girl with cancer (because cancer is EVERYWHERE, you know) ... and Tiger said: "Cancer. Is that what dad has?" And I said yes, in a very calm way. But inside, I was like "HOLY FUCK YOUR DAD HAS CANCER OH MY GOD THAT IS SO FREAKY."

It feels like people want to know "the latest gossip" when they ask me. In such a matter-of-fact way. They don't stop to think that just MAYBE, maybe just getting out of bed has been hard, let alone walking down the street with a small baby, fielding questions from idiots. I pretend I am on my phone a lot, once it actually rang when I was pretending, nearly burst my fucking ear drum.

Once I was in the grocery shop with Tiger and Monkey, I said hello to a woman that I vaguely know. She nodded back, and then, five minutes later, came RUNNING up to me. "Oh, it's YOU! I heard about Mr TC! Is he going to be ok?" I stood there, gobsmacked by her fucking rudeness, looked at Tiger, and said "Well, of course daddy is going to be ok, isn't he?" Then looked pointedly at her. She still didn't get it, and was asking me more questions. People have their own pre-conceived ideas about cancer, and base a lot of their reactions on their own experiences. I can totally understand it freaks people out ... but, I'm always left standing there, trying to convince them to be positive, that we really think there is every chance Mr TC will beat this. The look in their eyes tells me they are thinking the worst.

I am done.

Lately, I've felt really anxious when I am out in public, scouting around, seeing if anyone's about to pounce. Not all people are like that, of course. NONE of you internets are like that. Part of me thinks, thank GOD I had to do IVF, because I started this blog and ended up getting cancer support. And love. And empathy. You have helped me to not hate the complete human race, forevermore. How I love you all. How I feel thrilled with every single fucking comment. Even if it's just about the funny box of pink nappies. I blog a lot, I blog to get it out. To pass the time. We are all doing time in Chez Topcat. We are merely existing between chemotherapy sessions. It is awful. You have helped me, which in turn has helped my family. It's people like yourselves, who I don't mind talking about Mr TC with at all. Some women at Tigers school are so awesome .... they never ask me about Mr TC. I'm the one who brings it up, which is a refreshing change. Two of them even bought me a massage voucher, which was so lovely. I've had it for months, and finally booked it for last Friday at 5pm. Dinner was made, I reminded Mr TC 10 zillion times that I needed him home by 4.30. The house was clean, Monkey was fed. Finally, I arrived at the masseuse's house. Her name is Sandi, and Mr TC built her and her husbands house. So we know them. They are nice people.

I walked up, and she was just finishing off someone else. So I waited outside, enjoying the spring air. The other lady left, and Sandi came out. With that slapped-arse face look I know so well ....

Sandi: "How's Mr TC?"

Me: "Oh, he's really good!" (He wasn't, he was really sick that day.)

Sandi: "Is he? How many more chemos?"

Me: "Umm, two."

Sandi: "Well, I have been looking non-ho.dgk.ins info on the internet."

(A personal favourite .... when people give me their expert opinion after their 5 minute googling session. SO thoughtful of them.)

Me: Silent, starting to think, shut up now please.

Sandi: Head cocked, in a very "Do you want some lemonade" way .. "So, what kind of tumours were they?"

Me: "Aggressive."

Sandi: Winces "Ohhhhh, dear."

Me: "Actually, the aggressive kind are more responsive to the chemo than the slow-growing."

Sandi: Talking very slowly, as if to a child. "Well, Topcat, not necessarily. Some aggressive ones can actually be exacerbated by chemotherapy."

(Yes, she really did say that and no, I can't believe it either.)

I start to walk backwards, and said "Sandi, I really don't want to talk about this anymore." I felt anxious and angry and upset. She ignores me, and keeps on talking.

Now, you know how I talk a lot about how I was treated so terribly when I was a kid, how I had no voice, and could never speak up for myself? Yeah. So, I do not have that problem as an adult. As Sandi found out.

I start crying, she come close to me, all with the pity. Puppy dog eyes, yes dear, I know it must be so hard, lucky you have me to tell you how bad your husbands prognosis REALLY is. She went to hug me, I pulled away, and with a very tight, strangled voice said ...

"For fucks sake. All I wanted was a fucking massage!"

She was shocked. Probably hasn't heard the f-bomb in ten years, she is so straight. She is a nice person, but unfortunately has taken top honour in the "What NOT to say to the spouse of someone with cancer" game that I play every single day.

"Seriously! I am SO SICK of questions like this! How the fuck am I supposed to know if he is going to be ok! I DON'T FUCKING KNOW SANDI. He might die! He might go into remission! Everywhere I fucking go, it's all people want to talk about and I am SO. Fucking. Sick of it!"

She started apologising.

"Look, I know you didn't mean to upset me, but I just don't want to talk about Mr TC! If you want to know how he is, YOU call him and ask him yourself! I came here to feel better, not bloody worse! I don't want to know what you fucking googled! I just want to get through this time with some bloody dignity and respect."

At that, she started saying how much better I would feel after a massage. I told her I was in no mood for a massage, I was all churned up, and just needed a big cry. She was so freaking condescending without realising it, and told me she can "work really well with people who wanted a big cry." Ummm - she made me cry! Dipshit alert! Like, she could work her magic on the poor upset wife. What a hero.

I said no, I don't want a massage anymore, I'll ring and re-book it. She felt bad, so I told her that it's ok, I was just having a bad day.

I got in my car and started driving off. She came running out, calling my name. I looked around, saw I hadn't forgot anything, and thought fuck you. I just reversed up her drive, tears falling, wheels spinning, ignoring the fuck out of her.

I drove off, and came home. Had a nice shower, and ended up taking Tiger to see Wall-E.

She rang and left the world's most annoying message the next day. "Oh, Topcat. Whatever it is I said that offended you I apologise."

In that moment, I thought, I am NEVER getting a massage off you, you dumb idiot. Mr TC was all "Call her back hon! She'd feel so bad!" He went and got me the phone. I said "Mate! You are NOT the boss of me! How about how I feel! I am not calling her ... and I am NEVER getting a massage from her again!"

I will see her again, and I will explain to her - nicely, why her words affected me so. The most annoying thing is the fact that my back kills! I need a fucking massage!
______

Ok, during the time it took to write this post .... Mr TC came in with the mail. Stacie from Heeere Storkey Storkey posted me a t-shirt. But, not just ANY t-shirt. Can you believe what I just opened?

The timing of that is proof that God has a sense of humour. Thank you, Stacie. From the depths of my jaded little heart. I'm going to wear it .. A LOT. When people ask me dumb questions (and they will) I shall point to it. Oh yes. Yes I truly, really will. LOVE IT.

xoxoxoxoxo

I Heart Mr TC. (Especially his cluelessnessness).

2008-09-22T21:03:00.007+10:00

(I don't have the mental energy to document my meltdown at the stupid person who took the CAKE when it comes inappropriateness ... it's coming soon, though. Oh my gosh it makes me cranky just thinking about it, GRRR)

Instead, I share yesterdays story.

____

Mr TC was SO proud of himself.

"I bought a box of nappies, hon. We were running low."

Now, for him to even NOTICE that we needed nappies was worth quite a few brownie points. I follow his voice into the room .. to be greeted by this:

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I seriously fell over from laughing, he was immediately annoyed. "WHAT?"

"Well, mate. It was great of you to get them, really. But, last time I checked, we have a baby BOY."

Tiger walks in to the room, straight away says "Who are the girl nappies for?"

Thanks for the Lolly Bag, Michael.

2008-09-21T20:10:00.006+10:00

It's Mel's Show and Tell time!! Click here to see who else is standing at the head of the class, bursting with pride at showing their news!!

Today was my nephews seventh birthday party, down in Sydney. Mr TC was "too sick" to go ..... this weekend, he was also "too sick" to:

1) Come to an art gallery opening

2) Go to a family fun day

3) Go to a local annual circus equinox

4) Attend a friends birthday party

I mean, c'mon ..... he has enough energy to go to Queensland next week to watch his son play soccer. The cancer excuse is starting to wear a little thin. (I'm mostly joking). I don't want to be a single parent anymore, so I gave up on going anywhere too ... except Tomcats party. It was at a playcentre down in Sydney, and Tiger was HANGING to go. So I took him, and Mr TC minded Monkey.

My sister Tee made a pinata birthday cake ... a cake with a hard outer shell of chocolate around it, containing gold chocolate coins ...

It was a hit! (Literally)

This is what it looked like after it got attacked by a swarm of hungry boys (oh, and me. I was pulling off hunks of chocolate where I could) ..

Then I had a little jump on the jumping castle ..

And took a silly photo of me and Tee (Rex wasn't there, but I will be sure to take funny photos of us next week at her daughters birthday party. When you are the sibling of twins ... you have GOT to be fair.) ....

I ALWAYS pull that face in photos. Mr TC hates it, which makes me do it more. He calls it the Jocelyn Wildenstein face. I didn't like the age spot under my eye, it went SO dark in my pregnancy. And Tee had a strange rash thing going on under her mouth. So we rectified the situation ....

Of coure, we kept looking at the photos of ourselves and PISSING ourselves laughing. The group of women behind us were looking at us, bunch of boring turds they were.

One kid was a no-show ... Michael. At the end of the party, Tiger went up and got his lolly bag from Tee. I was just about to say "Can I have Michaels lolly bag" .... when Tee handed it to me, without saying a word.

Inner child? Man, I'm trying to find my inner adult!

(Tomorrows post ...... one poor unsuspecting woman said too many innappropriate things about Mr TCs cancer .... AND BEARS THE BRUNT OF MY RAGE.)

This Day

2008-09-20T20:26:00.004+10:00

I have loved this day. Mr TC took Monkey for a walk, and let me sleep in til 9am! He had him in the pouch, and walked all around the lake for ages. He said "He's such a good boy, hon!" I told him it was great that he's bonding with him. He said he bonded with him the moment he was born. I said you know what I mean ... and he did. (When Monkey was born Mr TC was doped up on painkillers because his tumours were hurting him so bad. He had a daypass out from the big hospital, and had to leave when Monkey was a few hours old.)

