Monthly Archives: May 2011

Save the Children

Save the Children have launched a campaign to make basic healthcare available and free of charge to the world’s poorest children and their mum’s. On June 13 2011, the UK is hosting a half day global vaccination summit in London, where world leaders and decision makers will decide how to get vaccines to the world’s poorest children.

In the UK, we take it for granted that our children will receive these vaccines, but these same vaccines are not available to 1 in 5 children worldwide. It is so sad that the children most at risk in the poorer countries are the children that don’t receive them. I know it’s not much fun having to take the littlies for their injections, but they are so fortunate that they are able to have them.

I was tagged by Very Busy Mama to take part in a challenge started by Red Ted Art

The challenge is simple:

1) Get your child to either draw or craft a self portrait of themselves now or in the future. (or in my case, seeing as I am so terrible at drawing, I got hubby to do it!)

3) Sign the Save the Children petition and then pass it onto your friends

4) Write a blog post about it as soon as possible, including info about Save the Children and the petition. We want as many people linked up AND signed up the petition by Sunday 29th May 2011

5) Tag 8 fellow blogger friends

Now, it’s a bit late in the day for me to be tagging people, but for everyone who reads this either from Facebook, Twitter, or email subscription, you are all tagged to sign the petition. Yes, all of you. If you blog, and you haven’t been tagged and you want to be, this is your tag.

Come on, let’s make a difference.


No, it’s not Croup

Jake has a cough. Again. Or should I say still? He seems to have had a cough almost permanently since he was about 8 months old. I remember, because the first time he went to the doctors about it, was the day that I had my operation. Sometimes it’s worse than others. It can vary between just a little tickle, to a hacking cough that keeps him (and us) up at night.

It makes me feel like a terrible mother when I take him out and about and he’s coughing all the time. I feel like people look at me as if to say I should keep him at home wrapped up in the warm. But if I kept him in every time he had a cough, we would never leave the house.

It’s not like I don’t care, or that I haven’t taken him to the doctors. We’ve been to the doctors on average about once a month with the damn thing. Depending on who you see, he might get steroids, calpol, or sometimes antibiotics. He’s even been seen at the Children’s hospital. It’s not like I’m not doing my job.

We went back to the doctors today, and she suggested that it could be asthma, so has given him an inhaler to try. So far, he has been very good with it and doesn’t seem to mind me giving it to him.

It didn’t stop me having to bite my tongue when I was out at the shops today. Some random woman looked at him and said “Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good, is it croup?”

“No, it’s asthma.”

“Are you sure? It sounds croupy to me.”

“Yes, I’m sure, we’ve been to the doctors today and he’s got an inhaler!” At which point I turned around and walked off, muttering to my friend that random woman should have minded her own business!

How is it, that someone you have never seen before, and are not likely to see again can make you feel like a terrible mother in one fell swoop?

Today, You are 2!

Dear Jake,

Today, you are 2. Where the last 2 years have gone, I don’t know. I remember the day I found out I was pregnant with you. I had got home from work, and I was so tired, and I just had an inkling. Daddy was out at the cinema with Uncle Nick, and I was waiting for Nanny, Granddad and Uncle Michael to come and pick me up, because we were going to the cinema too. I thought I’d do a test, even though it was the evening, and I know it’s best to do them in the morning. I thought I saw a really faint line, but wasn’t sure, and while I was waiting, the doorbell rang and it was Granddad. I had to sit through the whole film wondering if you were there or not! I was so, so happy when I realised you were.

When you were born, I asked the midwives not to tell me if you were a boy or a girl, because I wanted to see for myself. When they gave you to me, I just held  you close and was looking at you. They had to remind me to check, but I didn’t care. You were perfect. I knew there and then I would fight to the death for you. I just didn’t expect it to be so soon.

Not long after you were born, I began to realise that I wasn’t very well, and when you were still very small, at only 8 months old, I found out I had cancer. I am so sorry that you had to put up with that when you were so young. You shouldn’t have had to see your mummy going through all that, but I want to say thank you for filling my days with smiles, gurgles, cuddles and sloppy kisses. On days that I might have usually just stayed in bed, I knew that you needed your mummy.

Before my operation last January, I made Daddy promise to look after you if anything happened to me, and to make sure that you knew about me and how much I loved you. I wanted to write you a letter then, for you to keep if anything happened, but I couldn’t, because every time I thought about what to write, I would cry. Now, I tell you about twenty times a day that I love you!

You have so many people that love you, me and Daddy, your grandparents, great grandparents, Uncle Michael, Aunty Chrissy, Uncle Nick, and so many more people that I couldn’t even list.  Even the doggies love you.

You are so clever. Every day I see you learn something new. You are funny and cheeky, and so handsome.

I am so proud of you. I hate the fact that you are growing up so quickly, but I love the fact that I am still here to watch you do it. I will try my hardest not to put you through that again.

So carry on doing what you are doing, and remember that Mummy and Daddy love you lots xx

CyberMummy Meet and Greet

Carly over at Mummy’s Shoes is hosting a Cybermummy 2011 Meet & Greet so I thought that as it is just over a month away, I ought to join in!

Name: Roz Barnwell

Blog‘kin Hodgkin’s

Twitter ID: @rozzibee

Height: 5ft 1 (with no shoes)

Hair: Brunette, for now. Am currently trying to decide between purple, or REALLY purple.

Eyes: Brown. I have two.

Likes: Baking, chocolate, talking, reading.

Dislikes:  Cliques, bullies, bananas, spiders, hospitals, cancer.

Silent Sunday

Silent Sunday

Silent Sunday

Silent Sunday

Invisible Scars

I have many visible scars from various diagnostic procedures over the last 18 months. I have a scar on my ribcage from my chest drain, a scar just under my arm pit, and a scar just underneath my right breast, from my Hodgkin’s biopsy. I also have scars on my arms from cannulas, and from a bite from Jake that wouldn’t have usually scarred, but because I was going through chemo, pigmentation was altered. Then I have a scar on my throat, from the thyroid surgeries.

Those are permanent reminders of what I have been through. They won’t go away. People can see them (OK, maybe not the rib and breast one so much) and will wonder what they are. The ones that are bold enough might ask. The ones that aren’t might talk about me to others later, asking them if they know what it is.

Those scars don’t bother me. It’s funny, because maybe they should. But I don’t find myself hiding my thyroid scar, by making sure I wear a polo neck, or a scarf or a necklace, because I don’t feel like I need to. I’m not embarrassed or ashamed because of what I went through.

What I find difficult to cope with, are the emotional scars. The worry that every time I get a cough, I wonder if I have a chest mass again. The worry about whether I’d be classed as high risk for my next pregnancy meaning I can’t have the homebirth that I wanted when I was pregnant with Jake. The worry about whether I can even get pregnant again. The worry that if I relapsed, Jake might have to grow up without his Mummy.

I woke up Wednesday morning really upset. I’d had such a realistic dream in the night. I can only ever remember having a dream that real once before, and it left me feeling really shook up for a long time.

I’d relapsed, and there was nothing they could do for me. It was so realistic. Even my consultant that I see was in the dream and she was the one that had to tell me. What had actually happened, was that I hadn’t relapsed, so much as I was never in remission in the first place. The consultant had not looked at the scan properly and there was still active disease.

I know that isn’t a possibly. I saw the scan myself. The only active hotspot was my thyroid, which has now been dealt with, but to wake up with that feeling… it was horrible.

Scars don’t have to be visible to be there. Sometimes, the invisible ones are the worst.