The next week....

She's not good. I believe whole-heartedly that she will recover from this, but the process of doing so is almost unbearable.

I visit every day. I can only hope that I am helping her. She wants me there, I know that, but ultimately I can only be a safe and strong place for her to lean against during this extremely difficult journey.

So, it's school holidays here now. I have the boys for the first week, and DH has them for the second. It's been their decision, and I am pleased for them as well as anxious and nervous for how it will all go.

And tomorrow I have the beginning of the mediation process. And then a couple of kid-oriented play dates. And will be trying to spend as much time with "her" as possible.

I'm wrecked. I can't sleep and I can't relax. I have a support system and will be okay, but I'm not in a good place.

She knows this and is trying desperately to reduce her dependence upon my presence, but I am unwilling to choose to be alone over choosing to be with her. I've been where she is. I know how vulnerable she is. And....... I need her whole again. So, I am not being unselfish by spending so much time with her. I depend upon her as much as she depends upon me. I rely upon her calmness when I am in a dark dark place. Her family is my family. Over the last 10 years we have built a wonderfully effective support network with each other and with each others' kids. Her husband is one of my dearest friends. I can be vulnerable with both of them and know that their opinion of me never falters.

So, I'm confessing all here. My vulnerability. My exhaustion. And my feeling of privilege.

And know that you are my soft place to lean upon during this time.

This is really scary....

(Thanks to Patricia from Light. Sweet. Crude. for this one)

Two steps back....

She's going back to the ICU tomorrow. The last few days have been pretty bad.

Please send all good thoughts her way.

Sometimes my lot in life...

seems too much.

I know there are friends out there (irl and real-life) who have terrible things on their plates. This is NOT a post about my life being worse than anyone elses.

10 years of single parenting with almost no child support, total unreliability and nastiness from their Dad, and horrendous health issues, and now DH wants to take responsibility for my boys away from me.

That's it in a nutshell.

The Australian Family Law has been recently changed. Things are weighing hugely in favour of non-custodial parents (usually fathers) and therefore I have to question the pros and cons of fighting this through the courts.

It will cost me tens of thousands of dollars in legal fees. Which, obviously, I don't have. On a good day, I don't care about the money and accept that I will spend the rest of my life paying it off. But on a bad day, like today, I simply don't know.

I probably won't win.

And, despite his horrendous, untenable treatment to me, I know that my boys need to have a good relationship with their Dad. I've always known that. And, that if he can't provide that, they need to learn that on their own. But..... I also KNOW that they need me as their primary care giver. Especially while they're learning that he's not ever going to be who they want him to be. But, am I any use to them if I'm perpetually upset, depressed and unable to cope?

All advice gratefully accepted.

Don't give me "Soccer Mom".....

Say you're a "Cricket Mum" and I might be a bit impressed.

Honestly... you know you're alive when you sit for 5 hours watching 11 year olds play a game of cricket. The well known activity called "Watching Paint Dry" holds more appeal for me.

So, if you want to show off your wonderful parental devotion.... put your child into a cricket team. Preferably one that plays in the Australian summer heat.




(Toto's team did win today though. And he held the second highest run score! Almost made up for the butt-aching boredom endured by Boo and me.)

(Oh.... did I say summer? It's early Spring.... but the 32 degree celsius day heralded hot days to come.)

Only a boy who really loves his mummy....

... would love these shorts...



I made them on Sunday, when the boys were with DH. I had no measurements, and was more interested in the rhymic zen-ness of sewing than in the accuracy of the result. Which means that it may take them years to actually grow into them.

And my beautiful boys love them. Ahhhh.... diplomacy.

Toto's teacher adores him....

This might be the first of a flurry of posts. Or it might not. Depends totally on ....... something or other. Maybe. Whatever.... (God I love that clock).

The hall at my boys' school is SO small that they can't have ONE concert for the whole school (or play or whatever). Oh no, it's class by class. In inching, agonising, slow-parental-clapping-madness reality.

