October

October is the tenth month of the year, or the eighth in the Roman calendar (hence the Oct).

October is recognised as the beginning of autumn in our hemisphere (spring in the southern).

October has been adopted as the Breast Cancer Awareness month, which if nothing else, reminds women to check their boobs!

Many countries, including Nigeria, Canada, Spain and China have national days of celebration during October.

The clocks go back an hour at the end of October to embrace the longer nights and shorter days (we get an extra hour in bed!)

The 31st October is Halloween, or All Hallow's Eve or Samhain (pronounced sow-in, translated as summer's end).

October means many things to many people, whether it's the start of winter, Halloween fun, changing clocks or the simple fun of kicking up leaves whilst walking home (something we did today).

For me, October means sadness. It is full of days with specific memories.
2nd October 1968, Matthew was born. This year he would have been 41, instead he will be forever 34.

13th October 2002 our daughter Anya was baptised. What a bittersweet day, we had invited everyone, friends and family to celebrate with us... but everyone knew that for many this would be the last time they would see Matthew. By this time cancer had so ravaged his body that he looked like an old man of 80. Several people walked straight past him and asked me where he was, that is what the cancer had done to him, made him unrecogniseable to those who loved him.

15th October 2002, Matthew went into the local hospice to try to sort out his drugs and for some respite for me. I spent the next 10 days travelling to the hospice twice a day with a 3 month old and a 2 year old to my husband, who at times slept through my visit. The guilt was unbearable, I should be able to care for him, but I couldn't cope, I needed a break.

24th October, Matthew, his parents and I met with the consultants. Matthew asked straight out what the prognosis was, we were told a few weeks. Matthew wanted to come home to die.

25th October, Matthew comes home and went to bed. My house was never empty, nurses, carers and family were always around. Matthew could not do anything for himself now and spent a lot of time sleeping.

29th October, Matthew came downstairs and a hospital bed was bought into the dining room. A call came through to say that the family portraits we had got taken the month before were ready to be collected. That evening the special air filled mattress went down. We needed to lift Matthew and put a blow up mattress under him. I called several of his friends to help. For days Matthew had been sleeping most of the time, he had barely spoken and when he had, it often didn't make sense. This evening he was able to laugh and joke with his friends, we had our Matthew back albeit briefly. My Dad went to collect the photos, Mum held them up for him to see whilst Dad and I held Matthew up so he could see them, his body was so wasted that he was unable to sit on his own. Matthew's best friend sat with him for ages and they chatted. Matthew's dad came to sit with Matthew through the night (myself, his mum, dad and his sister had taken it in turns to sit with him each night). I said goodnight to Matthew, he told me he loved me and I told him the same.

30th October, according to Matthew's dad, his breathing slowed and he slipped into a coma in the early hours. In the morning the medics came to replace the blow up mattress with a special 1 to prevent sores. During the lifting, Matthew let out a last gasp, he had finally had enough and slipped away after 11 months of cancer ravaging his body.

7 years later it hurts as much as it did that day.

Struggling

I think I am depressed.

I know I am not coping.

I need to go to the doctor.

No one can make you feel inferior without your permission.

The title of this post is a quote by Eleanor Roosevelt and it is so very true. I am working hard at this. I am trying to avoid situations where I feel inferior. I am turning up as late as possible to the school playground at the end of the day as I have identified that as 1 of my main problems.

I attend a support group for my post natal depression and this week's session was ways to boost our self esteem. We discussed the power of positive thinking and were given steps to try this week. I'm afraid I am not really 'into' this. The positive from this exercise was I had a good giggle with Alan about the steps last night.


1) Accept compliments with 'thank you'. I can honestly say that I have done this one. I have had my hair cut and coloured today and said thank you when complimented.

2) Use affirmations to enhance your self esteem. On the back of a card write 'I like and accept myself' or 'I am a valuable, lovable person and deserve the best in life'. Carry the card with you and read regularly, especially before going to bed. hmmmm call me cynical, but this sounds a bit egotistical....won't be doing this one.

3)Associate with positive people. Ok, how do I avoid my mother???? ;o)

4) Read books on building self esteem. Yes, cos I have plenty of time and *really* want to spend my spare time on self help books, I'd rather read novels thanks, actually I'd rather be online lol.

5)Start giving more, when you do things for others you feel more valuable and this raises your self esteem. Well, my esteem so should be sky high then....having 4 children means I am constantly giving.

Can anyone tell I am not taking thse very seriously. There are more, but they make me raise my eyebrows even more, so that they disappear behind my new fringe!

How far does the cord stretch?

Everyone knows that whilst the midwives/doctors cut the physical umbilical cord when your baby is born, they do not cut the other cord. This is the cord that binds you and your child together forever and ever and ever!