Today was HOT. The warmth, oh my God. Every cell in my body is relieved that I never, ever have to be in the winter of 2008 again. It is gone. It was the most bitter, bone achingly miserable fucking winter of my life. We bought tomato seedlings and thyme bushes and worked in the garden. Well, Mr TC did. I kind of schlepped around in my pj's til noon. Utter freaking bliss.

Today, I discovered that Monkeys right cheek is much more ticklish than his left, Tiger discovered he could hit a ball with his baseball bat VERY hard, and Mr TC discovered to his dismay that he has put on waaaaay too much weight. I told him I would rather see him with some meat on his bones, than a skinny, scary, sickly skeleton.

Today, I laughed with my sister Rex on the phone, ate leftover tuna casserole for lunch, got on a secret level of Mario with Tiger (very exciting), and watched Mr TC toil in his beloved veggie patch. I took a photo of two of my favourite birds - kookaburras. They were sitting in a tree right outside our house, laughing so very hard. I always wonder what is so darn funny. Today, Monkey didn't like his tummy time, I hired a DVD "that the whole family can watch please mum!" ...... and I didn't think about cancer that much. Fuck you, cancer ... and the tumours you rode in on.

I have LOVED THIS DAY.

xoxox

Back to Front

2008-09-19T13:07:00.005+10:00

So I'm an everyday blogger now. Who knew!

Monkey is four months old today! 16 weeks! Hallelujah! A while ago, I asked Mr TC to give him his bottle, while I took a shower. I came out, to the sound of silence ... except a funny strange suckling sound coming from the kitchen table. On closer inspection, I find this scene .....

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.... I finally found my industrious husband outside, doing something else. His explanation?

"He can feed himself now, hon!"

Mr TC will have Monkey driving up to the shops to buy his own formula soon. Dickhead.

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The lovely Flicka from Vacant Uterus reckons she only has one brain cell left. She named him Mitch. I asked her to come up with the name of MY last remaining brain cell .... she called him Bogart. "Of all the brains in all the world .... he walks into mine." Heh heh.

Also, I'm a little concerned about Monkeys lack of tricks. Alas, he does not roll over, fetch, or collect my slippers. All he has done lately is hold and cuddle a toy, which was very cute, although slightly worrying. I'm thinking it's because I haven't been as interactive with him as I probably should. So, my mission is to play more with him, on the ground. He's starting to enjoy limited amounts of 'tummy time'. When he is just laying there on the floor, Tiger always says "Mum! Monkey's doing 'back time' again."

Allow me to illustrate .....

This is tummy time .....

This is back time .....

And THIS is "getting washed by daddy in the kitchen sink of our holiday flat" time ....

It's a wonder Mr TC didn't just pass him the soap and tell hm to wash himself.

XOX

Bros

2008-09-18T07:53:00.005+10:00

As always, the cold light of day brings a better perspective on things.

This morning, Mr TC brought Monkey into my bed. I kissed Mr TC goodbye, and then Tiger came in. We spent half an hour giggling and laughing, Tiger doing Ace Ventura impressions to make Monkey smile. We all got up and I gave Monkey a bottle while Tiger did his homework ... if he finishes it, I will take hime to see Wall-E tonight. A special treat on a schoolnight.

I went back and forth to my boys, kissing them and drinking them in, thinking to myself how perfect they are and how lucky I am.

Tiger told me all about the poo that Monkey did the other day .. "You shouldda seen it mum! It was PERFECTLY ROUND LIKE A MEATBALL!! A total circle!!" Then he played Mario, and as always, said Mario 'Bros', rhyming it with toss.

"What does Bros mean again mum?"

"Brothers."

"Ohhhhh, that's right. Pauses. That's actually silly."

I packed his lunch, we laughed that he got the last two chocolate biscuits, leaving none for Mr TC.

My heartlight is back on again. As Mr TC and I always say to each other in a stupid voice ... "CRISIS AVERTED."

XOX

"This is the fear, this is the dread ... these are the contents of my head."

2008-09-17T22:12:00.004+10:00

I had to write something else, just to get that post off the top. I freaked myself out, especially reading your comment, Almamay. Feelings that have been dormant for years started to stir. Sometimes I don't know why I post the things I do. After Mr TCs diagnosis, I am much more open here ... and I was pretty open anyway. But, I think I'm still very angry at how things went down. I give off an "I don't give a fuck" attitude, but inside I'm a bit of a wreck. I keep wanting to cry - at nothing. It's hard even to cook dinner. I've probably lost my last remaining freelance gig because I didn't reply to a simple email from my editor. WTF!? I feel like failure! Shouldn't I be over this yet? Isn't the whole cancer bullshit wearing a little thin? Today I had to take Monkey to the doctor. He has an infection, poor little guy. Don't even get me STARTED on how late I bonded with him, and it's all the stupid cancers fault. I HATE CANCER. WHERE DOES IT COME FROM ANYWAY?? WHY DO SO MANY PEOPLE HAVE IT?? AND WHY DO I KEEP SHOUTING??

*sigh*

I wanted to ask the doctor what he thought of my listlessness and general sadness and paralysis ... but I accidently forgot. (Just like my gorgeous nephew "accidently nearly pinched Monkey" last week. Heh) Whoopsies. Let's play a game called "How long can you stay in pain before you reach out." I'll start .... oh would you look at that, I started ages ago! About four months, actually!

I think I'll be ok ... I always am. You know that stupid, motherfucking statement "God only gives you as much as you can handle?" Yeah, well, BULLSHIT. God, Universe ..... SOMEONE gave me more than I can handle. I'm done. I know myself enough to know that I probably need therapy. I also know myself enough to know that I'm not getting therapy. The thought of walking in to someone new and spilling my guts to a stranger ... where the fuck would I start, anyway? The last therapist I went to was a fucking voyeur. I have had so much therapy in my life that I could start a therapy practice tomorrow. A GOOD one.

Ugh. I need to shake some energy up. Feeling slow, softcockish, stagnant and totally paralysed. Tonight, I was standing there mashing potatoes to go with the schnitzel, and I suddenly though, fuck I'd love a shot right now. Just a little taste. Or a drink. Or ten. Or 27. Just to "take the edge off." (Funny joke, as people like me don't take the edge off, we demolish the whole fucking cliff.)

No, I am in no danger of actually using. Doesn't mean that I don't feel like it. Sucks to be me. Yes my sweethearts Tee and Rex; I will go to a meeting, please don't worry. I haven't smoked cigarettes for over five years .... wonder if I'll make it through the week without one? I just want to rip someones head off, when what I really want to feel is peace, love, forgiveness and tranquility.

I just feel so embarrassed that I'm turning off comments.

"We are the Hero of Our Own Story."

2008-09-17T10:54:00.004+10:00

(That was todays quote of the day, in my sidebar. I like it.)

This year, it has been TWENTY YEARS since my dad killed himself. I can remember it all like it was yesterday ... I was 16, we had just moved back from England. We had been living the high life all through the eighties .... ferrari, houseboat, swimming pool with a slide, Disneyland, crates of Dom Perignon champagne. A billiard room, mums yellow stationwagon Mercedes, the Rolls Royce in the driveway that my parents traded for some diamonds during a drunken dinner party.

All that money and stuff ..... yet we were the most dysfunctional, bullshit family on the block. I knew it the time. My sisters and I would get banished to our rooms, outta sight, outta mind. You see, it wasn't really our dad. It was our stepdad, from 1977 - 1988. Our real dad was off drinking himself to death somewhere, while mum announced suddenly one day that from now on we were to all call him dad. Whatever - I couldn't give a shit, but my sisters were spewing, for they had all the memories of our first dad they I didn't .... they didn't WANT another dad.

Shit I could give so much background filler here. Such a rich, fucked-up tapestry to choose from, when talking about my family! I would love to write a memoir one day, except for two things ...

1) I'd have to wait for my mother to die.

2) I'd have to leave some things out .... things that occurred during my Wilderness Years, as I don't want my boys (PLURAL! MY HUSBAND HAD SPERM!!!! Heh) .... to know exactly what their mother got up to in her darkest hour.

Anyway ...... the current economic climate is bringing back memories. There was a stock market crash in '87, I was at boarding school at the time, but I remember my mum being insistent that I talk to "dad". Because, he was shattered. It was the beginning of the end, we didn't know it at the time - but he most certainly did. At sports the next day, I saw Scratch, this big tall guy in year 11 crying. And crying. His dad had killed himself, because of the crash. "Shit!" I thought. "How awful!"

We ended up suddenly moving to England (I went to FIVE high schools. Sometimes as a dork, sometimes as a cool kid. Ohhhh, the scars!) for a last ditch attempt to salvage dads business, and money. None of us wanted to go, but we had to. We lived in this 4-storey mansion in Middlesex, reputed to have been Oliver Cromwells shooting lodge. My sisters and I found out ... that we actually maybe even LIKED each other, and started bonding for the first time ever. My brother was eight, the family mascot, with two fucked parent and three crazy sisters.

Anyway, it all fucked up (Really?! What a surprise!) and mum had to hock her diamond earrings for some flights back home, to live in my grandparents front yard in a caravan. We had nothing. Dad managed to buy a 120y Datsun, we moved to a rented house which stank, and had no furniture for three months as it got delayed on the container coming back to Australia. But, the odd thing ..... we all got on as a family, for the first time ever. Mum got a job (SHOCK!) dad talked to us girls like we were actually human ..... until he got busted embezzling money from all his businesses, so he drove to the hardware shop to buy a hosepipe, then, in a secluded area of town (actually, it was a freaking RACETRACK) .. he gassed himself. I wonder what he was thinking? I wonder if he had thought of killing us all too? My brother says there is a name for that .. "Family Annihilation Syndrome". He had crossword puzzle books with him in the car ... obviously he thought it was going to take longer than it did.

He got found the next day by one of my friends dads, head slumped back, red-faced, and quite dead indeed.

That was the day my heart started to turn bitter. I knew he was a prick of a stepdad, but he was MY stepdad. The whole world went grey, for many, many years. I didn't think I could ever get over it, it was so awful and raw and impacting.

And now? Pfffft. Fuck him. I wish he was in front of me so I could tell him to FUCK OFF. Of course, there is damage in my psyche that will always, always be there. The love between a father and daughter - puhLEASE. (But, inside, it hurts so very, very bad. Wasn't I enough, that neither of my dads stayed on the planet?) If they were the heros of their own stories .... then, what a couple of softcock heros they turned out to be. Mum married again, he's nice, but we don't send him anything on Fathers Day. I mean, really!!

