I never in my life thought I would type the following sentence and have it be true: I shaved my head. We put on some upbeat music and made some jokes and laughed a bit. But then I lost control of my emotions and entered full mental case meltdown territory. I don't look like me. My hair is all over the floor. I am 28 years old. I have cancer.
My newfound wisdom as a cancer survivor has shed the light on a little secret: we don't have to do all that work. I'm sure my family would have been just as happy to stay home, be less busy, and receive fewer presents. I am also certain that all they really wanted was for me to be there -- alive -- with them.
I will never forget the look of calm determination in my mother's eyes when she and my father sat down with our family to tell us the horrible news. "Mummy had been diagnosed with stage three ovarian cancer." Since she passed away in 2010, our charity F*CK CANCER inwykiwyk, has raised money for research and created community in her honour.