And today was Boo's years' turn.

The theme was "SPACE". But Boo's previously written about teacher (Mrs Frizzle) decided to ignore that and to amuse herself (and therefore all reality-based parents) with a singing and dancing rendition. Of. "Razzle Dazzle". From. (oh god i'm laughing so hard I can't type) "CHICAGO"!!! (please keep in mind that these are 10 year olds).

Here you go (please excuse bad photography.... I still haven't mastered the art of laughing-until-I wee- and-handling-camera-properly) (and sorry, M, that I focused on the boys..... )....




.... and when I tried to run away at the end.... Toto's teacher stopped me. She SO loves him. We haven't spoken since our European trip and she was dying to tell me how much happier and more confident Toto seems since our trip. And then to tell me that she has observed that he has been struggling again recently and that she would be happy to talk to me at any time. And to talk to him, for me, at any time if necessary.

She does not, in any way shape or form, get paid enough for this kind of over-and-beyond-ness. She's a gem. A wonderful, perfect, born-to-teach-as-a-vocation, woman.

Thank you God for finding a way for her to teach my Toto.

She's going home on Friday!.....

I'm doing a big ole whoopdy-dooo happy dance!! She's done it! She's gotten herself back to a place of familiarity and acceptance from a place of fear and loathing. I am SO proud of her!!

*phew*

Let's not do all of that again for a while. Please.

I laughed SO hard that I cried...

The wonderful Ewan organised a bunch of tickets to see Bill Bailey this evening.

If I was more articulate and worthy I would attempt to review the evenings' concert. But I'm not. So I'll leave you with this video and the instruction to see him if he ever happens across your town.

Bedtime Police/Mum...

I am SO strict with bedtime. I have been since they were tiny. Right now, it's 8.10pm and their lights are out and they're quietly tucked into their beds and I'm thinking "I can get it back to 8pm tomorrow". Crazy, I know.

But I understand why I am this way. This comes from being on my own with my boys since before Boo was even born. And from taking things hour by hour for many of those first years ..... you know, as in "I just have to survive for this next hour". This comes from never having had babysitters, and therefore having my singing group come to MY house for rehearsals every week. This comes from working for myself and therefore often working late into the evening and always thinking "the sooner I begin, the sooner I can finish and sleep".

When we were away, bedtime was a vague idea that usually fell between dinner time and "Mummy needs to sleep now" time. It was wonderful to be so laissez-faire.

But we're home now, and the school routine does not allow "down-time" for tired and cranky boys. And quite frankly, neither does my finely balance home routine.

So I'm back to being Bedtime Police Mum. Along with No Electronic Games or TV or Computer during the School Week Mum.

(Weekends are a different story altogether.... just to let you know.)

Letter to DH...

It really pisses me off that you still believe that my stopping your overnight visits was because I was angry with you. I was, and am, angry with you. You keep me in that constant state with your unreliability and your dishonesty. I am, however, more concerned with what is best for the boys than I am concerned with how to piss you off. And it amazes me that you can't see that.

Any action that I've ever taken with regards to access has been to do with the boys. NOT with you. And it's been in response to behavior by you which has eroded their trust. Especially knowing that Toto has a diagnosed anxiety disorder.

Because I put their needs way above my own, I have always encouraged them to have a good relationship with you. They are boys. They will need that.

Every time they see you, I ask them if they would like to stay overnight. I tell them that you love them and that you would love to have them for more than just day visits. They have been adamant that they don't want that. They both say that they are scared at your house and hate where you live. And that they are scared of you and your anger. This came to a head after the incident which involved you leaving them in the back lane and telling them that if they went home with me, then they may as well not come back. Even when that happened, I soothed them by telling them that you love them very much, that you didn't really mean it, and that you would feel awful later for having said that.