So, the current economic climate - especially in America. Sends a few shivers, because I know this will be happening to other families. Sometimes, having money isn't as great as it appears to be.

I have always hated the date of his suicide. When I fell pregnant with Tiger, guess what his due date was? Yep. It changed everything for me. Instead of being the one date in the year I hated, it was now the best, most exciting freakin' date I had ever heard in my life. (He came one day after his due date.)

I saw that guy, Scratch, again. Once, when I worked at Jetset travel in the early nineties. I wanted to run up to him "MY DAD KILLED HIMSELF TOO!! SNAP!!" But, I didn't. I was a dork at that school and he would have had no idea who I was. Plus, it just would have been weird.

And therein endeth another of Topcats cheery stories. Scary thing? I have so, many more.

THE END

How NOT to Explain the Facts of Life to a Six Year Old

2008-09-16T09:42:00.002+10:00

After me "sort-of" explaining how you get pregnant, minus the actual penis in vagina part ....

Tiger: "Mum, I just don't understand."

Me: On world eight of Super Mario .. "What's that sweetie?"

Tiger: "Well, how does the sperm go invisible, and travel across the floor, and up into the vagina?"

Me: Without even missing a beat, the words tumble out of my mouth .. "Well, the man puts his penis into the womans vagina, and then the sperm comes out and swims towards the egg."

*crickets*

Finally, I look up. Tiger is FROZEN in horror. Aghast. Dumbstruck, dumbfounded, confused, and a little scared.

"WHAT!!!!!!"

What do I do? What does the thirty six year old woman playing Mario do, at that crucial moment? I start laughing. My poor sweet boy. He walks off, shaking his head.

I get a grip, follow him into his room, and talk about it with him properly.

Mother of the Year strikes again.

Same Shit, Different Day

2008-09-15T08:37:00.007+10:00

First ever family photo ....

So much has happened since I last posted. It was chemo day on Friday .... I've never taken Mr TC to chemo, finally I realise that I am too scared. My outfuckingstanding sisters take it in turns to come up here, stay a few nights. They leave their hubbies to take care of their kids, and come up here to take my hubby to his chemotherapy down at the big hospital. They could stay here and mind Monkey and Tiger, and I could take Mr TC down, but I'm too totally freaked about doing that. I can't. They have both told me how awful it is, and impacting, and they have both agreed that I should be spared from seeing him all hooked up, getting shit pumped through his veins by a masked and gloved nurse. My sisters are carrying the burden of my husbands chemo. How do you repay someone, for doing that? I super puffy heart them with all of my spirit, 4 eva.

So, I have my Mr Beige here. For a week following his treatment, he looks beige, is shitty because he's sick, and can't wait for this crap to be over.

After chemo on Friday, Mr Beige TC went to the bank. He told some of his apprentices to stack a shitload of wood under our house, so they had been clanging under there all day. My sister Tee was up, it was her chemo turn. She was on the phone to our sister Rex, I was outside and suddenly heard a massive jumble of wood tumbling and falling, then a strange muffled yelp. "Oh, poor Claude!" I thought it was the guys dog. Then I hear "GET IT OFF MY HEAD. GET IT OFF MY HEAD. AHHHH AGGGGGGGGGHHHHHH." Followed by a mad scrambling of planks getting thrown about. I ran in to Tee, she was like a freaking superhero while I faded like the big softcock I am. I was holding Monkey, I just kept saying "Something really bad has happened!!" Tee pushes me out of the way and tells me to wait outside.

For the next four minutes, all I heard was planks being thrown by the two other apprentices and Tee, and this poor, poor 17 year old moaning and yelling. It was horrific. He was covered by a mountain of wood. All you could see were his two feet, poking out. The sound of the panic seeped up through my floorboards, I was wringing my hands saying "Please be ok! Please be ok!"

They got him out, I drove him straight to hospital, but he was ok. He was crying and had wet his pants, struggling to breathe properly. I can't believe he's alive. IT WAS TERRIBLE. For the rest of the day, I just kept saying to Tee in awe, "How the fuck do you do things like that! You are a superhero!" We were laughing, she kept saying "I saved a life today!" (She yelled at the guys to stop throwing their planks onto the poor boys torso, they were in such a panic.)

Then, the next day, after Superhero Sista Tee announces her work here is done and drives back home, Mr TC gets a call from his sixteen year old son, just had a fight with his mum, can he come back and live with us. Mr TC wants to book a flight straight away; I want to move to Brazil.

Seriously though ... what can I say? No? I already said no at the beginning of the year when he asked. I was pregnant, we had arrived back from the ill-fated NZ holiday, where stepson had behaved DREADFULLY towards me, in front of Tiger. At that time, I asked can we re-assess at Christmas. So I've kind of known he will be back, at some stage. I love my stepson - we have the same humour, we get on very well. He is an amazing, strong guy with a huge heart. He lived with us between the ages of eight and fourteen .. that's a lot of history, and memories. Tiger still cries when he asks if his big brother is ever coming back to live with us. I dread him coming back here. I don't want to live with him again. But he is my husbands son. For better or worse. My husband has cancer. In sickness and in health.

Mr TC misses him dreadfully, and wants to be there for him as he goes through his bullshit teenage years. And I think .... hopefully Mr TC will go into remission. I'm pretty sure he will .... but if he doesn't, who am I to come between the relationship of him and his firstborn son?

So. The last few days I have been bracing myself for the news that he is coming. We still don't know yet. I dread the nights. Stepson stays up til 2am. I desperately need everyone on bed when I go to bed, or I can't sleep properly, because I know I will be up three times in the night with Monkey, and I just need quiet. I dread stepsons attitude towards me. I feel shitty about it .... I can't choose who I live with. The sneaking, the high-energy, the moodswings, and if I'm perfectly honest, that means less of Mr TC for me. I must share him. And I don't want to.

I know I will work through my shit and get over myself, but fuck man, can't it just be BORING here for a while?

I'm still swimming in things that need to be done. I finally cleared my email inbox yesterday ... I had 567 emails in there, new fucking world record. I still feel like I can't fight my way out of a wet paper bag. So much to do. Spirit is willing but the flesh is weak. Blah. Magnificent news is I keep falling MORE in love with Monkey, I can't believe the difference in my heart now. I have two sons! I am so lucky!

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"I love my shoes, mum. Now, get me a bib to match them. IMMEDIATELY!" ........

"That's what I'm talkin' 'bout!!" ....

"What is this thing anyway? A hand, you say? Hmmmmm. Interesting." ...

"My mummy has fat rolls on her tummy and doesn't give a shit! Somebody get her a cannoli, STAT!" ....

Lastly, you know what made my week? Last Thursday, a package arrived in the mail. From New York ..... a fellow blogger. I opened it, and PISSED myself laughing. Maya, I cannot believe you posted a fluffy toy halfway across the world, just for me. HILARIOUS. THANK YOU!!!

Maya sent me Topcat!! I'm sorry, how cool??

Funniest thing was when Mt TC saw it. He scoops it up. "Ohhhhhh, where did ya get this hon? Topcat was my favourite cartoon when I was a kid!" He launches into song. "Topcat! The indelectable, Topcat! Leader of the gang ...." his voice trailed off as I struggled to keep a straight face, and tried hard not to correct him. (It's indisputable, not indelectable. But, after eight and a half years of being together. I'm not allowed to correct him anymore, drives him crazy. I must suffer in silence, and try not to laugh at his MANY mistakes). I told him Topcat was me, and that on my blog he was know as Mr TC. He smiled this funny smile, like he thought he was famous or something. My little beige Turdburger.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel .... let down your golden nipple hairs."

2008-09-10T09:20:00.003+10:00

As soon as I hit publish on my last post, my thoughts started to fester. "AM I ok with Mr TCs cancer? Am I in denial? How come I'm so tough about it? Is it just bravado? OMG MY HUSBAND HAS CANCER!!!" .... and so it continued, until I fell into a spiral again. I am in the biggest slump right now .... my bedroom is DISGUSTING. You cannot see the floor. I had this bright idea that a spring clean will make me feel better, so I emptied the entire contents of my cupboard on the floor, to "force" myself to sort through them. I started too .... then I kept coming across my pregnancy clothes, which I wore with such joy and anticipation in my heart. I was looking forward to the baby so much. And then, suddenly, I stopped looking forward to the baby, baby was born into chaos, baby cried a lot. And I would think, "Baby! Stop that crying right now! Don't you know daddy has cancer and mummy cannot deal with your issues!! I need you to SHUT UP." Nice.

Of course, we are out of that stage now. Monkey is interactive, smiling, says "Ma" (yes he really does and no-one is telling me otherwise). This morning I felt all fucked up, I was changing his nappy. I tickled him, and he laughed. The sound of a tinkling angel, my God he is just delightful. I carried him to his cot for a nap, and absentmindedly said out loud "Oh, thank GOD I love you!"

So, I have the messy bedroom of a twelve year old, and CANNOT seem to clean it. I lay on my clothes-strewn bed yesterday and played Mario and ate chocolate. I have articles due, need to return about 500 emails ... and I sit like a sloth. It's real addict behaviour, and is actually a form of self-abuse. Because I do things that feel good in the moment, but I KNOW it makes me feel like a worthless piece of shit. So, I'm blogging about it, in the hopes it can shift. I'm tempted to post a photo of my room, but am too ashamed. It's funny how I will put nice clothes on today, and run errands, and people will see the outside of me and think "Oh, a woman with a baby! How sweet!" But on the inside I feel so low and terrible.

As they say in AA .. this, too, shall pass. BUT SO DO KIDNEY STONES.

*sigh*

I'm in the process of setting up a google reader account. I keep missing peoples posts and playing catch up. I willupdate my blogroll too, as I think they are important. Please let me know if you would like to be added.

I will end this post on a very funny, gross thing. Because, I'm thoughtful like that ....

Yesterday, I was in the shower. Now, lately, I have been losing a lot of my hair, as you do after the baby is born. I look down, and see strands of long hair on my boobies. I brush them away .... but they don't come off. Why? Because they were attached to my nipples. Long, golden strands of boob hair, getting lathered by my shampoo.

