Little Helpers, Big Help

"How are the girls coping with it all?"
It's the question  I am probably asked more than anything else and the one which brings the biggest smile to my face.  You see, my girls are positively thriving with all the extra time they're getting with their grandma, aunties, uncles, cousins and friends they wouldn't have had if I wasn't sick.
They may be small but their compassion for others is astounding.  Just this morning I was woken by both girls planting kisses on my cheeks, followed by Child 2 peeling back the duvet and attempting to put my slippers on my feet. Child 1 brought my dressing gown and Child 2 was back -trying to force my beanie hat over my head. By the time I had made it down the stairs, Child 1  had opened the curtains.
"We want to help you get better,  Mummy" they said.
I'm losing my eye furniture now  (brows and lashes) but in four months my adaptable children have gone from wanting me to wear a Taylor Swift wig so no one laughs at me to not caring one bit about the way I look as long as I keep being mummy. I couldn't be prouder.
You might remember I mentioned before about not wanting to write them a journal for the future because it would never be able to cover everything? Well, last week I had a light bulb moment and it's just so very right for us.  I've begun collecting my favourite books at different ages as a mummy library. It's a way of  being able to share so many more thoughts,  feelings and experiences with the girls as they grow.  Whether or not I will be able to enjoy my library with the girls is out of my hands but this way I will be with them in so many different lives, times and places our adventure together will never end.  It's just I might skip ahead a chapter. But for today we're writing our story together and my two brilliant girls are the punctuation,  transforming an ordinary tale into something magical.

Wishful Thinking

There have been times of late where i've briefly stopped crossing my fingers and silently repeating 'please God let me get better' in favour of more vain pursuits.  I'll momentarily forget what i'm going through and instead think 'please God let me not look see through today' or 'please God, don't take my eyebrows' or the most recurring one 'please God, when this is all over can you arrange it so I look very much like Gigi Hadid?' Not going to lie, i'm desperately hoping the surgeon is kind when doing my reconstruction and less nips and tucks and more chomps and hospital corners me to a body I am too lazy and greedy to achieve alone.

When I first noticed these thoughts creeping in I felt a bit bad. Surely I was wasting wishes on vanity that could be better served on willing myself better.  Wasn't I spending brain power that could be put to navigating financial crisis rather than something so superficial?  But i've been doing both and we need the balance of the weighty and the light stuff to make a good life. 

On the financial side of things i'm waiting on news from my ESA application  (formerly disability allowance) and I have applied for a one off grant from Macmillan to help with living costs.  I'm using the money that's been raised so far to cover Child 2's childcare for the rest of the school year. The debt is still there and isn't going to go away but i'm hoping to fight off bankruptcy by explaining my situation and making minimal payments to each creditor.  I am also looking in to reduced utility bills as apparently there is some help available for people with serious illnesses.  It's not a completely mapped out plan but it's a first stepping stone rather than being confronted with a looming brick wall.

Now for the beauty bits.  I've learned of late a bald head and a pale face are surprisingly useful tools in securing samples from beauty counters. I don't feel too bad for using these unexpected 'assets' because it's stuff that was always intended to be given away for free and it's helped me build a box of pick me ups I can go to on an off day. Something as small as a new hand cream can help really make a big difference when every bit of you feels like it's passed its use by date. 

And there are lots of days of feeling off lately. Having pretty much sailed through the first three rounds of chemo, the fourth has been a rougher tide. Before cancer, T was the sound of lovely things- my favourite drink, the thought of afternoon tea at a swanky hotel, teeing off for golf but almost a week after my first round of T I am laid low, living from painkiller to painkiller,  slurping pineapple juice for my swollen throat, being all kinds of grumpy and sleeping.  Sometimes I sleep just to get away from my own grumpy thoughts. I don't think it helps much that one of my side effects has been really sore ears and i'm sensitive to the smallest noise. Talking on the phone is uncomfortable and two noises happening around me at the same time is unbearable .  

I'm holding our now until my ultrasound scan on Tuesday 8 March which is going to reveal what the lump has been up to.

