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“As the crimson red waves crashed through the slippery tunnels, he knew what he had to do. Wading his grotesque scaly body down to the deepest pit of the cave; here was where he would begin his evil work. He had been bred for this very job, he was strong and fearless. He had no conscience, and would not stop until he had spread his darkness through the scarlet oceans. The gates had been opened, and he was in.”


Over three years have passed since the day I found out my life would change forever.  As I sit here in my bedroom, the childrens’ sleepy grunts echo on the landing.  I feel happy.  Content.  I feel strong.  If somebody were to tell the carefree early twenty-something me that today I would be sharing my thoughts as a cancer mum - after a turbulent, emotional journey through pain, sadness, euphoria and despair – I would have predicted my immediate disintegration. I could barely cope with a crap day at work, or a massive queue at the petrol station.  How could I possibly deal with something as earth-shattering as this?  Well the short answer is, you just do; because you have to.


Since my first-born child was diagnosed with leukaemia I have kept a kind of journal of the things going through my head; as a mother put in the position that no mother ever wants to be in. I was always careful to be outwardly positive when the battle began, fuelled by fighting talk. I do believe this helped enormously. That said, I also knew it was important to acknowledge what was happening and the sickening reality of how it felt; almost in an attempt to prevent some kind of post traumatic stress reaction later down the line (if that is at all possible). Here and now – as Jacob has come to the end of his treatment - I have finally decided to begin to share my story with you; travelling right back to the beginning in my own mind and recalling those thought and feelings from that very dark time. Revisiting this is scary and actually makes me feel a bit sick, but I guess this will be therapy for me, and if the information one day helps another parent in a similar situation then it will all be worthwhile.


The first few entries will be historical listed – starting right back at the beginning up until the present day, after which I hope to keep updating this as an account of our 'journey'. It's possibly a little cringey that people always refer to this experience as a 'journey', but it really is the most fitting description. Right from the off you have this deadline in your head of when everything will be over; a destination you are heading for, for which you had no chance to pack. All you can do is believe you will reach that destination, and that actually all you really need is right there IN YOU already. You try your best to make it as pleasant a journey as possible; you get rid of any annoying passengers pretty quickly, you take care of your vehicle and you overcome any bumps in the road. 


This is about our journey, the story of My Boy and the Blood Goblin.