My children have stayed away for a night or 2, my husband and I have stayed away from them for a night or 2, I have never had any problems with this, (mainly because they have stayed with family and friends).

Last night my little man went off to cub camp. I helped him to pack (read packed his bag saying, watch, you need to do this yourself at camp), took the obligatory photo, checked and double checked he had everything and kissed him goodbye (at home not in front of his friends!) He was dropped off at 7pm and we will go and collect him at midday on Sunday. He will be having a great time hiking, setting fire to things, building things, not washing, not sleeping, enjoying relative freedom etc. He is unlikely to miss any part of home and I wouldn't want him to.

I am struggling, I miss him like mad! He is only away for a couple of days, I will see him on Sunday and yet I miss him. More than I have missed him before. I think it is because I can't just ring to check he is ok and he is with people I don't know personally.

I am sure I will get used to this feeling as there will be other camps and school trips to come. I am also equally sure that by bedtime on Sunday I will be washing the mountain of smelly socks and dirty clothes (or maybe not if he stays in the same ones all camp, which I wouldn't put past him!) and wishing he was away for just a little while longer as he will come back tired and is likely to wind up his sisters to the point of war.

To do list.

El Río Pasa
(Ancient Otomí poem)
The river flows and flows
and never ceases.
The wind blows and blows
and never ceases.
Life passes on, never to return.

I love poetry and I keep a notebook with a selection of my favourites, reading through it I came across this beautiful poem. This coupled with watching The Bucket List has really got me thinking.

I am very happy with most aspects of my life and although there are many things that make me think 'I want to do that', but only a few that I really feel the need to do.

So here is my list:

• Take part in The Playtex Moonwalk
• Go on safari
• Work in a school/orphanage in Africa
• Get a tattoo
• See my children happy in adulthood
• Help someone to achieve their dream
• Take my children to Florida to see Disney and the Epcot Centre

When I started my list it was as long as my arm. I read it through and tweaked it and then sat and thought about it properly. Were the things on my list really what I needed to do? I redid my list with the things that I needed to do and got down to these 7 points. This list has some promises to others (I promised Matthew I would take our children to Florida one day and I promised Alan I would do the Moonwalk with him) but really it is a list of things that I can honestly say that I will be sad not to have done by the end of my life.

What would your 'to do' list be?

Seeing me

Isn't it strange how we view ourselves and how others view us?

To me, I am tall and overweight (still need to lose the pregnancy weight). My hair is a mop as I am growing it and it is at the inbetween/no real style stage and the roots need doing, and the bags under my eyes are now a permanent fixture as my youngest has an aversion to sleeping more than 3 hours at a time. I don't wear my clothes, they wear me at the moment. I am concious of where they are too tight/too baggy and of the marks of motherhood on them, fingerprints, food stains, snot, baby sick...you know what I mean.

This week 3 people have commented on how well I am looking, 2 people have mentioned how good my hair looks and 2 people have commented on how much weight I have lost. This boosts my ego, but leaves me confused. My scales still tell me I need to lose 1 1/2 stone, my mirror shows me where my clothes don't fit and how tiredness has crept over my features.

I am in a good place at the moment, helped by a delivery of new clothes that actually fit me. Today I am wearing a new outfit, and I have taken on board what others have said. I have actually made an effort to be more yummy and less slummy mummy today and have put a small amount of make up and I feel good.

Today the mirror is telling me that I don't scrub up too badly for a 36 year old mum of 4.

Pointless blog really, but there you go ... :o)

Life plans

After some recent conversations I decided to pay some attention to my long neglected blog. I've read through my posts, some quite depressing and happened upon this one. I decided rather than start afresh I'd refresh one of the  better posts and hope it gives me the kick I need.

My Unexpected Life.

....and they all lived happily ever after....

...that was my expected life, married to a fantastic man, 4 children (2 of each), a couple of cats and maybe a dog.

Well I can say that, as I write this, I am married with 4 children (2 of each), a cat and a dog....good going!

I met M at 21, moved in together at 22 and acquired 2 cats, married at 24, had R at 27 (boy) and A at 29 (girl), so far so good.
Life has a funny way of sticking a spanner in the works.

Whilst I was pregnant for the second time, M was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I nursed him and as I bloomed in pregnancy, so he grew weaker. He died when A was tiny. I was a widow at 29......life had stuck a bloody great pin into my balloon and my expected life had gone pop.

Just under a year later I had met a new man who shared my pain and sadness. A's wife J had died from breast cancer a couple of months before M had died. We met as friends, had endless conversations about our friendship, swore we would never ever marry again and then we fell in love. We moved in together when I was 31 with his 2 cats, bringing cat total up to 4, married when I was 32 and got a dog, had E (girl) when I was 33 and C (boy) when I was 35.

Let's look back at my expected life again; married to a fantastic man,CHECK 4 children (2 of each) CHECK, a couple of cats and maybe a dog.CHECK! I have my expected life, I have just got here by unexpected means.

