HOPE OVERFLOWING

stories of grace, hope and life beyond cancer


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The uneasy dance of life and death – my fifth cancerversary

I am so often struck by the stark contrasts of this world, and particularly how sorrow and joy seem to be able to move together in a sort of uncomfortable dance, each one rising and receding in turn. It seems to me that life and death are so often the couple intertwined in this dance and I find their uneasy coexistence difficult to wrap my head around.

It is one of those weeks where I have a heightened awareness of both life and death. Life – because today is my cancerversary and marks five years since the day that rocked my world and I was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer. But also death – because yesterday I attended the funeral of a vibrant young woman called Sarah, who had recently celebrated her 32nd birthday and who got married last year and whose life was claimed by breast cancer just a few weeks ago. Yesterday we celebrated her life by marking her death.

The unfairness of this situation is not lost on me. As I sat in the church at the funeral yesterday wondering how granny was getting on with planting strawberries with the boys, I was reminded that it could quite easily have been my funeral that friends and family were gathering to attend. I was reminded that it didn’t have to have turned out like it did.

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As the family processed out of the church yesterday I was so struck by just how soon her life was claimed as her husband walked down the aisle out of the church, this time with no bride on his arm. This time he walked alone. I was struck by her untimely death by the presence of her grandparents at her funeral. Grandparents should not be burying their grandchildren. It’s just the wrong way around.

For me cancer plays a smaller and smaller role in my day to day life. But a few times a year when my hospital appointments roll around I have to engage with it once more. Almost two weeks ago I had my annual mammogram. It is always an event that I dread, not just because it is a pretty uncomfortable experience but rather because it always throws up worries that maybe all is not well after all. Perhaps the cancer has returned. This year I had my mammogram in the morning and in the afternoon we went away on holiday. We had the most glorious week away in the Cotswolds. The weather was gorgeous, the kids slept well every night and the days were filled with really fun outings. It was blissful, but occasionally the thought of my mammogram would creep back into my mind and I would wonder whether the postman had dropped a letter recalling me to the hospital through my post box yet.

The very first thing I did when we got back on Saturday was gather up the post and go through it all with a fine toothed comb looking for an envelope stamped with the hospital address. It wasn’t there. I hadn’t been recalled and I breathed a sigh of relief. I had somehow been granted a more time away from the clutches of this disease.

Sarah was the fifth young women in my sphere that has died from breast cancer in the past 12 months. Every few months I have been heartbroken at the news of another life taken and so celebrating my cancerversary this year feels very bitter sweet.

I am SO THANKFUL for another good year, to be healthy and to have the opportunity to enjoy a bit more of this life. I am so thankful for my family, my friends, my little business, opportunities to serve at church and in the community. I am so thankful that I am well enough to live a normal life and I feel blessed beyond measure. But today, in amongst it all I also feel so sad. I feel so sad for the lives gone, for the young children who have lost their mums and for the families who have lost daughters, sisters, aunties and friends.

I don’t know what it all means and I don’t know how to reconcile the unfairness of it all in my mind. I find that all I can do is cling on to the knowledge that it won’t always be this way and that one day all things will be made new and there will be no more sickness or crying or pain. But in the meantime, in the middle of the mess, these women encourage me to press on, to be thankful for each day, to run the race marked out for me and to choose to participate in the adventure.

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You are enough

So the promised advent post didn’t happen (sorry!) and now it’s almost Christmas. I blinked and my baby turned one yesterday and a new year is rapidly approaching.

I always love a new year. It holds so many possibilities and somehow gives us permission to revive dreams and hopes that have been forgotten or shelved in past years, or possibly even make space for a few new dreams.

I’ve never been very good at setting goals or making resolutions and actually sticking to them but I have such a strong sense this year of wanting to live more intentionally than ever before. I know that this sounds heavy and like there won’t be any rest as I will have to “make the most” of every moment. But, for me, I’m going more for grace-filled intentionality – one that builds pause and rest into its rhythms but that also helps me to be all that I have been made to be.

My longing for intentionality comes from a deep desire to live a great story wherever I can and to not let any year pass me by. I find it so easy to focus on just getting through each day, keeping things ticking over that before I know it another year has passed and although what I have been up to has been good and meaningful, I haven’t made it any closer to my goals or dreams.

