I fucking hate cancer


This story features the heart-rending death of its main protagonist before it starts, but it is not really a story about grief. My wife, and the mother of my children may be gone, well before her time, but this is a love story. For the three of us boys left behind, it is a continuing story of love in which she will live forever in our hearts and minds.

I'm not an author of books. I nearly failed English in secondary school, so I guess my never having written a book before is no surprise. The blog posts linked below though surprised even me, and could be a book.

I'm just an ordinary bloke who has experienced a life made brilliant by half of it being filled to the brim by an extraordinary, but ordinary woman. She was my soul mate for real, without any lip service bullshit.

I'm also an ordinary bloke who has experienced first-hand every step of the way through a breast cancer journey, from an early survivable “Stage I” right through to a very nasty metastatic killer “Stage IV”, where cancer finally spread far and wide throughout her beautiful body.

I'm an ordinary bloke who now has had his heart torn out by getting to the end of that story, and having to continue on, now as sole protagonist. Not a protagonist pair.

The nasty metastatic killer part of our story was a shorter journey than we thought it would be. It was a far shorter journey than her oncologist, Dr Robert Stanley of Cabrini Hospital in Melbourne, Australia had originally hoped for, but a longer one than the projected three months had he not been there doing wonderful treatment things. We knew at the discovery of her cancer spreading so badly that it would quite certainly kill her, yet in the early stages we had no idea of the individuality of a metastatic breast cancer experience, and equally no idea of the twists and turns that seemed to continually change the rules of the fight.

That hers was a short and statistically average metastatic breast cancer illness is what it is. As much as I would like to change that, I cannot.

Life is just like that sometimes. Here blissfully one day, then fuck me, with no warning your life gets shorter.

Joyfully, our little family packed a pile into our time together over the decades that we were “we four”, and continued to pack it in until just a week and a half before her death.

Regarding our relationship, the only regret that I have is that she died.

Here collected are those past posts.

(The image used at the top of this post symbolises she and me as the fragile wine glasses, along with an exploding pink spray. In my mind the spray is a fluffy brigade "pink ribbon breast cancer awareness" ribbon blowing apart when things got metastatic, and terminal with cancer. The fluffy pink brigade weren't of much help to Jude... Don't get me wrong. They do good stuff. Just nothing that helped when she was actually dying from breast cancer.

There's a post about half way down about that lot, by the way, or search "Olivia"...)