I would not change what has happened in my life,even if I knew the pain involved, to paraphrase a character from a powerful (and favourite of mine) film;

'I would rather have had one breath of his hair, one kiss from his mouth, one touch of his hand, than eternity without it. One.'

Girls versus boys

I have 2 daughters aged 2 and 6. They are beautiful, funny, bright, chatty and imaginative. The older 1 (Anya) is stubborn, firey and is also a drama queen, I am convinced her motto is 'molehills are there to make mountains out of'. The younger 1 (Esmé) is currently in the middle of the terrible 2s. She is argumentative, stroppy and prone to tantrums at the most inconvenient times.

I have 2 sons aged 7 months and 8. They are gorgeous, smiley, the youngest (Charlie) is a content, chubby angel (so far) and the eldest (Ross) is seneitive, generous, artistic and musical. Charlie is showing signs of a strong character as he is determined and can have tantrums when denied what he wants. Ross is stubborn, has an attitude at the moment, is answering back and can be immature for his age.

Ross and Anya love each other to bits and get on beautifully, but this can change to all out war in the time it takes me to make a cuppa.

Ross and Esmé have a very special relationship, if she is hurt, she goes to Ross and he comforts her. If we are out walking they hold hands, Ross reads to her. In the morning she creeps up to his room and cuddles up with him in bed until his alarm goes off...he doesn't mind.

Ross adores Charlie, but gets bored as Charlie doesn't do much. Charlie adores Ross.

Anya and Esmé have a lovely relationship (most of the time), they adore each other. Esmé wants to be just like Anya and Anya enjoys the adoration and allows Esmé to do whatever she likes. This has been great, up until recently.

Anya and Charlie have a special relationship, Anya will do anything for him and I have to remind her that he doesn't need picking up all of the time. Charlie's face lights up as soon as he sees Anya.

Esmé adores Charlie while he stays in 1 place (very unusual these days), she shouts at him once he wiggles/rolls to where she is playing. Charlie loves Esmé and giggles at her lots.

I am finding my girls are far more challenging to bring up than my boys. I don't know if it's the way that they can both be manipulative and it is often difficult to tell whether Anya is telling the truth...Esmé is also practising her *story telling*. Ross rarely tells lies, and when he does they are so bad that he soon tells the truth. He, however, is sporting a less than fetching eye rolling attitude at the moment. Charlie has yet to develop this side of his character.

I also wonder whether my difficulties are to do with society and the pressures on girls. Anya is tall for her age and needs a 9-10 size in most clothes, she is worried that she is fat, in fact she is the exact opposite, she is thin with long arms and legs. Being 6 and 7 I believe that her peers and her get their adjectives muddled and fat/big is used instead of big/tall. Ross is also tall and incredibly thin, as far as I am aware he has not had any bad comments from his peers and has no worries about his appearance.

Anya looks (and at times) acts as if she is older and I am concerned that this could lead her down the wrong roads as she gets older, Esmé still looks very young (as she has yet to grow a decent amount of hair) but due to older siblings and her own brightness she also comes across as older at times. I worry more about friendship groups for my girls than my boys. Girls can be so nasty when it comes to other girls and as I was bullied throughout my teens, I know how awful it is to not fit in. Boys do get bullied, but boys tend to have a fight and then get on with things. Boys do not seem to have the maliciousness that girls have. I may be proved wrong.

I feel that my girls will face far more threats (real or in my vivid imagination) than my boys.

My concerns for my boys are quite simple, I worry that they will be rude and/or get into trouble because of peer pressure, but I don't have the same deep worry about the things they may have to face as I do for my girls.

All I can do for them is to teach them to be proud of who they are, to trust in God and to treat others as they would like to be treated. I also need to pass my worries to God and pray that my children grow up with as little pain as possible, to be happy and to have faith.

Me, myself and I

Sometime ago I was challenged to list 10 of my faults and 10 of my positive points. I found the former really easy, but the latter gave me a headache. I have decided to try again.

10 faults I have

1. I am very untidy
2. I am too sensitive
3. I worry too much
4. I find it almost impossible to say no
5. I take even the slightest criticism to heart (particularly from my Mum)
6. I care what others think of me (even those who don't know me too well)
7. I hate cooking
8. I procrastinate
9. I lack confidence
10. I have little willpower


10 positives

1. I am a good Mum
2. I was a good teacher (and will be when I go back to teaching)
3. I am a good listener
4. I speak my mind (is that a + or a -)
5. I can keep a secret
6. I am trustworthy
7.I am strong in a crisis
8.
9.
10

Ok, the first part took me 5 minutes or so........the second part I am still unable to finish. Why is it that we always focus on the faults rather than celebrating the postives?