Tonight, when I asked them if they thought that they would like to stay overnight with you, they said that perhaps on the Saturday of their weekend with you. They are happy to go to yours on the Saturday morning and not come home until the Sunday evening.

So. I'm letting you know this.

This is what I meant by taking it slowly and by not harassing them about it. Instead you have decided to harass me.

You have begun proceedings to begin Family Court mediation in order to take me to Court to try and change our custody agreement. This is not in the best interests of the children, if only because it shows that you think that their wants and needs should be ignored in order for you to get what you want. This makes me incredibly sad, although not surprised.

I guess I'll see you in court, because mediation requires that two parties agree on something. I have the boys' best interests at heart. You have your own. I can't see that we will agree on anything.

By the way, the family psychologist that I took them to after the afore-mentioned incident in the back lane, was not in order to give parenting advice, but in order to give the boys a safe place to talk about their feelings. It would defeat the entire purpose if you tried to involve yourself in that. I didn't.

She's a lot better.....

Still in the ICU. Still suffering. Much less anxious. Yesterday was the first day that I didn't visit her, as she was trying to sleep all day.

I'll go and see her this afternoon.

Thanks for all your messages of support. She's got a long way to go, but she's definitely heading in the right direction.

Before they were Wiggling....

When I was (*clearing throat*) over 18 and allowed into Pubs, one of the bands that I would see was the Cockroaches. These were a bunch of local boys with great 1980's flare (excuse the pun!) and HUGELY fun gigs (not just the stage full of eye-candy).



When I had my kids, I simply re-kindled my crush on Anthony and had a legit excuse to watch him wiggle his butt all over again..

(thank you Lorrie for the inspiration for this post)

The closest thing we have to a pet...

This guy spends time on my balcony nearly every day. He's a Currawong and sings a very loud, very Australian, song. Sometimes he stays where he is while I open the door and go out to sit near him, but usually he flies away, objecting loudly to my disruption of his peace.

This photo was taken through the glass door (hence the reflection of the venetian blinds), just before he flew away.

I love it that he chooses to sit on MY balcony. It feels like a good omen.

Whatever....

My super-cool ceramic clock that I won in a competition over here arrived today! Perfect timing on a day which has so much to with the importance of time, and the distance of time and the passing of time.


I just love it. Thank you SO much Lorrie! (And I can't believe you sent it Airmail)

Happy DX Anniversary to Me...

I started this blog thinking that I could blog-therapy a lot of stuff about my journey with breast cancer, but it hasn't turned out that way. It's not that I am consciously choosing not to, but more that I find that I have less and less attachment to my identity as a "cancer survivor".

Except on this day.

I have been thinking a LOT about my cancer lately. Much more than usual. And I have been feeling incredibly scared and sad..... the kind that takes a few minutes to realise what I'm scared and sad about. And then Boo reminded me. Without meaning to.

Yesterday he said "Tomorrow is Gillian's birthday! Oh... that means that tomorrow is the anniversay of 9/11." And I suddenly realised that that meant that tomorrow was my 7th anniversary of my breast cancer diagnosis (dx). Which explains all the recent sub-conscious focus on my cancer.

Sheesh. And it really IS sub-conscious. And it bites me on the bum every bloody year.

I have an incredibly wonderful group of women who are my bc support group. We were all diagnosed at around the same time and met on an international internet support group. Over the last 7 years I have been incredibly lucky to have been visited by 2 of them (one of them twice) and have also visited 5 of them (they are all in America and Canada). Our little group has diminished over time..... due to the tragic reality of the statistics of developing metastasis of the original cancer.... and the downside of belonging to a cancer support group is that we support each other through dying just as much as through living.

I hate this day.

The day I was dx'd, Toto's godfather (Big H) was staying with us from the UK. Obviously, my entire world was shattered. My children were 3 and 4 and I was living in a little house in a completely different part of the city from my parents. At 10pm-ish, Big H woke me up to watch the WTC buildings collapse. And I knew that my own problem was diminished hugely because of the untenable terrorist acts that occured on that day.