T minus 3

Thursday was the start of Docetaxol chemo and it surprised me how much the switch was playing on my mind before the event.  I think somewhere I had got used to my FEC groove of sickness, sleep, ulcers and aches and had a reached a point where I didn't want to change. Not least of all to a drug routinely described as having a 'bad press' because of the possibility of an allergic reaction when having it and the flu like symptoms it brings.
I won't lie. I cried as it was administered  because I was so nervous about having a reaction and I don't think I took my eye off the drip until the last drop dripped.  Back in the safe zone. Four down,  only two to go.
This time there's no sicknesses,  the tiredness is stronger than it was on FEC, the ulcers are setting in but there's no signs of the aches as yet. Apparently they will come.   For now it's time to rest.

Come On Barbie, Let's Go Party

Do you remember the first time you ever felt joy? For me it came about when one of my sisters had the very same Barbie pictured here when we were growing up. Sometimes she would leave it unattended long enough for me to play with, to imagine the magical event Barbie was going to, to think how special it must feel to be a glamorous lady at a ball. And the very best part about Barbie's dress?  The stars on the skirt glowed in the dark if you held it up to a light bulb long enough. Oh,  how Barbie must have been the envy of all her friends in that lavish velvet and nylon ensemble. Those rare glimpses into pretend elegance were heightened by the risk factor of an older sister discovering me playing with one of her toys and a sibling punishment being served.
I know it's a bit weird that i'm in my thirties and I love Barbie still. I think it's in part because as a child of the eighties,  I grew up enchanted by films of cheerleaders,  milkshakes,  crimped hair, and thinking i'd made it in life if I got chosen to tour the kitchen/freezer at a McDonald's kids party.
 Barbie lived that dream and I thought of her today as I walked back from coffee with a friend in town. The sun was shining, and the air was crisp but under my bobble hat I was sweltering with another hot flush.  I'd been telling my friend how more challenging than my spontaneous attempts to melt was the mood swings of out of the blue, irrational PMT like rages where I can be annoyed by nothing much but still want to bite the perceived perpetrator. Yes, I mean actually bite. Yes, I am well aware I am lucky for the time I live in and most certainly would have been institutionalised for being hysterical had I been born a hundred years or more ago. What a time to be alive.
While i'll always be less conventional than my first idol,  I love her all the same and quite often will still be playing with the girls collection long after they have abandoned the game. So with that in mind i've decided to celebrate our birthdays-we're all in the same week-with a Barbie and Ken fancy dress party. Who's in? And as it's not til August  I promise I will be less bitey more Barbie by then.

Time for T

It's nearly time to head home and face reality, namely round four of chemo. This time it's a game changer- a new drug, Docetaxol or T to those in the circuit, a new set of side effects....the unknown. At this point in treatment, I know I am not alone in saying its a big deal to shift onto something new. It's akin to taking a bath in the midst of a bout of Flu. You know it will make you feel better but the last thing you want to do is strip off and feel the cold air ache your bones. Now don't go getting any ideas about chemo being given to you in the nude. I was simply giving you an example of vulnerability you can relate to.

Having not been home on Sunday I  expect to find a floundering postman outside the door, crippled by the weight of his cargo. I will help him up, offer him tea, and we will work together to push the front door against the tide of admiring cards inside.....

But back in the real world the time away from routine has been largely useful in offering a mental pause, time to reflect and plan rather than solely reacting to life. I've made some big decisions and the time is coming to turn thoughts into deeds. Some are private, yes, friends, I am finally getting to grips with this whole over sharing thing, but some are simple life changes such as committing to clean eating, yoga at least twice a week, working in a realistic capacity and turning the tide on bankruptcy.

 But if you thought for a moment the fates were allowing me some time to bolster myself with a 'go girl' or similar cheesy and cringe mental state, fear not. Ladies and gentlemen I bring forth the hilarious bluntness of my niece and nephew. On the first day of my visit, I met them while wearing my wig as i wasn't sure what they had been told, if anything.

"I know why you're wearing that wig," says my niece, fixing me in a death stare. "It's because you've got C-A-N-C-E-R." She elongates the word to ensure it has maximum dramatic impact, asks me why I have C-A-N-C-E-R like i've been careless, and if I'm going to get better. On the second day of meeting up with them, and by now quite certain they were underwhelmed by my previous wigishness, I settled on a silk scarf look (all the while lying to myself I am as chic as Kylie Minogue). I needn't have bothered. I thought I got away with it. We wandered around the shops for a good hour and no one talked of anything other than the usual pleasantries. It turns out they were waiting for a more captive audience. On sitting down for lunch in a busy pub, my niece says very loudly, "why have you got that scarf on your head? You look like a pirate. You look silly and everyone in here will be looking at you and know you've got C-A-N-C-E-R."

