Ummm, Hi.

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. It's just not ok. Things are not ok.

We had words for THREE HOURS today. He took time off work. So much was said, man. I told him I just want to be a FAMILY, live simple, go camping. Parent our boys together. 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. I don't understand some dynamics at play. He grits and gets through and I'm left with the fallout of doing behind-the-scenes work? I am not a saint by any means - christ no. I'm a moody arsehole. But I feel like I sacrifice a lot of myself for him to achieve what he wants to achieve. I want him to be happy! He's been through so much - we both have.

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.

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?

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?

I will be seeing my doc about it this week. 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. 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 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.

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.

I am not a morning person but you have to be when you have children. Monkey has just started sleeping through the night! Yesterday I just wanted to go to the gym, burn some pressure off.  I'd done all the fruit and veg and grocery shopping, in the heat. Prepared their dinner. Pureed Monkeys batch of veggies. Folded washing, homework, etc. I'm struggling, man. The gym is saving me right now. I don't fucking drink, or smoke, or do drugs. This LIMITS my feel-goods.

I was trying to do something to help myself, put myself first. I feel like I am living his life, his dreams, his house. I am flat broke and yet we are married but I do all the things? What's a woman worth?

Tiger has had intensive swimming lessons this week, every morning at 9.30am. I'm so flabby. Can't believe I lost weight after the baby, only to put more on!! Childcare at the gym is great, and it's the same people from Tigers school, I know them and they know us. A bright and cheery room ... I can totally leave Monkey there for an hour. I can take out a three month membership for $200, and the childcare only costs $5.

There are parts of me that are broken forever. It is my job to look after those parts of myself .. and I've really neglected that.

Some people in the world just fuck their childen over. I refuse to do that to my kids. Point blank. Obviously, I fuck up in some areas, but Tiger knows I will always tell him the truth. I spoke to him about how he feels when me and daddy argue - told him how sorry I was. He shrugged - his exact words were - "Well, I used to cry about it til I was three. Then I thought, it's got nothing to do with me. What am I crying for??"

__

There's a heat wave here. I love it. I wil never, ever complain about being too hot. I'm lying on my bed, sweating, at 9.40pm. I'm sleeping on top of Tigers bunk bed again. I love it. God I adore that little boy with my entire being.

Dec 2008 .....with a Bullet

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.

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 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.

I love all of you.

I utterly adore the living hell out of my brother ... but suddenly I have more sisters than I ever thought possible.

XOXOXOX

The River in My Heart

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.

Certain Shining Lights of Love have been placed upon me in my life. The joy when my beautiful Tiger was born. Then Miraculous Monkey arriving.

And ...

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, I got filled up with your Love and Hope. I'm so grateful.

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, I wrote. In my worst, dirtiest, most awful days of my twenties, 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. Recovering from "stuff" 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 had 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. God I was sad. God I was weird.

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

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 have changed forever. This year - has marked me in a way that will never be undone. NEW battlescars, to match the old ones! Not feel so afraid.

XOXOXOXOX

... and they lived happily ever after.

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 live in the moment. Can't we just do that? Please can we do that.

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.

This whole experience is long-drawn out trauma and I can't wait to breathe again.

___

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.  Hopefully, 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.

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!! Told him he never needs to have an affair.

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

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? 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. Fuck. Sucks that I waited and yearned so many years for this baby, and then Everything Happened. The crying and the screaming ,, from all of us, really. The nights are still so bad I just gave up. It used to be just me and him up every hour on the hour while his dad was upstairs in the chemo wing and I was trying so so hard to parent Tiger as best as I could, shield him from everything that was going on.

Now Monkey 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. Probably other stuff. 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. God I hope so.

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

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. I kind of feel like I make him a better man. Dunno how or why. Just feel it. When we first met he wore overalls and I had more money than him. And he had three kids. I took a lot on. Guess it's all about balance and compromise.

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