It's finally over.

It has been almost eight months since I last updated this blog. Donal and I have broken up. 981 days or 2 years, 8 months and 7 days. Things have not been great for the last 3-6 months. But I was desperate to try and find the happy ending that we both deserved ( or so I thought).

But in the end, it was all too much. I couldn't deal with not having the option of children, and he "didn't want to deal with a baby when he was dying". And add to the mix, a teenager who was determined to go off the rails with a spectacular train crash.

I'm sorry to say that I didn't manage to handle the break-up gracefully. There was too much anger and disappointment at not having the relationship I wanted with the man I love(d). The worst part this whole situation is having to break up because the circumstances aren't right, as opposed to not loving him.

Of rats and sinking ships.

I realise that I haven't posted for almost 6 weeks. A lot has happened. None of it good.

1. OD has had it spelled out by the oncologist- he has metastatic bowel cancer. No more neoadjuvant chemotherapy. No more chance of cure. No more chemo until they find a met or he starts to get sick. He's been told that he will " probably continue to be well for 6 months...but not for 18 months".

2. I'm moving into a one-bedroom next weekend. It all got a bit much, and I need some headspace.

3. OD and I haven't really talked in weeks, maybe months. He's shutting down, internalising..."when I'm reading, I'm not thinking about dying..". He probably feels like I'm the ultimate "fair-weather" girlfriend, although he's been too classy to say it to my face.

4. I feel like a dirty, stinking rat abandoning a sinking ship.

Stepping back to move forward?

The New Year is the traditional time to make resolutions and try and change things for the better. It's a time for evaluating priorities and goals. My only resolution this year is "To Travel More" and "Try Harder to be Happy".

One of the joys and heart-breaks of life is the relationship you have with those around you. In 2012, I had to try and forge a relationship with OD's children. Moving into an established family home was always going to be difficult, but recent events have made things harder. Add to the mix teenage hormones, impending GCSEs, annoying boyfriends..and it was inevitable that the something was going to give.

We had a family holiday in the chalet over the festive period. It was all very pretty, but actually, being cooped up in a chalet with 4 teenagers and their very loud, seemingly ever present friends was not easy. OD's open house policy meant that we had anything between 3-7 extra teens playing computer games every evening, with the usual debris that teenagers bring. It really interrupted  the attempts to have an afternoon nap. No lie-ins either, because it's impossible for four teenagers to get up and head to the ski slopes quietly.

It was a tense time, but we managed not to have any raging arguments. I had three blissfully quiet days to myself, and they arrived back on the 7th at 6pm. Annoying boyfriend was already loitering around outside the house waiting for them ( that boy is creepy). I'd gone all Martha Stewart, and had dinner ready for them. OD was choked up with a French virus, and was off to bed at 8pm. It was SD1's turn to wash up, and as I went off to bed at ten, I gently reminded her.

The next morning, I arrived down to the breakfast bowls and dishes piled around the kitchen including some of last night's dishes. Also, annoying boyfriend was loitering around AGAIN. I was really quite pissed off. I made a sarky comment to SD1, and initially there was silence. A few minutes later, OD asked her a question, and there was an angry torrent about how "you people don't appreciate or notice anything I do......". Later that day, I felt bad, and sent her a message apologising for the argument that morning. She still hasn't responsed.

It's not great living in an environment where everyone is getting on one another's nerves. The teens are challenging and often rude to OD, and it's really not something I am used to. It still annoys me. EVERYTIME. Maybe the whole parenting thing means you have a special tolerance gene. I was very upset after SD1's outburst, and OD told me to "let it wash over you, she's just a teenager..".

But I don't know if I can.

Perhaps it's time to take a step back, move out of the family home, and allow him to have his family week with the kids alone. I certainly enjoyed my time with them better when we saw each other less frequently. And then maybe OD and I can stop arguing about the kids and start concentrating on our relationship.

The damaged child...