My nephew, who  up until this point has remained mute on the subject, joins in. "Yeah, you do. People with cancer always wear scarves like that."

"But I have got Cancer," I say. "Why does it matter if people know that?"

They're not done with me yet. "What do you do for a job, Aunty Marianne?"

"Well,I don't work at the moment because.... (my niece jumps in with "because you've got C-A-N-C-E-R")....because I'm sick"

"But what did you do before?" Asks my nephew, who likes an answer.

"I write stuff," I say, thinking this was vaguely true once but seems like a long time ago now but thank god they're kids and don't know....

"That's not a real job," they say almost in unison and with vague confusion and disgust.

"no," I say quietly, "you're probably right."

I'm the youngest of four sisters but the cheeky two wouldn't let me go yesterday without informing me they think I don't look like the youngest. 

So it's time to grow up. To make plans for when I am better including getting a proper job. This in turn brings with it a new set of challenges. Such as learning not to say "for Christi's sake, couldn't this have been an email?", learning how to speak one's mind professionally rather than answering "what do you make of this?" With "it's a f@cking waste of time," and absolutely not wrapping up the bosses desk and its contents with Xmas paper when he insists on keeping you at work over the holiday period despite all the people you trade with being closed.

I took an online career matching test and it came up with marine commando. I can't even swim and that's not the only reason I am not suited to that role. 

So it's really time to grow up and i haven't got a clue how to start.

Ballsy Comes Back Swinging.....

..Just so we're all clear,  that doesn't relate to a lifestyle choice so keep the keys from the fruit bowl would you?

After the other day's blug,  like a blog but more blubby, i'm back.

I think  i'm just starting to get my head around the fact it's not just The Cancer, it's the menopause  (albeit temporarily) and the joys of hot flushes and PMT on speed.

At times it can feel overwhelming, particularly with the extra expense being sick brings,  and pretty much as though I must have done something really, really, really bad for all this, all at the same time.

I think at times i've been a bit guilty,  especially of late, of accepting it all as something I deserve and i have accepted it all. Unquestioningly. Until today. 

Dear Cancer,

 you're not taking me and you can tell your friend bankruptcy to do one too. As soon as I am back home,  i'm going to beat both of you into submission.  Yes, I can't work right now. Not for someone else.. .but i'm pretty certain I can fit some freelancing in and I intend to. I refuse to accept either of you for the girls and me.  No more looking at the past and feeling sad, no more looking at the present and feeling frustrated.  It's time to start living as though tomorrow and the days beyond it are still a certainty and putting in measures for a happy life because you can never move on properly without first letting everything go.  *Except your inhibitions and your knicker elastic in polite company.  Both of these absolutely must be retained at all times. 

It's time to move forward, to make some big decisions and proactively create the future.

For a moment there,  I mistakenly thought I was like Sampson and all my power was in my hair.  Thankfully not. 

Well, you did ask

It's one of those days today. Despite the rare appearance of sunshine i'm living under a cloud. It's been a day of dark thoughts,  of feeling poorly and talking about finances, which I try not to do even on a good day.
I don't recognise the sick looking woman in the mirror and I don't recognise the weary and bitter voice inside my brain.  I now understand why it's always referred to as a cancer 'battle'.
I 'm grouchy.  I don't want to do this any more without a more concrete motivation than 'hoping' and 'aiming' to cure.
I'd like to stop regretting all the time I have wasted, all the bad decisions i've ever made and be afforded once more the naivety of life when cancer was uncharted territory and when I felt 32 and not elderly.
I would very much like to stop thinking about if this is a punishment and  not be haunted of visions of my girls growing up without me,  of knowing the hurt they could feel and that I won't be there to soothe them.
It's thoughts of writing them a diary of me 'just in case' but knowing it will always be imperfect.  That who knows what I will think when I am forty, or fifty and more and how life will have changed me and them.  I will never be able to cover every eventuality. There could be a time when the lines on the page are outnumbered by the years my girls have without me. How on earth do you ever come to terms with that?
It's on days like this, days where I kiss my girls too many times,  grip their hands tighter,  stare longer into their eyes that I have a stinking attitude towards all of it. Of all the non days during treatment  that are wasted from side effects in the hope of better days ahead.
It's sitting in the company of family and friends and feeling like you are about to lose control with the terror of it all but at the same time knowing you absolutely can't go down that road because it doesn't end in resolution.
On top of all that it's the talk of finances and how cancer is expensive and I don't want it. None of us do.  It's signing off on a debt relief order  - a mini bankruptcy  and thinking how meaningless all the money in the world is right now.
I'm ill today and I've had to send the girls off for half-term a day early because I haven't got the strength in me to be mummy at the moment and it breaks my heart.
And here I am pouring it all out to you.  For the world to see. Perhaps to judge or think these are thoughts that should be handled privately. But a cancer battle isn't all laughing the face of adversity. Quite often it's spontaneous plunges of terror and living with a nightmare looming  in your peripheral vision.  I'm sorry for over sharing. But trust me on this.  Since cancer,  I don't believe in social conventions one bit.