I swear ... with those plus my incessant chin hairs, I could grow Mr TC his own wig. Except, we would look like brother and sister because we would have matching red hair.

So a Fiasco, Tumour and Canoli all Walk Into a Bar ...

2008-09-07T20:31:00.010+10:00

I had sex. For the first time in FIVE MONTHS. It was ok. Meh. It was very, ummmmm .... quick. It didn't help that Tiger walked in at the pivotal (and I mean pivatol) moment. I jumped out of the way so he didn't even see me, he just copped an intimate view of his dad. Heh. Then, we, ahhhh, were doing it again (this morning, it's all Mr TC wanted for Fathers Day, Chrissake ..) and his phone rang at the pivotal moment. I started laughing. "It's your kids!" (Stepson and daughter). "They're calling for Fathers Day!" Mr TC muttered something about timing being impeccable. It was soooo funny. And so nice .... Mr TC is usually the biggest pesterer on the planet. Ever since a whole bunch of tumours got found in his stomach, he has felt decidedly unsexy, so it was nice to see him back in form. TMI, much?

Today, we drove down to Sydney. Me, Tiger and Monkey took Mr TC out to lunch, to our favourite Italian bistro in Norton Street, Leichhardt. Beautiful spring day. It was fucking AWESOME to be out and about as a family, to see Mr TC "back". I told him ..."Hey, I know what's different. Your mojo is back! Your mofo mojo is back!" I broke out a rousing rendition of Welcome Back Kotter. He laughed. I think his body must be getting used to the chemo. It was a wonderful day, my heart still feels warm from it. The week away has done us all miracles.

Tonight, I was reading the paper, and saw an article about how lym.phoma is Australias fastest growing cancer .. for no known reason. There has been a breakthrough in treatment. I read it out to Mr TC, without reading it myself first. "Tumours have a very big chance of coming back. Half of the people diagnosed with lymp.homa in Australia are still alive after five years ..."

My voice trailed off, I looked up at him, to see all the unspoken things in his eyes.

There is a very good chance, that after his last three doses of chemo, Mr TC will have a scan and there will be no signs of any tumours. What we don't know, and what I can't predict, is if they will come back - in some other shape or form, or start growing in his vital organs. Fuck knows if that's going to happen. We will cross all of those bridges if and when we come to them. I haven't thought that far ahead. Damned if we will sit back and wait for the big bad cancer to grow back again. He might go into remission for twenty years. For one year. Forever. "We know not the hour of our death."

Like all big things in life do, this Cancer Fiasco (I LOVE calling it a Fiasco) will change us immeasurably. Things are already shifting - our priorities, our goals. We may rent out our house for a year and go and live in Spain. Just because we can. We want to travel ... live right in the moment. We were living like that a lot anyway. I kept thinking, when the Fiasco started "But ... I already live an examined life! We don't need another big thing to get through!"

Who knows why shit happens. I've always prayed a lot - but now, my prayer kind of falters halfway through. My faith took a huge tumble, and I'm not as sure as I used to be. Tiger keeps asking incessant questions about God. It's uncanny.

"Mum, why doesn't God come down to earth like He used to?" (I said He works in other ways ... like sending you a good friend, or a flower, or a song.)

"Mum, I wish they didn't eat those apples. Then we could be living in that beautiful garden."

"Mum, if God made the whole world .... did He make His own Self? (I didn't ask myself that til I was TWENTY, fucks sake.)

This post is everywhere all at once. I have so much to say - I haven't felt this strong for a long, long time. I'm back, baby. I have big things brewing.

I have had big revelations about Monkey, which deserves its own post. I always couldn't understand how some women didn't fall utterly in love with their babies straight away. Now I know. I know. (And I will never judge anyone about that again.)

Monkey is going so well. People ask me if he a "good baby". Once I answered "Oh, no. He is a bad, bad baby! Drinking, smoking ... I just don't know what we're going to do!" The woman thought I was a total freak.

My love is getting deeper. I'm starting to feel so very grateful - that he is healthy. That I got to bring him home from hospital. Some mamas don't get to bring their babies home from hospital. I can only imagine that depth of pain. Even with all the Fiasco crap, I do count my blessings. As crap and awful as it has been ... Mr TC is in with a fighting chance. Bring it on.

Mr TC and Tiger today. We ate fresh pasta, vanilla canolis, and chocolate gelato YUM ....

When I was about 12, I started sucking my stomach in. So, I have very good stomach muscles. However, for a while now, I have said "Oh, I can't do sit-ups, I had a c-section." It's been like my mantra.

What the world thinks my stomach looks like three and a half months after having a baby (I didn't wear those Ugg boots to Sydney, by the way) ....

What my stomach really looks like three and a half months after having a baby ....

Note to self: As soon as I finish off all the canoli, try a sit-up. OR FIFTY.

(After Mr TC took that second photo, he puts the camera down, looks at me, and says "You really are the biggest wanker I have ever met." I laughed at him: "I KNOW!!!")

XOXOXOXXO

El Sandi

2008-09-02T14:49:00.005+10:00

“The heat that’s in the sun
… will keep us when there’s none.”
U2 – Window in the Skies

We got in the car and drove north. After I last posted, I developed an allergic reaction to the antibiotics and swelled up like a balloon, and then Tiger woke up one morning covered in a purple rash. I lost it. I was dangerously, perilously close to chartering a magic white horse to gallop me far up to heaven, to God Himself, and punching him square in the face. Enough. We have had Enough.

So, Mr TC gave everyone at work a week off, we packed our stuff, and went chasing the sun. We just drove further and further up. Monkey is a motherfucking hero, not a peep out of him the whole way. He just slept. Sometime recently, he has morphed into a superstar baby who does not cry much, and sleeps like a champion. It’s funny … with Tiger, I would fuss over him, and lay next to him to make him go to sleep. Mr TC would roll his eyes, and mutter something about the “Golden Child”. Monkey slept in a different bed 3 nights in a row recently, and it didn’t faze him at all. I am so laid back, the second time around. Considering.

I have missed you, friends in the computer! I had a dream that I could see multi-coloured rays of light beaming on us from all over the world, and it was you and your love and I thank you, more than you will ever know. I thought I would start a little IVF blog, have a baby, than tie it with a neat ribbon and say, that’s that then. (The blog, not the baby). I now know that I will always blog. It’s opened up an amazing world of wonderful, colourful, amazing souls. I expect to be bugging the nurses in my old people’s home in a few decades .. for a better internet connection.

Winter of 2008 is dead. It was without a doubt, the worst winter I have ever known. Ever. It was Australia’s coldest August in more than a decade ….. so blustery, and freezing, and bone-achingly cold. To be up north now, and feel the warmth of the sun on us …. is sublime. Spring has motherfucking sprung. The warmth and sand have oozed into us, bringing us all back to life. Mr TC is the sickest he’s ever looked. He has gained weight, which he is worried about. Of course, he keeps prodding the jelly on MY belly, to make him feel better. I’m like, I have just had a BAY-BEE, turdburger! What’s your excuse? (Ha – the spell-check for ‘turdburger’ suggested ‘torturer’ instead).

His excuse, of course, is the chemo. I keep battling this awful feeling that this will be the only family holiday we will ever know. I’m pretty sure I’m wrong, but it feels yucky nonetheless. I’m used to seeing women always check Mr TC out, right in front of me. It never fails to piss me off, and he always thinks it’s hilarious. Alas, no chick checks him out these days, as he is so sickly, pale, almost devoid of eyelashes. I can’t believe I can’t wait till he starts getting the once-over again!

I painted my toenails. For the first time since the baby was born, I have red toenails again. I took a photo, but don’t think you can see the red …….

Did I mention we are staying DIRECTLY across the beach! That is the view from our freakin BED. We drove straight here, looked at the To Let sign in the window and booked it. Mr TC is at the beach right now, with Tiger. Monkey is asleep. I’m writing this in a word document, and will try to hack into a wireless somewhere to post.

I bought a black hairband with a silver heart on it, which, according to holiday tradition, will last all of 5 minutes. There is no decent coffee here. We will go 10 pin bowling, and do a dolphin cruise, I will buy a summer dress, and Tiger shall bond with Mr TC. Nobody in this town knows us, which is blessed relief. I will soon get my eyelashes tinted and brow waxed …. maybe even a haircut!

We may never go home again! (Edited to add .... I just posted this, but now Monkey woke up and I have to go, boo! I will be back - alone, to catch up on everyone. I am STARVED of my bloggys news!! Starved, I tell you!! xox)

XOXOXXOXOXOXOXOXO

Forsaken

2008-08-28T22:12:00.004+10:00

I got so sick that at one point, I nearly went to hospital. My centre of gravity went spinning out of control, and it felt like I was getting sucked down a plughole. I even said to Mr TC .. "I think I'm going to DIE."

I was freezing, no matter how many layers I put on. I would shiver and shake in my lonely bed, with no energy to even turn over. Then I would sweat so much that rivulets would form and criss-cross all over my body. My bed now smells like my uncles sheep farm. My sister came to help out, but unfortunately, the day she left I took a turn for the worse. So Mr TC had to mind the baby - all day, and all night. The day after his chemo ... he was sick. But I was more sick. We were hobbling around each other. All Hail the Broken People.

Sick sick sick. I had numerous crying sessions, especially when there was nobody to stroke my neck or bring me a cup of tea. I cried at the injustice of everything we have been facing, how my husbands face scared the shit out of me again, how poor Monkey and Tiger get their basic needs met but that's pretty much it. Monkey has had a Baptism of Fire in the way of television. He quite enjoys it, actually. (Baby Einstein, over and over and over again).

I kept having false starts of feeling better, but then the Bug of Doom would once again overtake my body and drag me down. I think I picked up a bug in the spa last week. My sister Tee reckons public spas are fine, as long as you wear one of those bucket head things that dogs wear to not bite their stitches. I will NEVER go into that spa again.

Tiger started crying that "I loved Monkey more than him". I told him that Mummies simply cannot love one child more than the other ... it's not allowed.
"And," I whispered, "Haven't you noticed that babies are a little bit annoying??"
He perked up immediately. "YES!" Then looks at his brother with pity. "Ohh, poor Monkey."

