Czarina's Pink Ribbon Breakfast

Losing my hair - a billboard to the world: I have cancer.

Tuesday 14th Oct Three weeks into chemo, on a Saturday night, I noticed something that shook me. Every time I got up from the sofa or out of bed, I left trails of hair behind. My hair had begun to fall out. I remember walking around with a broom and dustpan, quietly sweeping away the strands because I hadn’t told anyone yet. I thought I had prepared myself for this moment—but when it came, it was overwhelming. Suddenly, cancer was no longer something I could keep private. My emotions, I could hide. My scars, I could cover. But my hair… losing my hair felt like a billboard to the world: I have cancer. I had already decided weeks earlier that if my hair started to fall, I would shave it all off. My son Gabe even said he would shave his locks too, to support me. But even with that decision made, I wasn’t ready. That weekend, I sat in silence with my fear, my sadness, and emotions I didn’t even have words for. By Monday morning, I went to a yoga class at the cancer centre. Until then, yoga had just been about moving and stretching, helping my body heal. But that morning, something shifted. Surrounded by breath, mindfulness, and stillness, I found a kind of quiet I hadn’t felt before. And when I opened my eyes at the end of class, my first thought was: I’ve got this. I picked up the phone and called my son. He found a hairdresser—a stranger who opened her salon for us after hours. That evening, the three of us shared tears and laughter as Gabriel and I shaved our heads together. What had begun as one of the most terrifying moments of my life turned into something unexpectedly beautiful. It became a turning point, a reminder of strength, love, and resilience. That one hour of yoga changed how I faced everything that followed. I’ve never looked back. When the time came, my son, he shaved his head with me; and my dad, a man of a few words, had but one word for me - “fight.” Cancer was not going to define me. I get to write my story. Share

Diary entry 13 August 2022

Tuesday 14th Oct

My bald head. It is both humbling and empowering.

Sunday mornings, pancakes, music, sunshine.

Wake up dancing.

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'Am I going to die?'. I wanted to scream.

Tuesday 14th Oct

I didn’t know it at the time, but the months that followed my diagnosis, would change me forever. 

When I heard the word cancer, my immediate first thought went to death.  “I’m going to die” and how do I tell my kids. 

This would be harder than anything the kids (13 and 17 at the time) and I have already faced. It wasn’t that I had cancer that scared me. I didn’t actually know what that meant, though I would soon find out. It was having to put my kids through yet another ordeal, especially when it seemed like life for us was just about to begin again. Instead, and once again, ours was at a standstill.

Shock, anger, disappointment and fear of the unknown. “Am I going to die?” my son asked me. I wanted to scream.

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Diary entry 1 June 2022

Tuesday 14th Oct Diagnosis Treatment Side effects Accept what I can and cannot control. Share

Mother's Day - May 2022

Tuesday 14th Oct We didn’t know it then, but this was the last photo we took before our lives were once again, turned upside down. May 2022, I was formally diagnosed with breast cancer. Share