I was listening to Radio 4 the other day, and caught bits of a programme about abusers and abused children. I don't remember every detail, but one thing that sticks was that a child who is abused, either verbally or physically has different brain development from one who is cherished and cared for. And that constant shouting can affect brain development.

OD has always held that SD2 is a challenging child because of constant negative feedback from her mother ( i.e. THAT woman). I've always remained fairly neutral on that stance, as I don't have her side of the story. She does like shouting though, as the only contact I have had with her, is hearing her shout at him or the children down the telephone.

SD2, who is 13 has been incredibly difficult over the last month. She has periods of obviously trying to be nice, and then has a complete meltdown. On our transposed Christmas Day, the 23rd, OD has a tradition of one of the children lighting the candle, to "let baby Jesus know that he is welcome in this house". He'd already said that SD3 could light it, when SD2 arrived and started kicking up a fuss, saying that it was her turn. It culminated in her shouting "F*ck this...", and running up to her room. I made the mistake of trying to reason with her, and was subject to a kicking, spitting, screaming child...much like a toddler having a tantrum. Only this "toddler" is taller than I am. After the tantrum ran its course, OD spoke to her, and she did apologise ...but the day was rather spoiled.

She was in a touchy mood when we left for France, because she'd misplaced her coat. Unfortunately, her habit of being messy and throwing things about does lead to things going missing. She does however, have a nasty habit of accusing everyone around her of having stolen/moved her things and lashing out. She'd calmed down by the time we got to France, but again had a hissy fit after she was asked to put her things away. This time, there were threats of.."If you don't let me have what I want..you'll be sorry...my behaviour will be even worse..&*&**&&^%^&......". OD had to win that power battle, but it was extremely difficult to stand back and not do anything while she was kicking and punching him, and finally ripped the pocket of his favourite jacket. (As an aside, it's my least favourite jacket....apple green...really?!...!).

She's since apologised and has been nicer....but it doesn't strike me as normal behaviour. There has been mention of a behavioural psychologist..but it's rather like living with an active volcano, waiting for it to erupt.

Fun and games!

...miserable, diseased, dirty, ex-mistress....

OD joined a cancer forum, called the Colon Club. It's American, and its seems great.
He showed me his first post...which was honest, and heart-wrenching. I haven't posted a link, because this is a semi-anonymous blog, and one that I haven't shared with him yet. Too much ranting and all that...but extract from his post below....

" In September I was counting my blessings .......... My personal life was looking good with a promising relationship that seemed set for the long term and we were contemplating starting a new family. ..... On October 3rd I contacted a friend who agreed to do a colonoscopy a couple of days later. On the 5th of October, my life came to a crashing halt: Stage 3C cancer at the recto sigmoid junction. I had a laparoscopic anterior resection 10 days later that removed a moderately well differentiated adenocarcinoma T3N2M0 with 5 of 35 (or possibly 25) positive nodes.

I was sort of processing this information intellectually but it took another couple of weeks for the subconscious mind to take proper notice. When it did, its reaction was to curl up and want to die. Literally everything went off the rails for a couple of months........ my young partner's misery was almost more than I could cope with .......

As a former surgeon who had spent years managing patients with metastatic cancer, I probably know more than is good for me about the disease, but for weeks I could only think about those patients who had a bad outcome and not those who had lived life to the full.........feeling much more positive...."









I am very aware that I have not been handling the diagnosis and his reactions particularly well. I'm also very aware and anxious about being a "cancer bore"...you know the "sad girl, who's partner has cancer...". It's not a great label. The blog is good for ranting...catharsis.

But sometimes, I do feel like one of those people who are so freaking miserable that they can't be around normal people. Like I'll infect the happy people. Like I'm some miserable, diseased, dirty ex-mistress.

I'm not an ex-mistress.....but Meredith Grey's words from Grey's Anatomy sum it up pretty much.

This is also an apology to those of you, who I have been inflicting my rants and moans and whines on...I could consider a New Year's resolution of not being so ranty...but I'm not sure how long that would last!