Mr TC is suddenly facing huge shitfights and dramas at work, he has had to let some workers go. He is so incredibly stressed out, that he has talked of selling up and going on holidays for a few years. He had Monkey with him at work yesterday. He put the baby seat into his ute, and drove around the building sites with him. I was so relieved at not having to get up for Monkey that I had no energy to be worried.

So now, finally, I am better. I am taking antibiotics, and I'm coming out of the fog.

Today, I managed to go grocery shopping. With a baby and a wonky shopping trolley. If one, ONE more person comes up to me and asks "Oh my God!!! How's Mr TC?" With that stupid, dumb, slapped arse look of terror and curiosity on their face ... well, I don't know exactly what I will say in that moment, but it will be a doozy. And probably offensive. I promise.

____

It will take me a while to catch up with everyone. My hair has two dreadlocks, there are clothes strewn across the whole house, and dust tumbleweeds sweeping across my wooden floorboards. Welcome the fuck back.

Somebody Call the Wah-mbulance

2008-08-24T12:50:00.003+10:00

I am down for the count. Can barely type. I am SO ach-ey, even my eyeballs hurt ... my bones are sore. (Great. I have cancer too.)

It's not cancer ... just the flu. I haven't felt this sick since the '98 Oscars, when I was even too ill to laugh at Gwynth Paltrows weepy acceptance speech.

And, I have been alone with the boys all weekend, Mr TC is down in Sydney. And, Mr TC is due for a round of chemo-fucking-therapy tomorrow. GREAT. Someone needs to take us out the back of the barn and put us out of our miseries. I can literally hardly get off the couch to feed Monkey, and Tiger is actually crying from boredom. I simply cannot feel like this. It's out of the question. I would usually ride it out, but I'm going to ask to go on antibiotics, because if Mr TC catches it while he's on chemo, it's really dangerous. Lucky I'm too crook to drive to the freaking doctor.

*sigh*

So, I will be away from my computer for a while. Thanks, thanks THANKS SO MUCH, for the utterly amazing comments I have recieved lately. I haven't even checked anyone's blog, I feel so bloody guilty ... but when I am better I will belatedly do the IComLeavWe, and also check in on my extraordinary peeps.

Thank FUCK I was just getting sick last week, and it wasn't depression.

Wah.

XOXOXOXXOXOXOX

Meh. With Pictures.

2008-08-21T10:23:00.004+10:00

It's the 21st of August in Australia, so where I live, IComLeavWe has officially kicked off.

Lucky I feel so shithouse and have nothing noteworthy to say.

I just feel blah. Maybe my adrenaline is finally wearing off. (Come back! You're all I got!!) Maybe everything is catching up with me. Or, hopefully .... maybe I am just the Worlds Laziest Turd, who couldn't be bothered to do anything this week, triggering feelings of sad lethargy, and general down-in-the-dumpness.

I have some MASSIVE posts brewing, with tasty subjects including "Take my Mother .... Please!!" or "Is there a self-help book on how to parent a newborn and take care of your husband on chemo ..... without getting to as many AA meetings as usual, because you are so fucking busy????" But ... now I'm doing IComLeavWe, and random people will come here, and be all like, this chicks fucked up!!!

Alas, this is no earthshattering post. Truth is, I'm sitting here at 10.31am, in my pj's. I smell, have greasy hair, and can think of nothing to do today. (I have SO MANY things to do. Meh). My heart feels heavy. Mr TC has been doing a course down in Sydney, for over a week now. He drives down, every day, and gets back very late at night. I'm officially a single parent. I don't feel depressed - I think I just feel lonely. Not lonely for a friend ... but for my husband. I miss him. I miss his strength, and his hair. I miss doing normal stuff with him. He hasn't told ANYONE who he is doing this course with that he is undergoing chemo for cancer. He must be so sick of it. He has so much to prove, to the world and himself. He spends every day, giving every last ounce of energy of himself to the world outside, that when he comes home he is exhausted, and literally collapses. I'm not angry about it anymore ... just counting down the days til his last chemo day.

Then, we can put this nightmare behind us, he will be cancer-free for the rest of his life, and it will just be a big bullet we all dodged. Right?

I have wanted another child, for so, so many years. And I finally have my other child. I just didn't expect to feel so deflated. Having to fight so hard to get here .... then right when he was born, to find myself in a new, terrible fight of a different kind.

LALALALALALALALALALAALALALALLALALALA Shake it up, Topcat!!! Fucks sake!!!!

Well, that's my cry done for the day. Here are some photos of Monkey in his big boy jeans, seeings how I still cannot post video. (Oh Blogger, how I hate thee!!)

xoxox

Big. Boy. Jeans ...

I don't think I will EVER stop being amazed at how truly enormous my nostrils are. (I seriously used to scare my stepson when he was younger, by flaring them at him) ....

I LOVE LOVE LOVE my guyos. (Even the big bald one. Especially the big bald one) ...

Can. Not. Kiss. Babys cheeks. Enough ....

**** Edited to add ... Monkey just woke up from his sleep. It sounded suspiciously like he just said 'fuck'. His first word! I'm so proud!!

xox

Mammy

2008-08-19T22:02:00.003+10:00

Yesterday, I was running around the house looking for my lip balm. Checked my bed .. nothing but a rotten apple core in there. (True). So, I did what any harried mother would do, and hastily applied some nappy rash cream to my parched lips. Walked out to the kitchen, Mr TC was there, having a cup of tea with his friend. He took one look at me, stood up, and burst into a rousing rendition of "Mammy, how I love ya how I love ya ...."

Complete with hand waving actions.

Apparently, my new 'lip balm' had coated my lips in a fetching colour of white, and I was giving a great Al Jolsen impression. SO embarrassed, they both laughed at me. I let the cancer patient and his little friend have their cheap thrills. Wankers.

I then took Tiger to swimming lessons. Usually I take Monkey too, but it's a bit tricky. Especially when you forget the bottle of formula. (Fun times.) I ended up soaking in the spa bath at the pool, first time I've done that in, oh, more than a year.

Mr TC asked how it was when I got back. I told him great, until a BIG FAT HAIRY GUY hopped in next to me, and all I could think was I was having a hot bath in his ball sweat.

Mr TCs shoulders slumped a little, reminded yet again by what a foul-mouthed creature he had married. Who's laughing now, eh?
_____

Took some video today, and will try to post it. It's Monkey, looking VERY grown up in his big boy jeans. He wants me to just get the camera out of his face, I'm sure. He is so big now! Hoorah! Three months old ... they say that the first three months of a newborns life is the fourth trimester. Babies are literally born waterlogged.

**** Ok. Can't post video. Been trying for 2 hours now, eyes hanging out of head. I admit defeat, Until tomorrow, Mighty Blogger.

Living Your Dreams

2008-08-17T16:41:00.007+10:00

Before I start my post for Mels Show and Tell Weekly Thread, I need to say that last night, I had a dream that me and Brad Pitt were staring into each others eyes, we had totally fallen in love. So much so, that Angelina came RUNNING up to me (one twin on her hip), BEGGING me to please stay away from Brad. I agreed, because I felt so sorry for her.

AHEM. Anyway, this is about a dream of a different kind.

Despite the fact that the following pictures are completely narcassistic and showy-offy .... I will post them anyway, mainly to show how amazingly talented my husband is.

He is a builder, has his own business. We bought 4 and 1/2 acres of land back in 2001, he cleared it and began building. His dreamhouse. I was pregnant with Tiger at the time, and to be honest, wasn't very interested in the building process at all. He LOVES how I just stood back, and let him design and pick everything. My one request was the toilet to be separate from the bathroom .... I don't like lying in the bath with my head next to a toilet. And I picked the colour schemes for the house.

In April of this year, we got asked to appear in a lifestyle magazine, showcasing Mr TCs buildsmanship. (That is SO not a word.) We got photographed and interviewed, I thought it was HILARIOUS that people were going to look at us in this showy magazine, and think we are totally up ourselves. I knew the woman doing the interview, I actually got her the job as the editor there. It was offered to me but I didn't want it.

Anyway, all of that pesky "husband gets cancer" fiasco happened .... and we forgot about the magazine.

Until, someone told me they had seen us in it. I raced out and bought a copy, Mr TC was still in hospital by that stage, so I let it be a surprise for him when he came out.

.... The magazine was more than a surprise, it was a complete fucking Godsend. After being so sick, traumatised, pricked with needles in his skin and bones, started his first dose of chemo ..... he hobbled in the door like a freakin old man about to die. I remember his exact words, the day I drove down to hospital to pick him up (clutching my sore caesar scar the whole way) .... he looked at me, and said "I'm defeated, hon."

Scared the SHIT out of me.

Later, flicking through the glossy mag, his proud Leo heart almost bursting out of his chest. He was reminded of what he had done .... where he has come in his life, his strength, his talent, his sheer AUDACITY for daring to build a house so big, and show-offy. "I done good."

Yes my sweetheart, you done real good and I love you, throughout all of this bullshit.

XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO

See who else is standing at the head of the class here.

Sometimes, the Sun Even Shines in Winter.

2008-08-15T10:38:00.006+10:00

I haven't bonded with Monkey, the same way I bonded with Tiger. I fully expected I would, but I didn't. There. I have said it. I don't think Monkey will be fucked up about it because I have his whole childhood to make up for it. I have felt guilt around it, especially when I would look into his screaming, wailing, face, at 3am, and think UNBLOGGABLE thoughts, along the lines of, "What did I do this for? For the love of God ... Shut. Up." I would (and still do) read wonderful, happy blogs of women and their new babies, and the joy and the love, and I feel twinges (ok, maybe more than twinges) of jealousy. I wished my biggest concern was the baby cried once for 10 minutes. Such a shame that my biggest concern was wondering if my husband was going to die.

I have spoken in detail, before, about how Tigers entry into my world heralded a redemption that I never thought possible. I still, cannot work out why Monkeys birth was in such dramatic, intense circumstances. Anyone? Bueller? I wondered, how would I have handled all this, if I wasn't pregnant and didn't have a baby? Why did it happen the way it did? In some strange way, it all lined up just so. I try and explain it to myself but cannot, and don't think I will ever be able to.

My baby is growing up. Thank fuck. Yesterday, he was in the sling when I was at the shops with Tiger. We stayed longer than I originally planned, my shoulders slumping and slumping, I kept having to lean on things. My back killed. I quickly grabbed one of those trolleys where you can lay a baby down in them. As I was taking him out of his sling, I though "That's it. We are officially done with the sling now .... way too heavy."