Snow

I have really enjoyed the last 2 days of lots of snow, granted I haven't had to battle into work.

The snow has meant I have had to walk everywhere, as have a lot of people. The children have loved the snow and I have been able to see it through their eyes. We hear a lot of people moaning about the snow and the news always looks at the problems associated with the snow. Instead, let's look at the fun and the beauty that God has given us, how the trees look, the joy on the children's faces, their creations of snowmen and the sound of children playing.

Walking out and about we have passed many people who have smiled and said hello, or passed comment about the snow (positive). Even the children (the eldest of whom is 8) have commented how the snow 'makes people nicer.' What is it about this weather that makes people feel that they can smile and remark, when normally they would walk on by?

This weather has made me resolve to be 'nicer' and make an effort to smile and say hello whenever I pass someone whilst out walking. If they think I am mad, so be it, but if it makes just 1 person smile then it is worth it.

Singing and dancing like no one is there.

I collect quotes from famous people like some people collect stamps. I don't collect any old phrases, I write down the ones that speak to my heart. My favourite quote of all time is:

“Sing like no one's listening, love like you've never been hurt, dance like nobody's watching, and live like its heaven on earth.” (Mark Twain)

I try to live my life by this quote. I try to remember to make the most of every day and live life to the full, experience has taught me that anything could happen tomorrow.

This is more difficult than it sounds. Life has a habit of trundling on without you really noticing. I have days where I cannot see the good and I am not trusting in God and His plan. I have days where nothing seems to go right and of course, I have the boring, run of the mill days that we all have.

I have been told that I am a positive person and, although I have to remind myself of this at times, I do agree with that view. I try to see the good in situations and in people, I think that is why, when I can't see the good, it hits me harder.

I have so much to be thankful for: (in no particular order) my parents, my amazing family, my 2 wonderful husbands, my 4 beautiful children, fantastic friends and the love of God. I am a very lucky girl (can't use the word woman, as at 36, it still seems too grown up for me) and I count my blessings regularly.

I sing and dance an awful lot. If you catch me at it, don't be concerned by the awful noise and the strange movements, I am living my life to the full, come and join me!

January blues.

January is a tough month for most people. A Dr Arnells has come up with a calculation to work out the worst day of the year (1 of the Mondays in January).
The formula for the day of misery reads 1/8W+(D-d) 3/8xTQ MxNA.
Where W is weather, D is debt - minus the money (d) due on January's pay day - and T is the time since Christmas.
Q is the period since the failure to quit a bad habit, M stands for general motivational levels and NA is the need to take action and do something about it.

Now I don't know if this is true, but January 2009 has been pretty bad for me. A dear uncle died, my husband's job is not certain family members are playing silly games and hurting others, some friends have displayed some pretty ugly behaviour and are quite open about what they have done, almost proud, my parents' health has not been as it should and I am trying to support someone who has recently lost her husband.

I have tried to pass on everything to God in prayer, but I still go around with a huge weight on my shoulders. Why? Who knows?

What I do know is that next month HAS to be better. Already the evenings are getting lighter, it is a shorter month, Valentine's Day should bring romance into most relationships and we are heading closer to spring.

Not sure what the point of this entry is, but it has helped to get it all off of my chest.

If life throws you a lemon...

...make lemonade! (Joan Collins)









In the past I have often wondered about this phrase, what does it mean? Starting to write this blog has shown me that a lot of the time I have caught the lemons and made some delicious lemonade.

There are some situations that you just cannot make the best of. For example losing your husband, best friend and soul mate when life together is just beginning.

Matthew and I had 1 son and had just found out that I was expecting another baby, after losing a baby a couple of months before. We lived in a lovely area and both had jobs we enjoyed. Most of all we had each other.

Matthew collapsed on Rememberance Sunday 2001 and within weeks we found out that he had an incurable cancer. For 11 months he received treatment to prolong his life, but as in many cases of cancer, the disease was too strong and Matthew died peacefully on 30th October 2002. Ross was 2, Anya was 3 months and I was 29 years old. We had been married for 5 short years.

I have been thinking about this a lot, as I know someone who has been recently widowed, it has bought all of those memories of the initial feelings back.

I was with Matthew when he died, he had slipped into a coma and was being lifted to slide a special mattress under him. He made a funny noise and he was gone. At that moment all the strain and pain and sadness went from his face. After a lot of pain and struggle, Matthew was finally at peace.

I cannot remember my first reaction, but I remember that I was left alone with Matthew, and it was very quiet. I also remember bringing Ross and Anya to say goodbye, it meant nothing to them, but it was very important to me that I could tell them later on that they had said goodbye.

That day my house was full of people coming to say goodbye. I sorted out Matthew's favourite shirt, and trousers and I made sure that his boxers and socks were the ones he had got on Father's Day. Silly maybe, as he was being cremated, but it was vitally important to me that Matthew wasn't in his pyjamas.