Crabby Old Cancer

If a picture truly can tell 1000 words,  the following image sums up my life in this moment perfectly:

I don't know how to not be tired right now. I can't remember regular words or how to spell and more and more regularly i'm mispronouncing simple things and I drew a mental blank this morning when I had to fill in a form for Child 1. What DID I call that baby?!

The back ache has been replaced with a sore mouth and teeth so it's back to owning a baby tooth brush for me as regular grown up brushes are too abrasive.

So rather than be a crabby old moaner and blog about how crabby and moany I am, i've decidea to step away* from the keyboard momentarily. * clearly sidling sideways in authentic crab style.

Fear not, while I am away from the keyboard I will be practising this as a daily ritual :

I think we could all take something from it sometimes. Fear not, if you are planning on getting in touch, I am in good spirits.  I like to keep the bad mood for myself. I'm shellfish like that.

Not Enough Hours In The Day

By the time I set foot downstairs this morning,  Child 1 had already been up and had set to feeding, watering and giving fresh bedding to her rabbit babies. They were hopping about an assault course she had laid out by the time I made breakfast. She's one organised little girl.
Child 2 padded down shortly after and immediately set about being a bunny.  Albeit a more clumsy,  mischievous version and more bitey.
As you can no doubt imagine,  being laid low yesterday meant a lot of tidying today and seeing as the girls have proved once again to be a popular holiday destination for touring nit colonies,  I had to treat both their manes before getting the house in order. Cue disappointment from both critter hosts who were looking forward to going to church but missed  out because I couldn't do all three things at once.
We were then off to a surprise party for one of Child 1's classmates and had a fantastic time. Child 1 won a prize, a chcool ate egg, for dancing and immediately shared her spoils with her younger sister.  Child 2 also won a prize, pushed her older sister away and ran to scoff it in solitude.
This evening passed by in a blur and before I knew it it was time for bed and due to a mounting list of jobs to be done before morning,  I put the girls to bed without a story. It's a rare occurrence in our house for this to happen but I always feel heartbroken when it does, expecially as I was tired and crabby so it was a double whammy of no story and me moaning about the stateof their bedroom.
I've since spent the rest of the evening plotting how I will make it up to them tomorrow as i'm already missing them in advance of half-term week, when they'll be off to their other family and I will be pulled under the fourth wave of chemo.  Thsee next three cycles will be with a drug called Taxotere and with it comes a new set of side effects.  Apparenrly sickness is not such a problem but in place of it comes bone and joint pain.
With that in mind,  and now the bad back has subsided,  I plan to fit in as much fun as I possibly can over the next 10 days. We're having our own pancake factory on Tuesday and as the girls and I have said we will be each others valentines this year,  we're having a candlelit dinner together on Thursday as it's their last night with me until the end of half-term.
I'm even planning a trip to see the family in Dorset next weekend  providing I can swap some hospital appointments  around and find cover for Tog and Dove, who the girls have swiftly nicknamed 'Dog' and 'the nice one '. What they mean by this is that Tog, whose markings look like she's in a glam rock band, has already mastered the art of escaping from her cage, enjoys ransacking the bin with the same fervour as a ravenous fox and will charge at 'the nice one ' looking for a fight.

What is 'it', exactly?

