Carry on Cancer
(I've got my cat)

I read somewhere years ago when I still had a little optimism and believed in self help books, that if you find it difficult to talk about your problems, you should write them down.
Write hate letters to your enemies but never send them, keep journals of your feelings which you can refer back to, to try and figure out why you eat too many cakes, or why you always seem to pick bad ass men - that kind of thing. I nodded along to the suggestions, comfortably curled up on my sofa with barely a care in the world, but I could never work out how writing about feeling amused at old Pink Panther episodes automatically meant It's my fault my 3rd but last boyfriend was a psychopath, and by writing it all down I'd be more likely to kiss a prince.
Consequently, I declined taking this advice, despite the 'celeb' endorsements ensuring that this book would balance my ying with my yang, or that book would change my life beyond recognition.
Fast forward to today, 12 days past my 50th birthday, and i've endured yet another week of mishaps, self enforced resolution making which is destined to fail, and countless moments that can only be described as 'Dawns Disasters'. If I've sighed once I've sighed a thousand times.
So, in a rare moment of clarity, and encouraged by suggestions from the few completely insane people left who are my friends - I finally listened, hobbled out of my front door to purchase an iPad, and began writing my feelings down.
This is my story.

True to my chaotic nature, I'm going against the grain by not beginning this story at the beginning. Why? Because my greatest enemy, Lenny the Leech, doesn't deserve the effort required to cast my mind back that far, and besides, even though his presence during the past 7 years has provided me with memories ranging from gut wrenching to hell raising through to mildly interesting and downright hysterical - there are places I don't wish to revisit.
Who is this Lenny I hear you ask? Lenny is my Cancer. Lenny is a snide, sneaky, completely disrespectful and evil freeloader who's taken up residence in my body and appears to be here for the duration, despite every effort to evict him. Not only does Lenny live with me rent free, his culinary tastes leave a lot to be desired. Lenny is a cannibal.
Lenny is a leech.
I'm going to begin the day my best friend entered my life, the day my world changed for the better. The day Lola came.
Lola, by complete contrast is an adorable ball of fluff with a wise little head on her, who came into my life completely by chance in January 2016. She is what is commonly known as a cat, yet she possesses more humanity than most humans I know, demonstrating her love, patience and intelligence in ways that never fail to amaze me.
Lola became my lifeline very quickly - she gave me a focus, something to get out of bed for in the mornings. No matter how ill I felt, how much my bones would be screaming at me, how often my mind would try to tell me to just give up, I needed to take care of her needs. There's nothing like the sound of a cat barfing to have you out of bed as fast as you can go, or the constant meow of a hungry feline who's convinced she's about to die if she isn't fed this instant.
Lola is my greatest weapon in my fight against Lenny. She gives me my purpose.

I'm hoping that what follows will be a candid and thought provoking account of my life with my best friend and my worst enemy, a story that answers many questions on what it's like to be driven so batshit crazy by a disease so full of evil that ones only option is to turn your back on it, give it the middle finger and laugh in its ugly, controlling face.

Carry on Cancer, I've got my cat.