I know that I didn't cry. I went into organising mode. Matthew's mum and I went to the funeral directors and made the arrangements. Peter, our vicar came and made arrangements. I spent ages on the phone ringing people and telling them that Matthew had died and then ringing them with details of the funeral. Organising the funeral was not too difficult, Matthew had stated what he wanted and had marked several songs in the hymn books.

The tears didn't come for 10 days, and it was the kindness of someone I didn't know that well. We arrived at the church in the pouring rain and as we got out of the car I saw the midwife who had looked after me during my 1st pregnancy and the midwife who had delivered Ross and Anya. They wrapped me in a huge hug and that was it, the damn was broken.

I don't remember much of the funeral, I spent most of it in tears looking at the box beside me, the box that contained my husband, and all my hopes for our future.

After the funeral I went home to mt parents and stayed the night, I could not face being alone. Christmas passed in a blur, as did my 30th birthday. I made sure the children were ok, I ate, I went through the motions but I was numb.

Every so often the pain would break through and I would cry, usually at some stupid time in the early hours. I've often asked if I was angry, I can honestly say no. hat would be the point of getting angry? Who would I get angry at? Matthew? He didn't ask to die. God? He had given Matthew and I the strength to carry on, He had helped me get through that first week, I was thankful to Him not angry.

Grief is a strange creature, it can make you feel sad, tearful, frantic, disinterested but worse of all numb. Not just numb to the sadness but to everything. I couldn't enjoy my children, I don't remember many of Anya's firsts. She asked me the other day what her first word was, it made me feel bad to tell her that I cannot remember.

Grief shaped my life for many months, now it just adds shape once in a while. I like to think of my life as a book, in chapters. Each chapter leads to the next and builds on the story, what has happened in 1 chapter is not forgotten and will be referred to throughout the story, maybe not in each chapter, but every so often.

This post is quite random and probably doesn't make sense, but it has taken me a week to write, I may well come back and rewrite, butfor now I will publish.

Random thoughts

Do your own children delibrately time tantrums for maximum impact, ie when you are running late or whilst out shopping?

Why is it that Mum (me) is the only person to notice the bins need emptying?

Are thank you letters not the 'done' thing any more?

If thank you letters are not the 'done' thing, why do I feel compelled to mae my children write them?

Why is it, when you have spending money, you can't find clothes to buy, but when you have no money, there are lots of things that would suit/fit you?

Why are all the lovely things fattening?

Do New Forest Ponies enjoy their freedom, or do they wish they were 'kept' like the horses in fields?

Am I a nutter for these thoughts? (answers on a postcard.)

The big C.

What Cancer Cannot Do

Cancer is so limited...
It cannot cripple love
It cannot shatter hope
It cannot corrode faith
It cannot destroy peace
It cannot kill friendship
It cannot suppress memories
It cannot silence courage
It cannot invade the soul
It cannot steal eternal life
It cannot conquer the spirit.

This poem was on the wall of the local cancer help centre and it is so true.

Cancer features heavily in many people's lives, statistics claim that 1 in 3 people will be affected by the disease.

In my life I have lost 3 important people to the disease, my Grandad, my Aunt/Godmother and my husband. I have watched as cancer has reduced the people I love to shells of themselves. However, these shells are their physical shells only. All 3 of these people retained their dignity and showed remarkable courage.

Matthew never gave up hope, during his illness he became closer to God and inspired others with his witness, his dignity and his strength. He refused to be known as a cancer victim and refused to talk about his *battle*, as he said how can you *battle* a disease. His bloody minded stubborness helped him to outlive expectations and to meet Anya. His kindness and love for me meant that I was able to love again.

Cancer is an evil disease, it can rob you of those you love, but it cannot rob you of your love.

The college years: 3rd and 4th years 1993-1995

Each college year involved some sort of drama......I must be a magnet for it.



Our 3rd year started off well. Jenny, Kirsty, Becca and myself found a house to rent together. Becca was going off on an American exchange for the 1st term and so her room was let out to Neal. The term started well enough and at the end we had all visited our teaching practice schools ready for the spring term.



We girls planned to go to the Christmas ball and got home from our school visits to get ready. Waiting for us were official looking letters. We were being evicted. Apparently our landlord had been charging us a fortune in rent, but had not been paying the mortgage. Frantic phone calls to our parents followed. Within the next few days the mortgage company had agreed that we could stay on until the end of our tp and then the house would be repossessed. We then did something that I now now is against the law, ooops ;o). We opened the landlord's post (he used to come and pick it up once a month). We discovered he had several different credit cards maxed up to the limit and he wasn't paying them, they were threatening legal action....he obviously wasn't good with money.



The Christmas ball was a little flat after the news, but we did have plenty to drink funnily enough.