It didn't stop there, we were on a roll. I thought, may as well buy a baby monitor. So I did. Got home, and thought "Ahh well, may as well put this monitor together and put him to bed in his cot tonight then, in his own room." So I did!

It was luxurious, having my bedroom to myself. Mr TC and I have a king size bed, with a latex mattress. We spent a FORTUNE on it last year, the first time either of us had ever bought a new bed for ourselves, ever. I had a bit of a freak-out, being the first night Monkey and I had slept apart. I worried about cot death .... then I thought, you know what? His dad has cancer. Life wouldn't be that cruel. Would it. Would it? I decided it wouldn't, and promptly fell asleep. Monkey woke up twice, once at 2am then at 5.30am, and went straight back to sleep after his bottle, both times!!

At one point, I was changing his nappy and he started to do a poo. So I found myself sitting there, holding up his legs, baby wipes at the ready, staring at my sons arsehole, waiting for the shit to come out. The glory of motherhood. I remarked to Mr TC this morning that Monkeys shit smells like really bad foot odour.

"Well, what the fuck are ya feeding him, socks?"

_________

Mr TC is sleeping upstairs, in his "chemo wing", as I call it. He has his own ensuite up there, if he needs to vomit. Plus, he has to be careful with all of his bodily fluids while on chemo, double flushing the dunny, etc.
A while ago, I went up there and was talking to him. "Ohhhhh, my little Chemo Guy! How's my favourite Chemo Guy today??" (Don't ask me why I was being such an idiot).

He looks at me, his chemical-hazed eyes narrowed, pale sick face furrowed.

"Don't call me your fucking Chemo Guy."

_______

Anyway, getting back to Monkey .. he is over three months old. He is officially sleeping in his own bedroom. It's a whole fucking new world, I tell you. A one-word description of the past 3 months, parenting a screaming newborn with feeding issues, as well as having a very sick husband? BRUTAL.

I don't expect I will ever, ever be clucky again. Today is the youngest that Monkey will ever be again, and instead of feeling sad, or, oh my God the bay-bee is growing up too quickly, I just want to bring it on, mofo. I welcome it, with open arms. Here's your size 0's big guy, congratulations. I want to shake the nightmare off, and start living again. I love seeing how chubby Monkeys little hands are, how lazy he is when he's lying on the rug and couldn't be bothered to move. (Tiger was the same .... SO take after their mother). I'm starting to love Monkey, more and more, as I get to know him. It wasn't instant, like it was with Tiger. But very, very, soon, it will be just as fierce, and overpowering, and strong. Not wrong, or bad ... just different.

Mr TC will get his last chemo in October. Talk about the agony of waiting .... we have waited three months .... two more, and we will see the scan that shows how much his tumours have shrunk. We are hoping for the best ... that they are gone entirely. We're all used to him being sick, I can't wait to find out how he is going to feel after the chemo.

I know he will need regular scans, for a long time. Cancer casts a long shadow, even in remission. But, the cancer never made its way into his internal organs, which is great. His is a very treatable cancer. His was aggressive, which is why he was in so much pain, because it was growing so rapidly. Imagine if we didn't know. Imagine if it was all still growing in there, running rampant.

When my neighbour came over to visit a then two-week old Monkey, she used the word "miracle" to describe the doctors finding Mr TCs tumours when they did. I wanted to say: "Miracle! Lady, aint nuthin' miraculous about this fucking bullshit."

I still don't think it's a miracle ..... but fuck it could be so much worse.

******Edited to add .... of course, Monkey just woke up after I wrote that post, and he is cooing and babbling and loving on me so much. I love him so achingly much that my heart hurts: I adore him, would kill for him, walk over hot coals, etc. Truly.

I Hate Sandcastles

2008-08-12T21:22:00.011+10:00

Blogging, I can't quit you.

*sigh*

I am, most definitely, NOT a very nice person lately. At all. Woe betide anyone who dares to ask me 'how I am'. They get the biggest fuck-off vibes in town ..... most of them are genuinely concerned, I'm sure. I just can't help it. I'm angry, bitter, suspicious and jaded. My life feels like a big fat joke. Paranoia is starting to mount .... even here. I have wondered what people really think when they read this blog .... I am very open, I know. Probably too much. I should tone it down a little ... maybe be a bit more light-hearted.

So, in a break from the heavy spin-out posts, here is my day in a pictorial display. In a very light-hearted way.

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I was still utterly furious at Mr TC today. I managed to avoid him all day yesterday, lucky for him. I don't believe I have ever, ever in my life been so angry at someone. (And believe me, I've been angry!!) And yes, relationship issues, new baby, cancer, hard to deal with, etc .... But, the other night was the final straw for me. Today while Tiger was at school, I put Monkey down for a nap ... and upstairs I trudged to his office to have it out with Mr TC.

This is who I looked like, while "resolving relationship issues" this morning .....

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Mr TC, on the other hand, while feebly defending himself, KNEW he was in the wrong and had really, badly fucked up. So he was more like this ......

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It didn't cut the mustard, I'm afraid. (Where on EARTH did that phrase originate from?)
No, siree. He was getting a MASSIVE telling-down by yours truly. If I wrote here what I actually said to him, your eyes would weep blood for the poor man. I was ruthless. I was DREADFUL. Wife. Of. The Fucking. Year.
Not.

So, he gradually got more pissed, until we were both like this ....

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Except we weren't grabbing each other by the lapels, because, well, we didn't have business suits on. Otherwise we may have. Round and round and round the same old issues we went. He puts his whole life and soul into work, leaving nothing for us. I need to be more appreciative (GRRRRR) ..... on and on and on.

Until, eventually, we reached an impasse .....

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I believe I had the last words, (of course). Along the lines of "Keep your house. If I left I would want NOTHING from you." Or something like that ... in a very light-hearted way, of course.

Now, I'm not going anywhere. Can you imagine if I left, what a cold hearted bitch? "Oh, that poor Mr TC. He got cancer and his WIFE LEFT HIM!!!" The only thing that matters, is Tiger and Monkey being in a secure environment. And they are. What we have all been through sux the biggest dogs balls ... (tempted to post a pic, but will spare you).

Tonight, after Monkey did that awful, terrible, no good screaming for, oh, a mere hour and a half. (I took a phone recording of it and texted it to my 2 sisters, under the heading - Clucky?) ..... I took my first bath in 3 months. (I have been taking showers, though. I promise.) And I shaved my legs, and coiffed my nethers. Actually, I coiffed my nethers with Mr TCs hair clippers. Vengeful, much? It felt so much better. If my vagina was a garden, it would be this one .....

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Finely manicured, indeed.

I sat in the bath, and randomly realised that Mr TC didn't come to visit me in hospital, when I had Monkey. Of couse he didn't ... he was getting exploratory surgery, fucks sake. How terribly strange, that right in the middle of the despicable ten-day period when we didn't know how bad his tumours were ..... I gave birth. I couldn't BELIEVE the unfairness of it, and cried. Then I stopped crying, because, well, you just HAVE to .... and I put my iPod on. In the bath .... I know, very ambitious, but it ROCKED. I listened to Indigo Girls "Closer to Fine" over and over and over again. I first discovered that song ten years ago when I moved up here, I know every note and inflection in their voices. Mr TC wasn't here, Monkey was asleep (Praise Jesus), and Tiger was playing his DS with earphones in, on the couch. I sang every word.

"I went to the doctor,
I went to the mountain.
I looked to the children
And I drank from the fountain.

There's more than one answer to these questions
Pointing me in a crooked line.
And the less I seek my source for some definitive
Closer I am to fine."

_____

And they lived happily ever after.

Oh - the title of this post? From this picture. Exactly how I feel on a daily basis.

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Life. It's Nothing Like the Brochure. *

2008-08-11T10:18:00.005+10:00

It snowed! Tiger ran around and around the driveway with his tongue hanging out, catching tiny flakes in his mouth saying "I caught some, mum! I caught some!!"

It didn't settle, so no snowmen. But, it did make the freezing cold weather a little bit more bearable. I DETEST living in such a cold environment, and shamelessly complain every winter. All through my pregnancy, I couldn't wait for this winter to come, thinking it would be the best I have ever had up here. Now I can't wait for it to be over.

Monkey is utterly breathtaking in his beauty. All I ever seem to say about him is how much he cries, but really, he is awesome and I know how lucky we are to have been blessed with a beautiful, healthy little baby. He is 12 weeks old today ..... thank goodness! Newbornland is hard work, and now he is putting on weight, growing out of his clothes and becoming more robust, which is a relief. He slept for 8 hours straight last night, oh how I should have gone to bed when he did!!! Tiger is besotted, but always thinks he stinks. "Mum, I can smell that he did a wee. Mum, his burps stink. Mum he's done a POO YUCK IT'S DISGUSTING."

When Monkey cries, Tiger used to get worried, but not anymore. We make jokes of it, saying to each other "Uh-oh. Wah! Wah! Wah! Somebody call the wah-mbulance!!!" Sorry Monkey, but it is very funny. Tiger is so astute when it comes to what Monkey is like, too. "He always likes travelling, doesn't he mum?"And he does ..... he will grow up to travel the world, I'm sure. If you walk around with him, or go for a drive, he's just so content, because he is moving. He ADORES me!! He wants to tell me so many things, kicking his little legs and flapping his arms around in excitement. He freakin' HATES tummy time, smiles at his toy monkey, and is very close to laughing. He follows Tiger around the room with his eyes, said "Mama' yesterday (well, more like m-a) .... and has more hair than his dad. (HA.)

Tiger asked me the best question anyone has ever asked me. After much thoughtful silence ... "Mum - can thousands and thousands and thousands of ants hold up one elephant?"

I puffy heart Tiger and Monkey 4 EVA.

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Nancy has nominated me for the Pink Rose Award! She is one cool chick - NEVER afraid to say what she really thinks, which is so refreshing. She is preggo, after going through so much to get there. I KNEW she was having a boy. I saved her a pair of Monkeys zebra-print newborn pants that I will post to her, because any son of Nancys will be all about the punk-rock. I'm honoured she thought of me. Thank you, Nancy, straight back atcha.