Last night I started suffering from a pain in my back which is nothing new at this stage in my chemo cycle - check me out, sounding all experienced and things. Except by this morning the pain had intensified to a point where any kind of movement sent a rippling pain up my back and in to my chest.  Ladies,  if you have ever experienced back to back labour,  it was like one or those bad boy contractions. Thankfully the out of hours GP came to visit me at home and prescribed some stronger painkillers and voltarol gel which has clawed back the weekend for the girls and me.  I was extremely fortunate that some wonderful friends came to my rescue and took the girls out for a couple of hours so I could rest up. Anyway,  the visiting GP thinks the pain has been caused by overdoing it rather than anything sinister, which leads me to wonder what 'it' is ? I thought I had been taking it easy and by the look of my house at the moment it seems to agree. That said, the girls have clubbed together their piggy banks and bought a karaoke machine which I absolutely can't wait to get stuck into when they are asleep!  The three of us have been discussing using it to make our own pop video. Watch this space,  I may share the finished result!
Lastly,  I have to admit to you all something a bit naughty I did tonight.
The girls and I were talking over dinner when Child 1 spied dessert and said: "Mummy, I don't think I like meringue."
"What?!," I said incredulously. "Who doesn't like meringue?!"
"I don't think Iike the texture," she continued,  even though I have seen her wolf her way through spoonfuls of it when the mood takes her.
And this is when my evil genius came in to its own.
"You know it's actually the nest of a magic bird from the South Pole, don't you?" I said as child 2,  who at 4 years old is as cunning as the Artful Dodger, and I shared a conspiratorial wink.
"Really?!Are you ACTUALLY being serious?" Child 1 asked me, by this point her eyes wide with amazement.
"Oh yes," I went on, "these are hugely rare. Want to try one?"
Nodding vigorously she began gobbling with renewed vigour.  Between mouthfuls she managed to get out, "this is amazing. I can't believe these are from a magic bird.  I just thought they were made from icing or something but this is so amazing I might cry."
I would have stopped it there.  I already felt a bit guilty for convincing her a mythical creature made her pudding.  But not so, Child 2. She had other ideas.
Sniggering to herself she said, "yep, and do you know mummy met a fairy once?"
Unbelievable.  I don't know who was more shocked but for different reasons.
"Oh.my.goodness, mummy, is this true?"
In for a penny,  in for a pound I say and with Child 2 filling in the gaps, Child 1 went to bed  with a head full of magical dreams.
Me however?  I'm going to bed with one eye permanently open as it seems I have underestimated my youngest child.

A Very Happy Bunny...Or Two

The population of our house is significantly greater this evening than it was when we woke up due to a surprise from a very kind friend. 

Knowing how much I have been battling with an empty nest when the girls are away, our lovely friend, who has asked to be kept anonymous, arranged for the girls and me to have two rabbits and all the accoutrements they require. 

Hop forth, Dove and Tog.

We settled on the names because Dove is a sleek, white and gentle girl whereas Tog is in homage to Terry Wogan, who always reminded me of my dad.

I had mentioned to Child 1 earlier in the week I was going to browse guinea pigs but her face was an absolute picture when she came home to see our new friends. Child 2, who is usually a bit boisterous,  set herself down next to the cage and asked, "Mummy, do they like songs?," and the proceeded to gently sing Roackabye Baby. Where has my Darth Vader impersonating child gone?!

We've also now completed the local media hat trick of tv, radio and now the local newspaper...

The rise of the angry looking  egg continues! 

Not Another Post, Baldy

Last night I woke up in the middle of the night worrying.  I did worrying REALLY well before The Cancer but like all my other hobbies I now struggle to do it more than on a part -time basis.
I need to tell you why I was worrying because it involves all of you.  Each and every one.
Over the past couple of weeks I have been lucky enough to be invited to talk on BBC South East and BBC Radio Kent about this blog but mostly about the financial strains of being a single mum with cancer. I've always loved the media,  my local paper even let me pretend to be a journalist for a couple of years and thanks to a super talented and generous team of editors  (Dave Summers, Sarah Young,  Chris East and Peter Davidson) I sometimes got to pretend I wrote front page stories. *
The media stuff has been a great distraction for me but the reason I was worrying is because I don't want it come across as though you haven't all helped.  The girls and I would absolutely be on our knees if it wasn't for you all. It's thanks to everyone we know that we aren't going cold or hungry or feeling unloved and afraid.
While it's really important to raise the profile of the absolute lack of financial support for the seriously ill,  my family of three will never forget all of you who rally around us daily and if at any point in my five minutes of media interest I have appeared to have forgotten that then I can't say sorry enough.
Sometimes I have also shone the spotlight on those who have supported us. Again I hope I haven't upset anyone in doing so.  One of my sisters stopped me from starting a log book when I was diagnosed to keep a record of everyone's help so I could make sure I repay everyone's kindness. If I had started that book I have no doubt I would have already run out of pages.
One last thing I would like to say before I shuffle off for the day is that I also hope it doesn't seem as though I am taking to the media to attempt to get stuff from people.  So many kind strangers have come forward,  some with families of their own,  offering to buy us stuff or treat us to something.  We don't deserve more stuff just because I got ill and people who work hard to support themselves shouldn't have to make these so kind I could cry gestures. Please know i'm not sat here waiting for a bail out.
Lastly, because I think this post lends itself to it, I would like to thank

