This page has been my go-to place for all types of news, and thus it is here I come to share some amazing news.  8 years ago today, right now, in fact, I was in an ambulance on my way to the hospital, as I had just been diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia (for the first time).  This started the most terrifying of journeys, one where I almost lost my life, but due to the amazing love of God and the wonders of our NHS, the kindness of a stranger donating his marrow, my family and friends here I am today, receiving the best news I could have ever asked for (and before you ask, no I have not been told I am cured), rather I have been told that I can proceed to ordination – I can become a minister.  This, like my journey with cancer, I could not have done alone, but rather you have walked with me all the way, supporting, encouraging and just telling me to suck it up when necessary ;o) For that I thank you.  But for all the joy and happiness I feel there is a little bit of darkness today.  For this has been a hard journey, one where I said goodbye to Dad, Fiona, my uncle, and some good friends.  One where there is now silence rather than noise.  One where I no longer hear the voices of Fiona or Dad making fun of me for this, laughing at my joy, but also being so proud.  So, while today goes down in my books as the best day in my life, it also goes down as one of the hardest too.  But in saying all of that, I know that I can count on you, my friends, to fill the quiet space, the empty void.  So, thank you once again for being here and I ask you to continue journeying with me as I answer God’s call for the next part of my life, wherever he is taking me. Love you more than you will ever know. xxx

So today I did something that is long overdue.  Today I wrote a letter to my donor.  It is such a hard thing to do, to find the right words to say thank you to a total stranger, a stranger that saved your life.  I am not sure if I have managed to really show my appreciation and gratitude, but I have given it my best shot.

So why am I writing it today you may ask?  Or even, why did I not write it before?  The simple answer is that it always felt a bit like tempting fate (yes I know, but still ;o) however today I just thought sod it.  I must take a quick trip down to Glasgow for a hospital appointment on Monday, and yes in truth I am terrified.  I hate the poking and prodding, and I hate the fact that it causes me to worry that they will find something.  I also hate sitting with people in a waiting room knowing that for some reason I got lucky but not all of them will.  Yes, I know we all have to die sometime, but few people have to face their possible demise on such a regular basis as those of us who are diagnosed with a life-threatening illness.  The funny thing is that day to day I can forget all about leukaemia, but when that hospital letter comes in, then all bets are off.   And even then, during the day, while the fear is still there it easily ignored, at night however it grows arms and legs. There is something about being alone in the darkness that allows the panic to take root and grow.

The other day I came across these words on Facebook.

“I dream of never being called resilient again in my life. I’m exhausted by strength. I want support. I want softness. I want ease. I want to be amongst kin. Not patted on the back for how well I take a hit. Or for how many.”

I don’t know who wrote them, but I do know I also dream of that day.  I dream of the day when I don’t fear a bruise, or being tired, or a cough, or blood test results.  I dream of the day when I don’t have to be brave and strong, when in truth all I want to do is run and avoid (I cancelled this appointment once already, but hey it was the week before Christmas, kind of a busy time). So Monday I will go, I will smile and laugh, get poked and prodded and wait for the results, which I know now will be fine, but come 2am I may not be so sure. 

Love always, xxx

So tomorrow is going to be an interesting day, one filled with equal amounts of joy and fear. Tomorrow, after 7 years of treatment, I will hopefully have my last chemo. It is hard to explain the joy of knowing that means that I will no longer have to consent to procedures that “may cause significant harm or death,” I will no longer have to worry about having fits as they stab and jab me in my spine, or about having biopsies every three months (although they will still happen from time to time). No more waiting with breath held for results, knowing that the possibility of the leukemia being back is always there but praying that no trace will be found. But with that joy comes the fear, fear that without the chemo, without the regular checks the darkness that lives in my blood will start to grow and multiply again. But the truth is there is nothing I can do about it except leave it all in God’s hands. There is a sadness too as I write this, because I know that dad and Fiona would be so happy that this day had come. In fact I can hear Fiona telling me that it is about time I stopped pretending there is something wrong with me. So tomorrow, I pull on my big girl pants one more time, I let them stick needles in my bones and my spine, I let them take the biopsies and give me the chemo, and then I lift my head high and walk out into a new future, one with less hospital visits and more possibilities than I ever could have imagined at the start of this journey. I do this, however, knowing that there is empty space beside me where love ones should be, that there are wounds which are still raw and hurting even now. But I also do so knowing that no matter what the future holds I will have you, the best friends and family anyone could ask for, walking beside me, supporting me and cheering me on wherever this path leads and you have no idea how much that means. Love and thanks as always xxx

There are some days when I don’t think I am strong enough for this. There are some days when I feel so much more than just bruised and broken. Today was one such day. While thinking about Fiona’s funeral (nope we still have not had it), mum and I got out dad’s kilt and it hit me then that I am not even close to being over the loss of him, never mind dealing with Fiona’s death. Then in the post I received not 1 but 3 hospital letters, oh such fun. To top it all I am trying to keep up/ catch up with Uni and keep on top of my placement. Sometimes I think the One in charge believes that I am Superwoman, but I can tell you now that I am not. This is hard, so much harder than I could ever imagine and I just want to keep picking up the phone to talk to her, and at least once to shout at her – after I noticed the rude message that popped up on my phone when calling Chad in front of the minister, only Fiona would preprogramme my phone do that ;o) I know tomorrow is another day, and it will be better I hope (well at least there is not post ;o) but today I feel a bit like I am drowning and there does not seem to be a life raft near me. Tomorrow is another day, but today right now I can officially say life sucks xxx