I have decided to nominate one person. I first started reading Vee at The Sweet Life in early last year, just as she found out that her pregnancy ended in a blighted ovum. She carried on, through treatments, always blogging and holding hope. She got pregnant again, but that cruelly ended in more heartbreak for her and her husband Max. I couldn't believe it. I didn't comment on her blog for a while, I guess because I was pregnant and didn't want her to feel obliged to return the comments, knowing how hard it can be to follow a preggo blog. Then, at the beginning of this year, Vees hubbie Max got diagnosed with cancer. I remember reading that post, so shocked and in tears and wishing I could do something to help. I thought, "My goodness, that's terrible! I can't imagine!"

Then, we all know what happened with Mr TC not long after ..... Vee has emailed me so many times, giving me such great advice, from anti-nausea medication, to how totally shit-scary it all is. We are kindreds. Thank you, Vee. Actually, maybe you could stop by her blog? They just got news that Maxs tumours have remained unchanged. I'm sure she would love a virtual hug, even if you've never met her. (Vee - the rules for nominating people are here.)

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And as for my current marital status? Well, who knows. Frankly, I am EMBARRASSED about how bad it is. I have prayed for strength and calmness, even if Mr You-Know-Who is being Worlds Greatest Prick. For Tigers sake, mostly. Using all I have learnt in my almost eight-year recovery, to just breathe, let it go, get out of my own way. Hand it over, get out of the drivers seat, stop treating Spirit like my apprentice. Go to an AA meeting, talk to people, and remember the HALTS. (Don't get too Hungry, Angry (ha), Lonely, Tired, Serious).

Thank you, lovely internets, for your love. I wish you could all come over for dinner. We could eat, you could drink wine while I eat chocolate, then I could set up the karaoke machine. (I don't have one, but I would buy one in your honour). You could meet my two sons who give my heart a daily reprieve from all the sadness.

* The title of this post was written on a coffee mug of my therapist in rehab, 10 years ago. I still love it.

XOXOXOXO

Remembering

2008-08-09T08:50:00.006+10:00

I felt SO bad when I woke up this morning and thought of last nights post. Imagine calling your husband "baldy" when he's on chemo ... even if it was only in a thought sequence.

I'm done with whinging and whining.

A few pics of me and Mr TC. I can't WAIT until he returns from Chemoland, I miss him so!!

A Man and His House ....

Shadowkissing .....

Drumming in his African drumming band. (He's had to give that up this year, and really misses it. Calls it his meditation ...)

On a sunny winters day last year ...

Standing in line, waiting to go into Billy Kwongs. One of the BEST restaurants in Sydney. He took me for my birthday last year ....

Tiger took this pic. I love it, even though the top of my head is cut off ....

A pic from our wedding night. He never wanted to get married and didn't understand the fuss .... until we did it. He LOVES being married now ...

This pic was taken less than two weeks before Monkey was born. We had no idea yet how dreadfully ill Mr TC was; our world was about to go careening off its axis .....

Ok, yeah, so great. I am now BLUBBERING! Although, it was very good to look at all of these happy pix. I'm going to print some off and put them in a frame, and give it to Mr TC so he doesn't forget who he is ... who WE are.

xoxoxoxoxox

A Typical Day

2008-08-08T22:59:00.004+10:00

Disclaimer: I love Mr TC incredibly. So very much. It's just hard, like I almost forget who he really is.

Today was good. I had finally submitted my article, hired out Juno (which I have been HANGING to see) and rented some movies for Tiger. Got takeaway so I didn't have to cook. Monkey was down for the count. I had a luxurious shower. I felt a strange yet vaguely familiar emotion ..... HAPPY!! I FELT HAPPY!!

Had a block of Cadburys AND a big bag of peanut M&Ms. Things were looking up!

Then Hardluck Harry makes his way downstairs. The doom and gloom man himself, Mr TC. I didn't tell him I was happy. Because he is FAR FROM HAPPY. He is MISERABLE, FED UP, AND DEPRESSED. His eyelashes and eyebrows are now thinning ... soon, he will look like something we have both tried so desperately hard to avoid .... a cancer patient. The man has no light left in him.

His mood was catching .... of course, I soak up all his bad energy like a sponge and think "Oh, that's right. How could I forget ..... life is terrible."

Except, sometimes, occasionally ... it's not, for me. Life goes on. I feel ok - adrenalined up to the eyeballs, totally sleep deprived but hey. I'll take my mood-altering feelings anywhere, I'm not fussy.

It is very hard watching Mr TC go through this. Tonight I just wanted to SHAKE him and tell him to snap the fuck out of it. I keep feeling angry at him, which is so not fair. It's just so impacting and frustrating.

So, I consoled myself with my chocolate and put the movie on. Mr TC fell asleep straight away, which irritates the fuck outta me. Just go to bed.

I think I'm lonely. My hubbie is gone, replaced by this empty broken shell of a man.

So I'm in Juno heaven (loved it) ... Tiger comes screaming out of his bedroom, there was a scary skeleton on his movie. (Home Alone 2 ..... rated G for fucks sake, you'd think they'd not put such scary shit in there). He was inconsolable .... runs over to me. Then supersonic ears Monkey wakes up, crying because his bum is red raw, skin is BLEEDING from diarrhhea, the poor guy. I paused my movie (at a pivotal scene) sighed, cursed, and thought .... I am never having any more kids EVER I am DONE.

So, I'm on the couch with both poor sweet boys .... Mr TC wakes up and is just staring at me. I wanted to scream how useless he is, disappointing me again and again. I wanted to say "Fuck this! I'm leaving, gonna find me a piece 'o toyboy ass. SEE YA, BALDY!"

(Of course I'm using humour to mask the bottomless pit of pain I feel about watching the man I love the most in the whole world be so defeated).

I told him to go to bed.
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In other unrelated, yet equally compelling news ... I have decided to boycott the Olympics. I think it's an outrage they are being held in Beijing. Suck a fart about the smog ..... suck a big fat smoggy Beijing Chinese Olympic fart.

Poor Monkey ..... Dad Has Cancer, Now the Birds Hate Him.

2008-08-07T21:42:00.003+10:00

My poor little baby. *sigh*

This morning I had a shower, put the slow-cooker on with a fresh veal casserole, and braved the .. shudder.. mums club at Tigers school. (First time I have been to an assembly since I was preggers.) This was all before 9am. I thought ... why stop there?! And went to a nearby village to meander, browse, and generally salivate over my favourite stationery shop.

Grabbed a large double-shot soy latte, felt pretty fucking pleased with myself. Monkey was asleep in his sling. My sister Rex rang, I was walking up and down the street, chatting .... then, all of a sudden I noticed something fly into the sling, between me and Monkey. I thought it was a praying mantis, or beetle, or some hideous creature (I HATE BUGS. THEY ALWAYS SURPRISE ME AND FREAK ME OUT AND I HATE THEM) .....

I stop talking and look down.

I could not. Believe. My Eyes.

There, splayed across my eleven-week old-desperately-wanted-yet-often-ignored* baby ..... was a big fat birdshit.

A BIRD SHAT ON MY BABY SON TODAY. ALL OVER HIS CHEEK.

I was still on the phone. "Oh my God. Oh my God. I can't believe it. Rex, you won't believe what just happened."

She's like What! What happened!!

"A bird just shit all over Monkeys face. A bird just shit all over Monkeys face!!!!"

Of course, we both laughed, she told me to call her back. It was so disgusting, man. I'm like, fuuuuuuccckkkk. That fucking bird - no doubt in my mind it AIMED right at him. Cocksucking arsehole bird.

So, of course I rush to my car to wipe it off with 10 million baby wipes YUCK. Before I do that, of course I take a photo. (I keep getting this mental image of a wild-eyed crazy woman taking a pic of birdshit on her babys face, in the middle of a busy street. Mother of the Year)

I was going to post it on here, but it's just too slack. I can't do that to him. If I was a baby and a bird shat on MY face, and my mum blogged, I wouldn't want her to post it, either.

Can you believe it! I rang Rex back, she said how lucky it was, and to buy a lottery ticket. (Which we did).

I ended up going in to the stationery shop, suddenly SPLURT, again and again, Monkey did the filthiest poos in his nappy. Poor little man. The sound of it made ME want to poo, too. The lady came over to ask if we needed help, and I wanted to scream "Don't come any closer! Poo cloud!" But it was too late, so I got the pleasure of watching her face recoil in disgust, at the stench. (I didn't poo, only Monkey did. A lot).

So, I cut my losses and came home. Showed Mr TC the photo of his baby smothered in white and brown bird crap ...... he thought it was hysterical.

He NEVER laughs, anymore. So at least some good came out of it.

My poor baby!!! Why does this stuff happen to us??

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*I've really started playing with him, now. I absolutely adore the fuck out of him, really.

Back in the Game

2008-08-05T19:35:00.004+10:00

Mr TCs stubble on his chin is so sparse, it's pathetic. And he knows it. "Fucks sake hon, I look like a hundred year old Chinaman."

Me - "Well, yes, it is - but I'm sure it will grow back properly. I still love you. I still love you through ALL of this shit. Even when you look at me like you hate my guts .... it's just the chemo talking. Even when you're acting like such a fucking angry prick ..... I still love you."

Mr TC, after thinking for a minute ..... "Hey, I thought we were talking about my chin hair!"

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Heh. We haven't had sexual relations in A VERY VERY LONG TIME. I may have to start humping something .... the couch, a lampost. I'm like one of those renewed virgins.

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Controversially, I have decided to re-join the bloggy world in full, and take my blog off private. I have spent a lot of my life hiding .... why should I start hiding again now? My blog stats lifted substantially in May .... as they would when a TTC blog suddenly becomes a cancer blog, five days out from the birth of the baby. (SURPRIIIIISSSSEE) In television land, I believe it's what's known as a "ratings bonanza". I have spent some time going over some old posts, and deleting some personal stuff I had written about about Mr TC. Personal stuff about me? Kept it all in. Fuck it. It's like that scene in 8 Mile and Eminem stands there rapping, and uses all of the bad stuff about himself in his rap, and dares his detractors to mock him.

No-one can mock me if I accept myself, warts and all. I love my blog .... I welcome anyone to read it, except maybe the person who landed here from googling "finger lickin' sisters pics".

It was strange, reading my journey. I couldn't read past February this year ... because I knew what was coming, and my heart started to thump and I felt sick.