I have lived in NYC. I had a close girlfriend who worked in the WTC and I couldn't get hold of her on the phone. She was okay, but I later found out that two of my "christmas card friends" (friends that you catchup with once every year via a christmas message) lost their lives.

I was thrown into even more turmoil. It's hard to describe it. One part of me felt that I needed the attention because I'd just been given those incredibly impossible words "It is malignant", and another part of me felt that it was insignificant compared to global affairs. Most of me was wildly flailing somewhere in the middle.

*sigh*

I survived. The most supportive person, other than my parents, was my friend who is currently ill and in a psychiatric hospital.

And I should be leaping for joy that it's 7 years ago, because really that means that my chance of recurrance is as the same as someone who has never had breast cancer. Yes, I should be happy. But emotionally, it's not a good day for me.

I will spend most of it with my ill friend. And I will celebrate the divine Gillian's 41st birthday (oh to be in Glasgow with her to celebrate properly) but I will also mourn.

I'll be mourning the "me" who didn't have to face that incredibly horrendous day. And the arduous journey that followed.

Thanks for all your wonderful support....

She's still in ICU. I'm home, emotionally exhausted but so glad that I'm able to be there for her.

And I'm sure that all of you would be doing the same if you were in this situation. (I'm no saint)

They've even taken away her iPod...

My friend is in danger. It's all too much for her. Those of you who've had major depression will understand, and those of you who haven't probably won't.

It's so difficult for those of us who have had depression to describe it to those of us who haven't. The amount of times people have (caringly) said things to me like "focus on the positive" and "think happy thoughts" and "What do YOU have to be depressed about?" is staggering. It's not a choice. Believe me, it's not a choice. Perhaps it's easier to think of having depression as the same as having a broken leg. You have as much ability to "will" yourself out of it as you do to "will" your broken bones to heal faster.

I feel so bloody helpless. I'm filling her room with blankets, cushions, room spray, books, music (I've lent her my iPod) in a desperate attempt to feel as though I'm "doing something". And then just holding her hand and talking to her while she's slipping further and further downhill.

This afternoon they took all of her "dangerous" things away (iPod earphones, shoe laces, knitting needles etc) and put her in the ICU. Her Dad is with her now, but I'll head back over after he's gone.

On a lighter note (my one and only attempt at humour on this dim day) I saw a Lawyer this morning in response to stuff that DH has initiated. It was long, ardous and ultimately depressing. Still, I have no choice in having to now go down this path. He couldn't help me with the Child Support f*ck-up though (see here and here and here). I'm still on my own for that one.

Crikey. Hope the rest of blogland is having a happier day.

It Worked!!!!

Ivy is going into hospital tomorrow to get her much needed IVIG!

Wow! Thanks to all my readers who signed the petition.

Read about it here.

How to Survive Bookclub after just having booked a room in psychiatric hospital for close friend....

Oh yes. That heading is not a typo.

Two horrendously upsetting things happened to me today. The first one involved DH and the Australian Family Court Laws. The second one, which was much more upsetting, involved a dear dear friend.

She's been heading downhill. I've been crossing every appendage in the hope that she could fend it off at the pass. And then today every analogy came crashing together in an ugly, legs in the air, smash.

*sigh*

You see, this friend and I met in the Loony Bin. 10 years ago next month. We both had post-natal depression. And we both spent 3 months in situ with the forebearers of Homer Simpson.

In the intervening years we've both struggled with our depression demons. We're both medicated. We both regularly see a psychiatrist. And we both fall apart every now and then.

But this time her "fall apart" is too big for us to handle. She said the magic words to me. The words that we have agreed upon that mean "Gazzump the spouse, the parents, the whoever, and get me to the nut-house". And so I did.

And then I came home, sliced gherkins, donned a kaftan and hosted BookClub.

*sob*