(Two posts in one day...can you tell I'm work avoiding..?!)

Life's too short..?

The last two weeks have been super busy. OD drove out to France, and spent a couple of days there with his slightly batty, but remarkably kind Kiwi pal. I had lovely friends up to visit from Edinburgh- the weather in Manchester, for once, was not dreadful, and we did some National Trusting, overeating and lots of catching up.

The following weekend was also busy with the dreaded literature review. It's a requirement of anal Uni of Manc to submit a Lit Review, to "enhance understanding of the PhD thesis". Mine, was read, in fine detail, by not one..but three supervisors. Who made LOTS of comments...some of them were...." Didn't you read my marvelous paper on x, y and z...I know everyone else says, a but..I think it's b....". Thus, the build up to Christmas was filled with corrections. If they are so anal about a 30 page piece of work...I can't imagine what they are going to be like with the final thesis!

I also decided to opt out of an additional exam I'd planned to take in March. The stress of trying to revise, while doing the science thing and coping ( or not..as the case may be) with the issues around OD and his disease were taking my toll. After I cried in front of one of my bosses...I decided enough was enough. I needed to remove a stressor..and the exam was the most logical one. I'll probably regret it when I'm trying to finish writing a thesis and revising for the exam in three years time..but heck...I might have had a career change then anyway!

OD and I have had several other arguments and heart to hearts. I got cross, because I thought he needed to pull his act together, and start to function. I made him cry..again. As he says, unless you're in the cancer club ( the one , no one wants to join..), you don't really get it.

Christmas itself was not a complete blow out, but was fairly miserable for both of us. He had his infusion on Christmas Eve, the first cannula blew, and he had to have multiple stab wounds to his forearm, to stop the oxaliplatin from accumulating. Then, he had to have the infusion in the other arm. Which meant, that he didn't have time to buy presents for his PA and his sister. Yours truly then, had to do the rush to John Lewis at 4pm and pick out suitable gifts things. I HATE LAST MINUTE shopping. We then had to endure ( enjoy for him) a catch up with some of his college friends.

I could blame tiredness, or just general pissed offness at the world, but OD's disorganisation had also extended into forgetting to buy me a Christmas card. It was a stupid mistake on his part, and I over-reacted slightly, and so did he...at like most of these fights, it descended into 48 hours of coolness and sniping. He'd also recently told me that he'd restart smoking soon after the operation. He hadn't told me...but I'd suspected it.

No excuses, I should have picked the battle better...but I guess we've made up now.

Sometimes it's hard to believe that only last year, we had a fabulous Christmas together, and we were both looking forward to 2012. Now, I can't really see a way of us having a long-term future. It's like the elephant in the room..and the elephant has left a great big pile of poo...

Much like my first attempt at the Mary Berry Yule Log...

Luckily..this was the trial run before the actual Christmas dinner.

Hope you all had a merry Christmas and best wishes for 2013.

The Last One of the Millenium

It's a special day today. 12.12.12.
Unfortunately, the only thing I did to mark it, was to call OD. He likes palindromes and such like.

OD is doing the killer drive to France to deposit the car there. We're flying out on the 27th of December, but a week's car hire would have cost the same as the tickets. I was a little worried about him doing the monster drive alone, but one of his nice millionaire friends has very kindly offered to go with him. 15 hours of boring driving....the dude is a true friend.

Which means I'm in the office late, trying to finish a horrid report before the weekend. I'm having my first visitors from Edinburgh, which is very exciting. The house is looking reasonably festive, as we have the tree up. There was some moaning from OD, as I'd asked him not to get a monster like last year's tree. This one is "dainty"..but it's still bigger than me!

I think it looks gorgeous and smells gloriously "piney". And what's even better, is that I managed to convince the girls not to cover the tree in tinsel. Yes..we have a "grown up" Christmas tree.