The Pickering Cancer Drop-In Centre for EVERYTHING. Polly and her team are why I have hope.

My wonderfully kind, generous and creative ex-colleagues from Thames Valley Police who have supplied me with great books,  beauty products, food and dashings of Vinegar,

Grosvenor Medical Centre for being simply the best team of doctors, nurses and receptionists who show compassion daily even with a busy practice

St Barnabas School and Barnabus playgroup. The staff and parents have rallied around the girls and me as though we have always lived here. Trust me when I say this,  you will never, ever find a bunch of people like this anywhere else in the same place. Thank you all for taking us in, for your hugs,  offers of help,  meals and just being a bloody fantastic collection of people.

Church of Christ. I started attending church in the summer when Child 1 decided she had a faith she wanted to explore.  I was anxious about going as it's not something I had previously done but with it being across the road and offering coffee during the service I thought there would be no harm in giving it a go. I won't go in to detail but up to that point life had been really hard. I mean really tough and I was far more used to getting knock backs from people than I was kindness.  The girls and I arrived at this place where people who didn't know us showed us care and love.  It massively freaked me out but we kept on going.  I was sure there was a catch. People were never that nice without an agenda or without something about to go wrong, right?  It turns our we have stumbled upon something magical.  (Sorry Christian friends,  I know that's a bit of a faux pas but there's no better way for me to describe it). This collection of people who had always been meeting on our doorstep invited us in without asking for anything in return.  We don't have to be 'one of them ' to be welcome as they are happy to take us as we are. We are rich in so many ways because of all of you.

Also to my friends and family far and wide.  We love you all xxx


*Not forgetting praise to Olivia Finucane's ankle,  which got me the gig in the first place.

Don't be giving me no pain, Chemo Fool!

I think it was Shakespeare who once eloquently quilled the line, 'today sucks bum,' and if he didn't then he should have because today does. Fact.
I don't know if my bones ache because it's the point in my cycle where they always do or if it's because I am still recovering from carrying a big food shop home on Sunday (so many offered to take me but I was insistent on doing it for myself) or a combination of both. I feel bruised from the inside out and my throat ulcers are back so today I am uncharacteristically miserable.
 I've reached the point in this regime where I feel like an animal trapped in a corner (still obsessing about guinea pigs clearly) and I don't want to be ill any more.  I would very much like to be 'just' a mum, 'just' an employee, 'just' bored and all the other justs I took for granted before I got 'just' breast cancer.
I got to speak up this morning on behalf of cancer patients lIve on BBC Radio Kent and I hope it came across I was discussing not only my personal funding issues but the widespread funding gap for all cancer patients.
So, anyway,  sorry about me today and my dark cloud. The girls and I were still sharing stories over breakfast about our wonderful evening with Kim and her family, and spoiler alert but Child 2 is planning on marrying Father John when she grows up. She's a very busy girl as she has already said she wants to marry my BFFAE, Superstellar Stephanie, AND her husband.
I'm off to bed. Night all x

The Day An Angel Came to Town

You may remember me telling you some time ago about a very,  incredibly special woman called Kim,  who passed on to me a bracelet which served her through her own fight with breast cancer.
 Kim and I had never met but were introduced to each other by her cousin and my great friend,  Father John and she has offered me so much kindness,  support,  humour and just all round loveliness I have asked her a few times if she is an actual guardian angel. I'm certain she is.
Kim is the wonderful woman who also set up the gofundme page to help the girls and me financially in the tricky times ahead and it's a true reflection of her character that people who have never met us have donated.  She is so dignified,  selfless and just all round amazing - does it sound like I am writing you a TripAdvisor review,  Kim?!
Anyway,  today I met my hero and she also brought some of her wonderful family along too. The girls and I were absolutely honoured to meet them all. Of course, none of it would have been possible without Ada Vader.