After a fantastic TP, I went back to live with Julia and Robin, my surrogate parents. I met Matthew (see previous blog entry) and actually enjoyed the rest of my 3rd year.



My 4th year started in the east end of London. I was due to start my final year at Star School in Tower Hamlets, but first I had a 3 week community placement in a school for children with a range of disabilities. The 1st few days were great, apart from the fact that I felt rough. I am sure I was coming down with cystitis, so got some med from the pharmacy. One night I was in an awful lot of pain and then started bleeding, I collapsed. Someone called an ambulance and I was taken to Newham General hospital. I remember the ambulance men being less than sympathetic and telling me I was probably experiencing a miscarriage. My parents were called and I remember stressing that I wasn't miscarrying as Matthew and I had been very careful....how to tell your parents that you are in a sexual relationship . What's worse is my parents had been told that it was likely that there was a problem with my kidney, so had no idea what I was going on about. I really don't remember the next couple of weeks, but I have been told the following: I was transferred to Whitechapel hospital at Bow, where a scan showed that my left kidney was blocked and in danger of bursting. A tube was inserted into my kidney and attached to a bag to drain said kidney. I contracted blood poisoning and at 1 point my parents were told that I had been lucky to make it through the night. Matthew was constantly by my side apparently.



During this time my parents were running themselves ragged. My Nan (Mum's mum) was living at my parents' having broken her hip, my Grandad (Mum's Dad) was in the local hospital dying from cancer and my aunt (Dad's sister) had just been re-diagnosed with breast cancer. The fact that they coped with all this just goes to show how amazing they are.



While I was in hospital, my Grandad died. I remember being told by Mum and Matthew. I was close to Grandad and his death was devastating. I was allowed out of hospital for his funeral and hid my bag in an old handbag.

I was then transferred to St Andrew's, a hospital so dirty and badly run that it has since been demolished! I was on a mixed ward, where there was no such thing as dignity...if I felt that at 21, what must the elderly gentlemen in the beds beside me felt? The first op to sort out my kidney failed, a few weeks later I went back for an op to remove part of my uretha where the blockage was. This would be my 3rd general anesthetic in 3 months. I finally went home on Christmas Eve.

Against advice, I went back to college in January, the thought of having to repeat a whole year rather than just my TP spurred me on. I attended every lecture, seminar and tutorial and completed the year despite a particular tutor telling me that he doubted I would finish the year....I really am stubborn!

My college year finished with my repeated TP. This time I was in Upton Cross, just down the road from West Ham's ground. I loved the time in the school. My class consisted of 1 Afro-Carribean girl and 29 Indian children. The Indian children came from Islamic, Hindu and Sikh families, this was a real eye opener, the racial tensions between these 10 and 11 year olds was incredible.

At the end of my TP I was offered a job in the borough of Plaistow but I turned it down as I wanted to be down south with Matthew. I got my job at Holy Family on Millbrook on 4th December 1995 and started in the January.

The college years: 2nd year 1992-1993.

Moving into the flat was interesting. The car could not be parked very close to the building and the flat was on the top floor (only 3 or 4 floors, can't quite remember.) The lift was tiny, so Mum, Dad and I shuffled boxes and cases from the car, through the security door (wedged open with a box), into the lift (also wedged open by a box), sent the lift up and ran up the stairs.

Living in the flat was a laugh. We lived around the corner from the good pubs....always a plus. We lived a short walk away from college. We became very childish while walking to college....it was the height of David Baddiel and Rob Newman's 'History Today' sketches,(http://uk.youtube.com/watch?v=5nCKYEM8qRc) and we used to get more and more ridiculous with the 'that's you that is' comments.
The flat was also the time of practical jokes. I received a phone call as I was interested in a new garage door. The sales person got most irate when I explained, I had no car, no garage and therefore no need of a new door. Kirsty received details of a man desperate to meet her if she paid the dating agency x amount, Becca went away 1 weekend and found her clothes and food missing, Jenny arrived back from a weekend home to find her posters all upside down. The worst threat was the piggy cupboard. Kirsty was visiting a pig farm as part of her course and her clothes and boots were locked in this cupboard as they stank....my pillow was found in there once. We called a truce when it got to the point that no one wanted to go away for fear of what might happen.

College was still good, although Teaching Practice was wearing as we had to catch the mini bus at 6.30am and we didn't get back until 6.30pm. I was in a school on the edge of a notorious estate on the way to Portsmouth. This experience set me on my love of tough areas, and to this day, I have preferred my inner city experiences in teaching to my *nice, safe* schools.