 Last year, to mark my first Christmas with OD, I'd painted him a bauble. I was going to take the girls this year, but the local pottery shop burnt down! Oh well..best laid plans!.

( Christmas 2011's bauble...Eldest daughter obviously remembered that it was hand-painted and found somewhere prominent and safe for it...awww!)

The end of the Cancer Club

OD went to see the oncologist today prior to the start of the next cycle of chemo. He had an encounter with what sounded like a very incompetent registrar, before Dr P rescued him. He's ditching the rubbish anti-emetic ( domperidone) and moving on to the good stuff ( ondansetron).

On a sombre note, OD also went to a funeral. One of his colleagues had been having radiotheray for melanoma. They had joked about setting a cancer club. The man, who is about the same age as OD and with similarly aged kids had been back at work, and then very suddenly had complications and died.

OD started talking about the funeral over dinner, and I had to walk out to stop myself bursting into tears in front of him. It all just seems a little too real.

Sundays....

We had a nice day today. Free Rent Freddy moved out, and I have claimed his bedroom as my sanctuary. It's amazingly quiet- I can even hear the rain dripping on the eaves!

I'm sure it's all psychological, but having a bit of my own space in the house has made a huge amount of difference. I have actually done some work too- which justifies the "study space" argument.

The day was filled with domestic bliss. OD is shattered from the chemo, but with some persuasion made a Sunday roast. It was nice pretending to be normal, and doing the weekend shop. The roast chicken was amazing. My only contribution was the gravy- but they do say the gravy holds the meal together.

Previously, the OD gravy was Bisto stuff. Not my idea of yumminess. But I convinced him to let me try his brother in law's recipe. It was DEAD SIMPLE, but DELICIOUS!

Essentially, all I did was throw in an onion, a carrot and tiny bit of parsnip to roast with the bird. Remove bird,  drain off the fat. Blend the juices, and the veg ( fancy name trivet) together with about 200mls of chicken stock. Nom..nom..nom. No pics, because we ate it all. Every LAST BIT.

Nigella...eat your heart out.

The Joy of Science

Everyday I'm surrounded by cancer. It's rather messed up really, that every week when I sit in the multidisciplinary team, I'm disappointed that there is no suitable patient for my clinical trial. I'm disappointed that some poor woman hasn't got the right sort of cancer. Okay, well..the sort of cancer I'm interested in (endometriod ) usually has a good outcome...but still!

I feel like a right old meanie!

I was trying to explain over dinner to SD3 what I do on a daily basis. I decided to talk about the lab stuff...

Me:.....so basically, I grow some cancer cells, and then I try and kill them with a drug....
SD3:...that's so weird!

It is rather! I spent all week trying my first "real experiment". Without too many specific, I put tiny numbers of cancer cells in a 96 well plate, dosed them up with varying drug concentrations and over the last few days, have been checking to see if they stopped growing.

We haven't crunched the numbers yet, but even looking at the well with the highest drug dose, those cancer cells are still too happy for my liking! I don't think the experiment has worked. Apparently, they never really do! One of the other PhD students is at the end of his 2nd year, and he doesn't have any results!

The Joy of Science eh?

Happy weekend everyone!

Private Hell

Weekends are meant to be a time for re-energising and revitalising. So far, this one hasn't quite got to that stage. OD was knackered. His sleep has been worse than ever, and dashing up and down to B'rum and work probably wasn't helping.

He's fluctuating between taking on the deviants at work and getting them in line and saying.."F**k the lot of you, I'm leaving". His mood has  not been great.

We were having a reasonably good day, until 9pm when THAT woman called. Essentially to pick a fight. First, they were discussing Christmas plans with the kids, and she announced that the kids didn't want to spend time with him on Christmas day. Then, she started trying to get him to put the holiday chalet back on the market. Despite the fact that it's the worst sellers' market and they would end up losing hundreds of thousands of pounds, and because of his cancer, he's unlikely to get another mortgage. And after he tried to reason with her, she started up on the.... "It's all your fault, you ruined my life..you ruined your children's lives...etc".

