Surgery 1 is done, recovery is underway, and for the first time in a while, I can genuinely say I’m feeling a little lighter.

Saying goodbye to my boobs with laughter, gratitude, a few tears, and the reminder that this is just one small blip in a much bigger story.

Cycle Six was a full-body mutiny, a WAFSS of epic proportions, but after four months of chemo chaos, I finally got the news I'd been desperately hoping for.

This cycle I’ve been knocked around in my fight against cancer, but I hope to finish Phase One a little bruised, a little changed, but still standing.

I’ve been hiding something from Tim this week - nothing scandalous, just a mildly suspicious level of phone secrecy I’m hoping he hasn’t noticed...

An unexpectedly heartwarming story involving scissors, tumours and cereal-box-based athletics...

From scanxiety and surgery plans to tramp stamps and tiny chaos on four legs, Cycle 4 delivers a full rollercoaster of ups and downs.

Chemo is objectively horrific - but somewhere between the steroid highs, the disappearing body hair, and accidentally becoming a wellness person, I found a few bizarre little wins hiding in plain sight.

Between the medical jargon, treatment plans, and unanswered questions, I’m trying to translate a breast cancer diagnosis into something that actually sounds like my life - not just a report.

Turns out even in the middle of a complete shitstorm, tiny glimmers still show up anyway.

Just me and my solo pity party - brief appearance, committed wallow, then my highly reliable exit strategy by 9pm.

Even mid-chemo, I’m apparently surrounded by people who think they’re hilarious - and somehow, that’s what’s keeping me going.

Today, I let go of my hair - and in its place, a visible, temporary battle scar from cancer.

Hair is a funny thing. For most of my life, I’ve been trying to get rid of it. And now, I’m watching it fall out in handfuls, wishing I could keep even a little of it where it counts.

What starts as polished, calm, and seemingly put-together quickly unravels into chaos, honesty, and messy reality. From shattering bathroom disasters to fleeting glimpses of normal, I navigate cancer, parenting, and life with all its unpredictability. Some days I win. Some days my guts go rogue. And honestly? That’s enough.

One week post-first chemo cycle: exhaustion, battery-flavoured mouth, and the odd upright nap on the couch

First chemo day — treated like any other Friday: tiny routines, awkward normality, and a smidge of winging it.

I read somewhere online that when preparing your “chemo bag”, there’s one rule above all: don’t use a favourite.

I ugly cried at parent–teacher interviews — and it had nothing to do with Harry. This week, everything broke… including me.

"They say it takes a village - but I didn't expect mine to include chocolate nipples, lemon meringue tarts, and my brother threatening a hamper of sorts." Support, care, and love come in many forms, and this week Tim, Harry, and I have had the absolute privilege of receiving almost all of them. Well…kind of. One form we narrowly avoided was the "adult store hamper" my wonderful brother threatened to send me because, apparently, even in dark times, people still need a bit of f