I think my mind has also become more focused on making things count as I know six young women who have died this year. That is a lot. Too many gone far too soon.

In two weeks time it will be 57 months since I was diagnosed with inflammatory breast cancer. I read recently that the average (median) length of survival for women diagnosed with my type of cancer at the stage that mine was found at is 57 months. That is not a long time and as of a fortnight’s time, I will be on the right side of that statistic and for that I am so thankful.

But I know that it didn’t have to be that way. So, I am determined to do my best to be the kindest, most generous version of myself possible, to honour God in every way that I can and to serve my family and my community as best as I know how.

But, sometimes it’s hard and a lot of the time I don’t feel like I’m doing a very good job of any of it. I can become filled with self-doubt and the thief of comparison steps in and makes me feel worse about even my best efforts.

Almost a month ago, I launched a little business, called Hope and Ginger, selling prints, journals and cards that I had designed. I had been working on getting it set up for a few months before I launched and I almost quit every day. Literally. Poor Joel had to give me a lot of pep talks to encourage me to stick with it.

It was so hard, not because of the work (which I love) or setting up the nuts and bolts of a business (which I have also really enjoyed – finally getting a use for my business science degree). It was hard because it made me feel incredibly vulnerable. These were things that I’d made and that were important to me and what if nobody liked them or bought them or what if people really hated them?

I wasn’t sure that I could cope with the rejection.

But, despite quite a few wobbles I was determined to achieve this dream and so I kept going and launched a very small range four weeks ago. One of my best-selling prints so far has been this one.

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You are enough.

This is a message that I have had to keep telling myself throughout this journey and I think it’s one that we all need to hear. Especially in the age of the internet, where it is only too easy to compare ourselves to others and consequently feel rubbish about ourselves.

We don’t have the washboard abs (or in my case any abs at all), or the huge Instagram following, or the perfect family. Our home doesn’t look like it came out of a magazine and our hair is always a bit of a mess. I’m sure you can think of your own comparisons to insert into my list.

But – the truth is, none of that stuff matters. What matters is that you are enough just as you are and you are so deeply loved. That is where our confidence needs to come from and that truth is totally transformational. As I was writing this I was reminded of the words of Romans 5:7-8 which reads:

Very rarely will anyone die for a righteous person, though for a good person someone might possibly dare to die. But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.

His love for us runs so so deep. We don’t need to strive to be anyone else. We are loved with an eternal, powerful, personal and totally transformational love just as we are. This is a powerful and freeing truth. It sets us free from the need to strive to be enough or be the best and it sets us free to live our lives intentionally being all that we were created to be in Him.

Happy Christmas to you all! May you know the depth of Christ’s love for you this Christmas and may you remember that you are enough.


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My first proper haircut in four and a half years!

I don’t have many cancer milestones or hurdles these days and for that I am very grateful. But the one area that was still hanging around that I couldn’t quite bring myself to deal with was my hair.

In 2012 I had chemotherapy and lost all my hair, every last strand of it. Before the chemo started my hair was really really long and thick but even so when I was told that my hair would most likely all fall out with the chemo, I was surprisingly calm and not too fussed about it. To me it seemed like a small price to pay for a much better shot at long-term survival.

After my chemo started I decided I didn’t want to wait for all this long hair to fall out for various reasons, the main two being that I found the hair falling out physically quite uncomfortable and even painful and also emotionally it was hard.  I particularly hated how every time my baby son grabbed onto my hair a handful of it came out in his hand, and so I decided it had to go.

So in a fit of enthusiasm,  I went all GI Jane and got a buzz cut (without a guard on the shaver so it was really really short!) To be honest I slightly regretted going quite so short as my head was like Velcro, which made sleeping difficult as I just stuck to the pillow and in the end it actually took quite a few weeks for my hair to fall out entirely (I definitely should have just gone for a pixie cut, but you live and learn!).