Needless to say, his mood was then awful. Unfortunately, that then translated to "I really want a cigar..I'm going to have a cigar...". He's been off them for 5 weeks.

His argument was that there was no direct link. That was like a red flag to me. I knew that he was well aware of the risks associated with smoking. But it was difficult to have a diplomatic discussion. Particularly after he said, "I'm going to die anyway and the chemotherapy is poisoning me".

I don't know if he smoked that damn cigar. If he didn't, was it worth the fight and seeing him actually break down? He's on an absolute low right now, and is very fatalistic.While, I feel so strongly that he needs to make those lifestyle changes and fight and LIVE.

Because right now, to keep going and to stay here..I need to be positive and hang on to the belief that this is a blip, and there is light at the end of the tunnel.

 

Chemo-Day

OD started chemo this week. It was a long day.
0635: Train to B'rum
0800: Bus to hospital
0845: Arrival on ward and wait for nurse.
1100: 2nd attempt at cannula.
1140: Chemo starts.
1350: Chemo finishes. Nice oncologist comes in for a chat.
1500: "We cocked up, and haven't got your oral chemotherapy ready yet. We have ABSOLUTELY no idea when it's going to be here. Why don't you go home and pick it up later..?" " Emm...because we live RATHER far away."
1600: Arrive in  B'rum City to try and get some edible food.
1605: Phonecall from ward:  Your oral chemo is ready.
1610: Bus back to hospital.
1700: Back to city for food and train.
2100: Arrive back home.

You can get the man into a "sick-bed", but you can't get him out of his suit.

It was only the first time, so perhaps things will be a little more streamlined in the future. I was knackered, so I can't imagine how he must feel. Luckily, the intravenous chemo is only once every three weeks, but the side effects started almost immediately. We'd both read the helpful Macmillan sheets, and some of the side effects just sounded weird. ...Pins and needles, funny taste in your mouth...

They didn't sound horrendous. But actually, painful pins and needles in all your extremities, made worse by the cold ( it's November...!), everything tasting slightly metallic, fatigue.... Perhaps, if you just had one symptom, it would be bearable, but the combination of all the little insults add up.

I feel bad for him. The whole situation is crap. And yet, I'm finding it difficult to be the all understanding, all forgiving girlfriend. I'm trying to not react when he's snappy or irritable or morbid, but it's not easy.

I also had an unpleasant suprise last night. In a fit of domesticity, I went up to the loft to tidy away some books. One of the kids must have been going through the boxes because there was a huge pile of photos on the floor. I made the mistake of glancing through them as the top few were of OD and his siblings in their youth. And then I found the cheesy photos from his wedding day to THAT woman.

It's not as if I didn't know he'd been married before. After all, the four kids are a constant reminder. But I still had a completely visceral reaction to those pictures. I tried to do the right thing and not let the reaction affect my interaction with him. That didn't really work. There's only one thing to say.

It's all a big, god-awful, soap-opera-worthy,  freaking, mess.

 I could ask "Why me?"

“To the dumb question "Why me?" the cosmos barely bothers to return the reply: why not?”
Christopher Hitchens, Mortality

 

Waving a white flag

Free-rent Freddy aka the ex-au pair is moving out soon. I don't know whether I will miss him. OD's kids have had au pairs around for as long as they can remember. Thus, by and large, they don't tidy up after themselves. Who can blame them... they actually did have a magic "cleaning up after, laundry doing, picking up" fairy.

Freddy used to keep the place tidy, but wasn't very good at getting the kids to participate. I guess it was easier just to do the work, then to encourage audience participation. Since he started his full-time job though, he hasn't been doing as much. His interaction with family life has been minimal, and he spends most of his time cocooned up in his room. His contract with OD  finished in July, and the agreement was free board and lodge in return for continuing to do his bit of cleaning etc.

That hasn't really happened.