Seriously ..... how could it have happened this way? I wondered what month his tumours started to grow. How utterly terrifying it was, to be in hospital thinking that my husband was going to die. I thought they would open him up, the cancer would be riddled throughout his whole body, and he would be given a few weeks to live. I pray that Mr TC gets some amazing years, from now on. Cancer-free, and enjoying his life. He says he wants to go to Greece. We might move towns. Who knows.

I am much stronger than I ever gave myself credit for. That feels good. I have a baby I dreamt and willed into existence. I haven't really spent that much time enjoying him, which kind of sux. It's all so dreadfully different to what I expected to happen.

I emailed my auntie in Scotland ... I met her once, when I was 19 months old. She is my real dads sister ... the real dad who I never knew, but look exactly like. Monkey has my red hair more and more .... he seems to look like my real dad! I hadn't contacted her in a few years - she didn't even know I was pregnant, so I laid it on her - bang, here's your new nephew, oh and my husband is "a little bit crook." She replied back straight away, so lovely. She told me that my dad always hated his hair being called red, and used to call it auburn.

I didn't know that. It made my heart sore, to be 36 years old and so excited at finding out a new piece of info about my father - a morsel, a scrap from the puzzle of him.

Today I emailed her back, with these pics that I labelled "The Wee Bonny Lad" ....

Today, I told her, I know that my dad was disappointed I wasn't a boy .... but check out his new grandson. I told her I wished things were different.

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Right now, Mr TC is on the couch, making Tiger laugh hysterically. It's making me so sad! Why are all the happy things making me sad? Maybe because I didn't think we would get to be here. I will try not to take life for granted from now on, but I know I will. It's human nature.

Twas the Night Before Chemo

2008-07-31T15:48:00.003+10:00

Today, I had to drive down to the big shopping centre to get some blankets. I had Monkey with me, I was holding him, BUSTING to go to the toilet. So in I go, holding my handbag, shopping bags, and baby ..... simultaneously, three things happened:

1. I had to do, ummmm, more than a wee;
2. Monkey starts howling;
3. There is no toilet paper.

..... in that moment, I realised that shit like that happens to me all the time. I can be quite the Bumbling Bumbler from Bumbleland.

Thank God for his baby wipes, is all I can say.

I will most likely be offline for a while, it's chemo day tomorrow, which always send us all for a loop. My wonderful sis Rex is coming up to take Mr TC down for it, she will be staying a few days. My twin sisters alternate their visits to come and help out every three weeks ... they call it their "cancer holiday," as they get a break from their busy lives down in the city. Mr TC can't eat chocolate when he does chemo ...... is it wrong to have already realised this and looked forward to eating the rest of his American chocolate? (I'll try not to, Gemini, but I can't promise anything).

Tomorrow is Tigers sports carnival at school. I have been avoiding his school like the plague, every time I went there I kept getting swarmed and stampeded, everyone wanting to see the baby and ask how Mr TC is. I am OVER people asking me about it in public. If I'm feeling well enough to be out and about, then I don't want people to come running up to me to bombard me with their experiences of cancer; or their tears about Mr TC. Some people have really freaked Tiger out, so I have officially had enough.

Now when someone asks me, I just get this strange monotone voice and answer "Good" or "Fine" to all of their nosy fucking questions. My aura turns black and purple, and they end up slinking away, trailing their inappropriateness behind them.

I do not want peoples sympathy, or pity, or stories. Most people shit me on a good day, fucks sake. Not everyone is like this ..... some people are AMAZING. A few are mums from Tigers school .... I have told them I'm coming tomorrow, as Tiger is such a great runner and I can't miss it. I just hope I don't have a panic attack. Or tell someone where to go.

Pssst, Look Up Here!!!!

2008-07-31T08:04:00.004+10:00

Check out this pic that Nancy sent me! She was driving at 80mph and took it with her phone. I don't know what that is in km .... hell, I don't even know how many kilos Monkey was when he was born. (8 pounds). I hate, loathe, detest, maths. That part of my brain just shuts down in protest.

Topcat 4 Gemini 4 Eva

2008-07-29T20:23:00.005+10:00

I feel so guilty ... poor little Monkey. He didn't ask to be born into such an intense set of circumstances. I wonder how differently I would have parented him if all the bad shit didn't happen. Things would be so much easier.

I'm ok - I still have my Grace, it's here to stay. I just don't think I'm the most balanced mother at the moment. I'm always rushing around; there seems to be always something more important to do than simply holding Monkey, or reading a book to Tiger.

I've decided to become more Zen-like, and really be here in the moment. If I'm packing the dishwasher, just pack it. Making dinner, changing a nappy .... just be it, and stop rushing and hurrying and stressing out.

I have decided that the addict in me loves being severely sleep deprived. TOTALLY shuts my head up. Heh.

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Ok, so, a box arrived today. From someone who's blog I started reading when she was in the 2ww ... her divinorama girls are nearly 9 months old, I think. We have become good friends, hooking up on Facebook as well.

Mr TC was here when it came, he's like, what! Maya sent an AMAZING box of goodies. Most of them for Tiger!! I picked him up from school, and said mate - get excited. He definitely did ....

Ben 10 Galore!!! He looooooves Ben 10 .... you can't get this stuff in Australia yet!!! We just couldn't believe it!

Gemini wrote the most beautiful note that made me cry. I can't believe that I know such wonderful women on the other side of the world. She sent a shitload of American chocolates (oh yeah baby, do it, uh huh ...) however, there was a catch."The chocolates are for Mr TC .... you can have some if he says you can.." What!!!!

I made the mistake of telling him this. (Maya knows that I frequently eat all the chocolate in the house, silently.) So, he puts it all in the pantry, and said that I couldn't have any yet!! Waaaah! I said not fair ... she's MY bloggy friend. I almost got pissed off .... but I just went out and bought my own stash of Cadburys, told Mr TC he had to ask me if he wants any.

Thank you, lovely Maya. You abso-fucken-lutely made my crappy day so much brighter. Thank you for the t-shirts, and for Monkeys wonderful Monkey onesie and Ralph Lauren pant suit> Totally awesome. I will meet you one day, you know it!!!

It's chemo day on Friday. Chemo is a necessary evil. Mr TC turns 42 tomorrow - no celebrations this year, he just can't see anyone at the moment, has disappeared so far in himself. He says that his spirit is absolutely gone, the only thing that breaks through and reaches it ..... is Monkeys smile.

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KILL ME NOW

2008-07-29T06:57:00.003+10:00

I'm not joking. Kill me. The fuck. Now.

It's 6.30am .... I have been up for four hours already.

Why must Monkey be so unsettled in the night times ..... 3 to 4 hourly feeds I can deal with. But the old "get up and put the pacifier back in about ten times" game? Yeah, not so fun. But still manageable. Sometimes I try putting it back in with no light on, and stick it in his nose - or his eye. Missed it by that much as Maxwell Smart would say. Monkey doesn't think it's very funny.

But lately - he just won't settle back down after a bottle. I mean c'mon dude!! Mummy is borderline psychotic as it is!! Pleeee-aaaassssssseee go back to sleep.

A few hours ago, I just gave up trying to settle him and howled alongside next to him. Which I think scared him and made him cry more. Which woke Mr TC up and he came down from upstairs to see what was going on. Baby is almost 3 months old ..... number of times husband has got up in the night to help ....... ZERO.

"What's going on?" He innocently asks.

What the fuck do you think dipshit!!!! "Ummmm, he just won't settle." I answered, in my best husband-on-chemo-better-be-nice-to-him voice.

I don't care that he has cancer. For the love of GOD I need a decent sleep. Just one. With earrplugs.

If it weren't for websites like this there would be no joy in my morning at all.

The End

indisputable topcat

Welcome to Topcatland

Bulletdodger Part II

Legacy

Top of the Cats

It's Not You, It's Me

A Big Fat Juicy Post

SNAFU

Ummm, Hi.

Who's on First?

Dec 2008 .....with a Bullet

The River in My Heart

3dp Best News Ev-ah

... and they lived happily ever after.

Schmircus

Hello it is I, Arsehole

Like, a Total Update

Aint no Saint

Sometimes the Sun and No More Always Looking

Hay While the Sun Shines

The Terrorist

And the Nominees Are ....

This morning, when I should have been working, I found the glasses I used to wear in high school, put them on, took a photo, and posted it on my blog.

The Big Reveal

Happy Half Birthday

The Feet on the Fairy

Playing in the Dirt

The Baby Who Cried Wolf.

Two Photos

Rehash Brown

You Wouldn't Like Me When I'm Angry

Just Keep Laughing. What the Sisters Did Part Two

What the Sisters Did. Part One

I Wouldn't Trade the Pain for What I've Learned

The Space Between Spaces

Not Dead

Gifts

Nemesis

*GASP* A Whine-Free Post!

The Stepmother of All Posts

The Highlight of my Saturday Night was Doing This Meme

36 Years Old and my Bedroom is a Disgrace to Humanity

The Cancer Brought Gifts, Too.

BEFORE and AFTER Hair Photos. Oh, and I lost the plot again.

Since I Last Posted .....

Seasons

Break it Down

Midnight is Where the Day Begins

Dorks, Dorks, Everywhere

"You Gotta See the Bay-bee!"

The Great 08 Dork-Off Plate

Better

I Need a Bullet

The Dork Challenge

In Sickness and In Health

Not such a Motherfucking Beautiful Day

Show and Tell: Squizzy and the Dork

Recent Conversations in my House

Mr TC is Incredulous

Three Pics of My Three Sons

Aint Nothing Like the Truth

Putting Out an APB

Maybe I Am Beige Now Too

"Wake Me Up, When September Ends."

I Heart Mr TC. (Especially his cluelessnessness).

Thanks for the Lolly Bag, Michael.

This Day

Back to Front

Bros

"This is the fear, this is the dread ... these are the contents of my head."

"We are the Hero of Our Own Story."

How NOT to Explain the Facts of Life to a Six Year Old

Same Shit, Different Day

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel .... let down your golden nipple hairs."

So a Fiasco, Tumour and Canoli all Walk Into a Bar ...

El Sandi

Forsaken

Somebody Call the Wah-mbulance

Meh. With Pictures.

Mammy

GASP A Whine-Free Post!