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I go to sleep with breast cancer, I wake with it. As I arrange my pillows around an aching arm, I try hard not to

Week three of chemo is rough. I feel nauseous and hopeless. I cry when the catheter is placed as I feel so violated. Yet I must sit there. The nausea worsens, I hyperventilate and I vomit and then retch and retch.. “I just want to curl up on the floor and die.” I tell my partner.

You know things are bad when flowers arrive. After the diagnosis is confirmed bunches of flowers arrive at the door. More than when my babies

And so begins two days of testing. They call it staging, in other words, how bad is it? Or, when will you die? First is

“I’m starting the chemotherapy now” says the nurse, interrupting me, my eyes closed, headphones deeply clamped to my ears, head freezing from a cold cap

Weaning has been hard. Very hard. On both of us. Things are easing, but this has been the hardest part so far. Tonight for the