Over the last three months, I have been trying to adjust to life with four teenagers and one adult, whose standards of cleanliness are very different from mine. I don't think I have OCD, but I'm not a fan of crumbs, cups and saucers on every surface, etc. It must be the a "growing up in the tropics" kind of thing. If you left crumbs on a surface in Malaysia, you'd have an infestation of ants within hours.

I initially tried to tidy up after everyone. That didn't work.

Then, I tried the gentle encouragement to get them to tidy after themselves. That worked a little, ( some more than others), but wasn't a huge success.

More recently, the mess and feeling that the kids are not pulling their weight with regards to chores has been a source of conflict between OD and I. I floated the idea of a weekly task list past him, which he agreed was good in principle, but has failed to implement. I seem to have fallen into the "bad cop" role.

Last night, after I spent the evening cooking for a couple of his friends, OD asked the older two to clean up after dinner. Needless to say, it was not done properly ( my pickiness..? perhaps?). But after having to stand over them and instruct, I lost the plot slightly. It didn't seem fair in my head, that I was effectively doing the cooking and the washing up.

[Oh wait- he has cancer. And his horrible cow of a girlfriend is making him do the washing up?!!!]

We had terse words, and I punished him in the most passive aggressive way ever. I kept stealing the duvet, leaving him with a frozen bum!

This morning, we haven't really discussed the issue any further. The kitchen is covered with crumbs and plates. I'm now going to have to try plan D. Wave the white flag, accept that the mess seems integral in the lives of the ODs' and try to be a zen-like about it.

And when Free-Rent Freddy moves out, I'm converting his room into my study/sanctuary/CLEAN ZONE.

Is it possible to leak snot out of your ears?

***WARNING MILDLY GRAPHIC POST***

I'm having a "feeling sorry for myself day". I have the starts of the annual winter cold, with the prodromal sniffles, aches, mild fever and tickly throat. I toyed with the idea of VICKS FIRST DEFENSE, but my sceptical scientist mind doesn't think it will work. Plus, it's bloody expensive.

Instead, I found some effervescent Vitamin C, and have watched the Season 3 of Gavin and Stacey.

OD headed in for an important meeting at the usual 0545 start, which meant my plans to lie in went out of the window. I did manage to fall asleep but was woken up by a text from one of my Yummy Mummy friends..
"Ummm....is it possible to leak snot out of your ears?"

Her almost 2 year old has been running a temperature over the last few days, and "snot erupting from ears" sounds very much like otitis media or a middle ear infection. We had a brief chat, while the poor kid wailed in the background. I attempted to empathise with him but trying to explain the solidarity of being ill together to a toddler wasn't a great game plan.

I'm on my second cup of lemon and ginger while trying to function. I'm not sure if preventive strategies are good for things like viruses. I know they are definitely not good for spots. You know when you feel a spot erupting, and you slather on the OXY-10/Clean and Clear/Free Derm . And it does stop the spot emerging to the surface and seems to dry things up, but I still find that there's still the tiny focus of infection underneath, that continues to rumble, and the whole thing takes ages to clear up. Maybe it's better just to bite the bullet, let the spot "ripen", and pop it- messy, but quick!

Maybe I should have just let the viruses do what they needed to do and waved the white flag, instead of waging this futile minor battle- they have pulled back to their trenches, but they are rallying their troops, and it just means a long-drawn out affair!

OD's on his way back after his procedure. Probably with a very bruised googly bag. I'm off to pick him up, but I don't have a rubber ring- or is that only for postnatal mums and post- haemorrhoidectomy.

This whole cancer thing does mean that I can't exactly moan about how crummy I feel and expect sympathy. Another reason to hate cancer!

PS: Sorry about the bizarre post- I haven't even taking any sedating drugs!

The Good Airlines vs The Bad Airlines

OD and I were meant to be flying home tomorrow.
Three days in Singapore, followed by a quick swoop into KL for a meet the parents/rellies, and the 2 days up to Ipoh and Penang. I'd really been looking forward to it.
Of course recent events have put a stop to my holiday planning. I had travel insurance, but OD didn't.