During the 2nd term, the court case of the man who had threatened us happened. My Dad and my brother came down to support me. As the man had changed his plea to not guilty, Bryony and I had to give out statements to the court. The man was represented by a woman and the Crown Prosecuter was an oldish man. Bryony went 1st, we weren't allowed to talk, so as she was escorted out of the court, I was escorted in. The Prosecution wnet first and basically led me through my version of events. I concentrated on him until he asked me if the man who had jumped out that night was there. When I looked up the man was there smirking at me. Then the Defence questionned me. She ripped in to me; Was I flirting? Was I drunk? Had I been dressed provocatively? Surely 2 girls don't go out on the town without wanting male attention etc etc. When I came down from the stand I began to feel like maybe it was my fault. We went to wait in the witness room and then we were told that the case had collapsed. Apparently the police should have asked us to identify the man in an id parade.

This was the first time I attended counselling, I had real problems coming to terms with the attack and the court case and 1 of my tutors set up sessions with the college cousellor. I was able to shout and cry without upsetting/boring my friends and family. This really helped as the man would follow Bryony and I when he sw us in town. This was before the stalking laws, so as he did not touch or talk to us, the police could do nothing. What finally helped me come to terms with it was a poem I wrote during my creative writing course.

Plea

Please go, I'm asking you nicely,
Your presence unnerves me
and fear builds up.
I had finished that chapter
Now you are back,
Haunting me,
Taunting me,
Please go, I'm asking you nicely.

Please go, I'm asking you nicely,
Not demanding like you,
No weapon to threaten with,
No promise of pain.
Let me continue my life,
I don't want to feel fear,
Or know that you're near.
Please go, I'm asking you nicely.

Please go, I am asking you nicely,
The court case has been,
The casethrown out.
You have your freedom,
But I have none.
While you are here,
My prison is fear.
So, please go, I'm asking you nicely.

The college years: 1st year 1991-1992.

One Sunday afternoon in September 1991, my parents drove me down to Winchester and dropped me off at a strange house. I was 18 and had never been away from home for more than 2 weeks.

My first term was nerve racking and I grew in many ways as I discovered the student lifestyle. I still had the home feel as my landlord and landlady were like another (less strict) set of parents. Their younger daughter, Bryony, was still living at home and we became firm friends.

On our fisrt day the Teaching Studies tutors had us doing the strangest things to 'break the ice'. All B'Ed students had to go to the exam hall with a pebble. Once there we then had to wander round and find a match for our stone....in about 30 seconds!!!! We then had to sit down with our new friend and tell them what their name was, where they came from and which course they were doing. I got my partner completely wrong. He was almost right about me, he reckoned my name was Karen (not too far from Korinne), that I came from London (just outside actually) and that I was studying B'Ed English (now that bit wasn't too difficult as most B'Ed students were doing English).

By the end of the 2nd term I had met the group of friends who have become lifelong friends. We have been through a lot together and although spread around the counrty, we still keep in touch and meet up when possible.

We studied hard and we played hard. I learnt how to eat frugally so that I had more money for cider and walked most places ...again to save money for cider ;o) I agreed to share a flat with 4 friends, Jenny (Maths), Becca (English), Kirsty (Biology) and Annemarie (Art) for our 2nd year...true independence!

Before I knew it, my 1st year ended and I went back to Stevenage to work for the summer. In a year I had parted with a boyfriend, learnt to budget and live independently, learnt that college life was amazing and grown up an awful lot.

One Friday night after work, I got on a train to go back to Winchester to spend the weekend with Bryony. We were going out for a few drinks and a boogie at, the *delightful* club, The Red Electric (commonly known as The Dead Epileptic). We were both off men so we wore jeans and t-shirts and made less effort than usual with our appearances. We spent the evening basically slagging off the male species. At 2am the club closed and we set about walking home as we had done on most Friday nights.

Arm in arm we chatted as we walked up Romsey Road. We were part way up when we were jumped out at by a short fat drunk. He held a screwdriver at our throat and demanded we did as we were told. I froze. Thank God Bri had the presence of mind to grab me and scream run. We ran down the road until we met up with a man on the railway bridge, he and a man who had seen what had happened accompanied us to the police station.

Bri phoned her parents and they came and waited with us as we gave our statements. While Bryony was giving hers, our assailant walked by the police station and I pointed him out. He was duly arrested and was found to have the screwdriver in his pocket....idiot!

Summer holidays passed in a state of fear and tears. A lady from Victim Support came to see me to *help*. She was as useful as a chocolate teapot, I still remember her words; ' Well, in a way you are to blame, you shouldn't have been out at that time of night.' I knew that I couldn't let my life be controlled by fear so I decided that my 2nd year would be a fresh start.

Elasticated love....or how I found the loves of my life!