This is where I always come to deal with the hard stuff in life. You know the you have leukaemia, the leukaemia is back, the chemo is not working, mum’s heat attack, dad’s death, you know the hard stuff. But never, not once did I imagine I would be trying to put into the words the pain of losing my sister. Fiona was the loudest, kindest, most caring, annoying, argumentative, brilliant, funny, loving, vibrant spirit you could ever be lucky enough to meet, she brought light, life and joy into the world and I can’t believe she is gone. Writing here has always helped me in the dark times but try as I might I just can’t find the words this time, I can’t find the light. I am blessed that she has left me the most amazing brother-in-law, three wonderful children and the greatest bunch of friends – all of whom have a little bit of her in them, so I guess she is not really gone. If nothing else this year has shown me that you never know what is around the corner, so love each other harder, say those words you are too scared to say, don’t put off the important thing till tomorrow, show each other how much you care, love each other harder (I may have already said that). Life is short and we don’t always get a second chance. I would end with something about Fiona resting in peace but you know Fiona she is probably causing mayhem as we speak. xxx

Hello from Aberdeen. Tomorrow I start to attend lectures at the University here. Ok, I know I started last year but sitting in my own front room is not quite the same. In fact this time last year I was still in Glasgow, I was yet to start my placement in Strath & Sleat, or Drumnadrochit, mum had not had her heart attack (or little incident as she calls it) and dad, dad was still here. How things change. For me this must be one of the most bitter sweet moments of my life. It feels right being here, I know that this is what I am supposed to be doing but it is terrifying being near so many people when Covid numbers are so high. It feels right being here, but I miss my dads gentle humour about what I am doing, but I know beyond doubt that he was proud of me. It feels right being here but sometimes I can’t help wondering why I made it when so many others did not. It feels right being here because this is where I know I am being called but I also have to wonder why me, what have I got to offer? Tomorrow I will walk in to Aberdeen University aware of what a privilege that will be, how lucky I am to be here (not just in Aberdeen) and what a difference a year can make. I will be remembering both the good and the not so good, knowing how blind we are to what our future holds but trusting God to keep leading me on the right path and thanking him for the wonderful people that he has placed in my life (that is you by the way :o) Love as always xxx

Ever had one of these days? I seem to be having one of these lives. Last week I had to go in for my intrathecal but try as they might (jab, jab, ow) they could not get the needle in between my spine so today I had to go back in again to have it done under guidance. First they tried it without (jab, jab, ow) then they tried it with pictures, but still struggled (jab, jab,ow), however when the ow became an AAAAHHHHHHHH they knew they were in the right spot. They then took some fluid out to send off for testing and put the chemo in. However at some point during that process I decided to pass out, still with a needle in my back, and possibly have a small fit, the expression “bite your tongue” is one I am now more familiar with than I need to be. Thankfully when I came back round the needle was gone, the chemo was in and all was well with this human voodoo doll, or as well as can be. On Tuesday I have to go in again for a bone marrow (jab, jab, ow) and then wait on all the results. Do you want to know something? I am done in. Tonight I am beginning to question whether I am swimming, treading water, or drowning and just don’t know it. I am so tired. They came round today and asked if I wanted to keep having these intrathecal procedures and how does one answer that, yes (I mean what else can happen) or no (cross our fingers that the cancer is gone). After getting all this done, they kept me in for observation and then I got the bus back to Drum, back to my placement and tomorrow I will get up and keep putting one foot in front of the other, tomorrow I will smile and engage with everyone I meet but tonight, tonight I am hibernating, disengaging from the world (especially the one that is full of needles), licking my wounds (ok maybe not actually the one on my back) and spending some time with God, because without God (and you lot) I have no idea how I would be doing any of this. Thanks once again for listening to this grumpy pin cushion princess, love you all xxxx

Today has been an interesting day. Today I moved to Drumnadrochit to begin a 10 week placement in the Church of Scotland there. This is something I never imagined I would be doing this time last year. In fact there were days last week when I did not think I would be doing it, as I struggled with exhaustion on a level I have not felt in almost a year. But here I am. Handing everything over to God and trusting that He has me exactly where I should be. Trusting God, even when driving here today was so very difficult, as it is the first time that I have left to go somewhere and dad has not been there to tell me to be safe, to check this, that or the next thing, to tell me to phone when I arrived. I was halfway over the hill when it hit me, and gosh I miss him, crying and driving down that road is not something I would advise. But then I had to laugh, as I have peacock seat covers in the car, so there is a little bit of dad coming with me even if he would never choose to leave Glenelg to go work for the Church (although his family came to Glenelg to work for the Church). So here I am, ready for my next great adventure. I would like to say bring it on, that I am ready, but with the way my life tends to work that might just be asking for trouble ;o) Instead I tread softly into the coming weeks, softly but with a small spark of hope in my heart.