A quick email to the Parkroyal Hotel in Penang, and they refunded our hotel costs of almost £500 with no quibble. It was meant to be a non-refundable deal.

Another email to my very lovely ( blatant advertisment here) travel agent, Amy in Lee's Travel, who contacted Emirates. And the response was...full refund of £1200 , even though it's a non-refundable ticket....goodwill gesture...

And finally, I wrote to AirAsia ( we had booked a Singapore-Malaysia) short haul flight, and on sending them the same documentation, got this response.

Thank you for emailing Air Asia.

With regards to your email, kindly be informed that once your booking is confirmed, it cannot be cancelled and the payment you made is not refundable.

Please be advised that we have received your medical letter however there was no supporting documents attached. ( what sort of supporting documents..do you need a pathology report??!!)

It will be helpful if you are able to furnish us supporting documents to verify the passenger’s relationship with the affected patient for our further consideration.

Perhaps I'm over-reacting, but it seems to me that because OD and I are not married, I can't ask for a refund or AirAsia "credits"- the last time I checked, there wasn't any official paperwork for "committed relationship". I mean seriously, even if two people were nothing more than travel companions ( i.e booked travel together),  ill- health is grounds for claiming on travel insurance!

A very clear example of the Good versus Bad Airlines!

To procreate or not to procreate...

OD's on his way for the chemotherapy preadmission appointment. And tomorrow, he's going to have a "small" procedure. No one can really tell us whether the ox-cap combo chemotherapy is going to fry his little swimmers.

One of the first things I established before our relationship "got serious", was whether he was willing to have more children. The man does have a screw loose on the kids aspect - I guess when you grow up with ten siblings, you must learn to love big families. So, the answer from him was "Yes, I definitely will have more children".

Recently, when we were playing the "look at all the houses we can't afford" game, he showed me one with eight bedrooms.

V: What the heck are you going to do with all those bedrooms?
OD: Fill them with children of course....
V: ( Mental thought: Hmph..who's going to clean up after all those children!!!!)

From the very start,  I have been hugely undecided about wanting to have children. I think I probably do, but the impact that a baby will have on my career plans really freaks me out. And the lie-ins, and the exotic holidays. Oh wait..the inherited four have already stopped the exotic holidays!

The other big issue about having children with a much older man is whether he's going to be up for the 4 am feeds and being knee deep in nappies again. After all, he's been there and done that! And of course, the impact on the kid. Is it fair on a child to have a much older parent? If we had a baby today, by the time he/she was 25, OD would be 77.

Numerous doubts and worries, even before the whole cancer diagnosis. When we talked about him having his swimmers stored , I confessed ( while bawling a little) to be extremely freaked out and undecided about the whole children issue. It seems grossly unfair to bring a child into the limbo of our lives and the unmentioned elephant in the room!

Obviously, my head's not really straight right now, and the enormity of the cancer diagnosis is casting a shadow on everything. I guess it's not really a time to make huge life-changing decisions and in six months time, I may be really glad that he had the foresight to cryogenically preserve some baby making juice.

A reason to procreate- babies are great photographic subjects, especially when they are as cute as this one. But I'm biaised.

The Grump Wars

I'm a bit of a newbie at relationships. In fact, my relationship with OD is probably my first, true "adult" relationship. Blame it on the Asian upbringing- I was repressed and had my nose buried in a book.

As far as I can tell, each party has a role to play in the relationship. And when we signed the metaphorical contract, I thought I'd secured the "Grumpy" role. ( "The one with the license to be a sulky cow"). And OD had the "tolerant" role. I even have a t-shirt with a grouchy smurf on it, that says..GROUCHY! Fairly clear, I thought.