As a student at King Alfred's College, I embraced the student lifestyle. I was young, free and single and just enjoying life. One Saturday night at the end of April 94, a friend and I went out for a night on the town. We had started with a bottle of wine between us and carried on drinking in the pubs and ended up quite merry in the town's only nightclub. My friend and I watched the dancing for a while and then she deserted me. There I was watching the dancers whilst standing on my own. I watched 2 men across the bar. 1 immediately caught my attention as he had the most amazing blue eyes I had ever seen. Feeling confident,with more alcohol than blood coursing through my veins, I approached the men. Mr blue-eyes smiled at me and asked me if he could buy me a drink. We chatted and danced and then he and his friend walked me back to the Halls of residence where I was staying the night at my friend's room. It was fair to say that we were all rather drunk and I remember writing my name and number on his arm. I didn't think he would ring, but was pleasantly surprised when he rang to ask me out for a drink the next day.

Matthew and I met regularly and he drove me home at the end of the term and met my parents. Come September I started my final teaching practice at a school in Tower Hamlets. I liked Matthew a lot, but what we had was fun, I didn't think it was serious. During my 1st week I felt a bit rough, but thought I was coming down with a bug. I collapsed and ended up in hospital with a blocked kidney. Matthew drove his Morris Minor from Winchester to the East End to see me that night. He arrived after a nightmare journey and after visiting hours. Apparently the nurses let him see me, but I don't remember much until a week or so later.

From that time on, both mothers were planning our wedding as they were convinced we were made for each other.

Due to my illness I missed my TP and had to repeat it at the end of my final year. I finished in London in December 1995 and moved in with Matthew just after Christmas. Just before New Year's Eve we had an almighty row and he shouted that he was going to ask me to mary him. The following morning I accepted his proposal and we married in July 1997.

August 2000 I gave birth to our 1st child and in November 2001 I fell pregnant with our 2nd child. Matthew had been feeling rough for a little while, the doctor believed it was down to stress but had taken some blood and was running tests. The weekend I took the pregnancy test, Matthew collapsed. Within a matter of weeks he was diagnosed with cancer of the Oesophagus, treatment was started to prolong his life and we prayed that he would meet our new baby in July 2002.


Our daughter was born in July 2002 and a week later we were told that no more could be done for Matthew. On October 30th 2002, Matthew died he was 33, I was 29, our son was 2 and our daughter 3 months old. I thought I would never ever meet someone as wonderful, and therefore at 29 believed that my life would consist of bringing up my 2 gorgeous children and seeing friends and missing my soulmate.

In the November of 2002 I joined the WAY Foundation for those who are Widowed And Young. I spent many nights in their chat rooms talking to people who really understood how I was feeling. I took some leaflets into the local Wessex Cancer counselling centre where Matthew had had counselling before he died as I knew there would be others in my situation.

One night in June I got chatting to someone who was complaining about a storm, I said that I was listening to a storm too and I asked where he was, he was a few miles down the road. We chatted on and off for a few nights and agreed to meet at a local pub.

He was a lovely man called Alan, his wife had died from breast cancer a few months before Matthew, she was 32. It was good to chat in real life to someone who understood my pain.We became good friends, Alan would come over to help with DIY and cook for me and I would take the kids over to see him and help with his gardening. We spoke on the phone most nights into the early hours, helping each other through our grief.

In late August I went away to stay with friends down in Cornwall and they teased me about how I kept talking about Alan. It got me thinking about my feelings for him and how attracted to him I was.I decided to do nothing about it,but I turned conversations round to 'THE FUTURE' and said that I was beginning to feel that I could accept someone into my life,but he said that he didn't think he ever would.

By late September I realised I had pretty powerful feelings for him and I spoke to a friend about it and she said to go with what I felt would be best. I sat and rewrote an email hundreds of times telling him how I felt,but saying that he was a very important friend and I didn't want to lose him. I pressed send and then ran round to a friends house to tell her all the time thinking 'shit what have I done?' A couple of hours later I went home to find his reply, saying he had similar thoughts and he needed to come round and talk tome. We discussed everything and decided to do nothing as we had to think about the kids and they had already has turbulent little lives...that resolve lasted about a week.

We went out to a local WAY get together and then he drove me home,I asked him in to watch Match of the Day as Southampton (Matthew's,mine and Alan's team) had won that day. When he went to leave, instead of the usual hug, he kissed me.That was September 2003, less than a year after losing my beloved Matthew. On the Valentines Day 2004 Alan proposed and I said yes.

We had a long engagement, so that all 4 families could get used to the idea and then a big wedding in December 2005....which included my family, Alan's family, Matthew's family, Ju's family and loads of friends. It was a very emotional day. We now have 1 daughter and 1 son together. Alan adopted the older 2 children in 2007 and we are 1 big (if somewhat extended) family. I still love Matthew dearly, just as Alan still loves Ju, but both of them gave us their blessings to move on and meet someone new before they died.
I didn't think I could ever love another man, but I have found out that love is elastic, it stretches to encompass all.

Oh yes....the way that Alan found out about WAY was from 1 of the leaflets that I had handed to the counsellor...so we were obviously meant to be together!