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(Me in my hat and wig)

About five months later my hair had started to grow back (sort of) so I gave up on the hats and wigs (which I hated by that point) and once again sported the military look. The first time I went out with no hat/wig it was to a barbecue with about 80 people, most of whom I knew. I had just had a mastectomy and was feeling pretty awful. It took all the courage I could muster to not wear a hat/wig but I didn’t want to hide anymore so I just went for it.

I think I was looking pretty terrible and although everyone was really kind, no one mentioned my hair which was disappointing because to me it was a really big deal. About halfway through the party one friend came up to me and whispered, “You look beautiful” in my ear. I blatantly did not look beautiful. My skin was grey and I couldn’t move one arm after my recent surgery. I had gained so much weight from all the steroids and I basically had no hair or eyelashes. But in that moment, I felt seen by my friend and I felt so loved and I was so grateful to her for her kindness.

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(Hair just growing back)

Since then, I have never had a proper haircut, just a trim every now and then to make sure my hair didn’t look too 80s (which, I have discovered, will happen if you are growing your hair out from zero). Every time I went to the hairdressers I would be sure to clarify that I didn’t want them to cut anything more than absolutely necessary off. And so my hair has been getting longer and longer and longer.

Fast forward four and a bit years and my hair was once again really, really long and really really thick and to be honest it was driving me nuts. It was this frustration with my hair, rather than some deep philosophical revelation that made me realise it was time for it to go. So on Friday I had about five inches cut off and am now sporting a new look.

I’m not sure why it took me so long to get to the point of being ready to cut it off and I don’t know why up until now it was the one thing that I couldn’t seem to let go of. Maybe it was vanity. Maybe it was something to do with feeling like growing my hair was part of my recovery and so if I cut it my recovery must be over.  Maybe it was because I wanted it to get to the point that it was at before it all fell out. To be honest, I’m still not really sure and I still haven’t had any deep philosophical revelation about my hair and its length!

But, what I am sure of is this. I am so glad that I have finally felt ready to let go of another of the legacies of cancer and to take one more step towards normality. I am so thankful that cancer is part of fewer and fewer of my key milestones and life choices. I am so thankful for every day of good health and of course, I am so glad to have options with what to do with my hair!

Thank you to all of you who have supported us through all of my hair lengths. We love you and couldn’t have gotten to this point without you. Here’s a shot of the new hairdo (excuse the shiny nose!!) X

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A new term and a new beginning

Today my little boy started nursery, just two mornings a week, but it is the start of a whole new era for us… For example, I am sitting on my own in Starbucks on this sunny Tuesday morning writing this and listening to the Starbucks selection of Christmas songs (already!!) That is a drastic change from my usual Tuesday morning which usually involves something thrilling like a trip to Aldi!

I am full of a huge mixture of emotions today and dropping him off was truly a bittersweet experience.

I am so excited for him, for this new chapter which I think he is going to love. This morning as I was getting Jonty dressed he started jumping around and said, “I am just so excited Mummy!” When I asked him if it was because today was his first day at school he replied that it was and started telling me about what happens at his little nursery (which he learnt at his settling in sessions). He has been so excited by his new Superman lunchbox ever since we bought it a few weeks ago and he carried it with pride into nursery this morning.

I was a bit concerned that we might have some tears when I dropped him off this morning, but there were no tears. His parting question to me was, “who is going to help me when you go Mummy?” which totally melted my heart. I hope that Jonty always sees Joel and I as the people who help him be all he can be!

While I was thrilled that we didn’t have any tears his morning, I was also a little bit sad that my baby is growing up so fast. Each day I have to come to terms with the fact that he is less and less of a baby and more and more of a little boy and that is harder than I expected! This new found independence is a little disorientating for me as a parent.

Today as I said goodbye, I was reminded even more of the things I love about Jonty, his sweet, gentle soul, his love of music, making jokes, somersaults and laughing. He is such a blessing to us!!

But in amongst this mixture of emotions, on this milestone day, I am thankful beyond belief! When I was diagnosed with cancer when Jonty was 8 weeks old, still being alive by the time he started nursery seemed an impossible dream. I was so frightened that I wouldn’t get to see any of his milestones and so now as each one rolls around it is just that much sweeter. I am still standing, full of scars, but still standing and blessed beyond measure!

Here’s to many more milestones!

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