And to be fair to him, he has been fairly tolerant of my grumps until recently. I suppose having bowel cancer can make a man much less reasonable. But the role reversal or the adoption of bilateral "grumpy" roles has caused some serious wrangling. Does he not realise that I have the "grumpy" privileges? Women have this hormonal fluctuations after all ( I should know, I'm a gynaecologist!). I was never a great believer in PMS, but by God, it certainly seems to exacerbate things.

The annoying thing is, the triggers for the Grump Wars are never major issues. The problem is the little issues, on a background of tension caused by cancer, teenage stepchildren, and general anger at the world mutate into nasty, vicious tiffs.

In the clear light of day, we can both be more accepting and understanding, but the Grump Wars are going to a feature of impending months. I suppose the purpose of all wars are the attainment of peace at the end. Unfortunately, there's the collateral damage that we both have to deal with.

Mending bridges

Before all the cancer stuff became the apparent, I was struggling with the concept of "stepmothering". When OD and I had the chat about moving in, we'd decided that I would not play a parenting role. It wasn't something I was keen on, and D3( aged 13 going on 35) had been particularly vicious to her mother's partner. OD was keen to try and prevent a second victim.

Unfortunately, that ploy didn't work. Lots of reasons why
1. I (used to ) spend more time in the family home than he does.
2. Our tidiness thresholds are VERY different. Yes- I have OCD.
3. He got cancer.

We have had numerous discussions about the kids pulling their weight with household responsibilities and keeping communal spaces tidy. I'm not going to go into huge details about that just now, but his relaxed ( read: so laidback, the man is horizontal!) approach lent to arguments.

D3 is a messy critter. It's like Hurricane Sandy- except that the chaos and destruction is in the manner of dirty cups, make up, crumbs, sweet wrappers, apple cores, tea bags. To give her credit, she has been trying harder, but inconsistently. She also has a nasty habit of being verbally abusive- more so to her father than me, but two minutes later, in her head, all is forgotten. Unfortunately, I'm not able to let go of the hurt and upset so quickly.

I'd been a little cool towards her after a particularly unpleasant outburst, but in an attempt at extending an olive branch, we engaged in some holiday fun. She's having a Halloween party, and the conservatory is a covered with bats, ghosts and pumpkins.

And the piece de resistance...

The worst thing about all the stepmothering is the realisation that I have become my mother! Ugh

The uphill challenge

There is a plan in place. The oncologist Dr P has strongly recommended chemotherapy-oxaliplatin and capecitabine. One infusion, followed by 2 weeks of oral tablets, one rest week= 1 cycle. And OD has signed up for eight cycles. He's decided to try and have treatment in B'rum so that he can continue working. The next 6 months is going to be what is going to seem like an endless cycle of chemo.

The side effects include the usual nausea, fatigue, but can also cause fairly dreadful diarrhoea, peripheral nerve changes and chest pain. The chance of hair loss and loss of fertility are not high, but still a possibility. We've had lots of supportive messages from friends and family, and the general message is usually, "Stay positive".

It's incredibly difficult to feel positive about the situation. OD has probably not had a good night's sleep since the diagnosis. It's a shame that no one has figured out how to bottle optimism up. Because I could use two of those right now.

Glass half full.

We got the phonecall today. Ironically, I was at work, trying to recruit someone for my cancer trial. It's not the best news. We're looking at Stage IIIb colon cancer- with 5 lymph nodes involved. No lymph nodes is best, < than 3 lymph nodes is better, and."patients with one to three involved nodes have a significantly better survival than those with four or more involved nodes".

Donal is on the train to B'rum to see the oncologist. I wanted to go with him, but as it's half term, the kids are at home, and more pertinently, he wanted some time to process things.

It's ironic, because he was doing so well after his laparoscopic surgery, I was feeling optimistic. Perhaps it was an attempt to be "glass half full". Last night, I even asked him if he would consider flying to Malaysia in a couple of weeks time if he didn't need chemotherapy. Which makes it even more of a slap in the face.

The numbers are not great, five year survival rates seem to be hovering around the 40-50% mark.

Sometimes, life is a real bitch.