Category: Facebook

After my last blog, I had a great many readers writing to me, identifying with my sentiments and feelings. Some said they felt validated and that it was good to hear someone else saying what they themselves felt and thought. Men and women in the groups wrote and I want to say Thank you to each and every one of you.

2 plus years ago, when I began blogging, it was so that I could let family and friends who were being fed lies and stories about me, my side, the truth. They all lived far from me and I had no way of visiting and giving my side of what was going on. After David’s diagnosis, I changed what I wrote and used the blog to vent my feelings, my fears, anger and sadness at prostate cancer, with a little ‘c’, along with the other scary things going on in my life. A cathartic experience and one I use with my clients. It worked for me and I soon found , worked for others, seeing that actually, they were not alone in their fears.  I have blogged every week since. Last week I wrote to highlight how we, us ladies, are affected by our husband’s illness and hopefully others who identified with my feelings were comforted by the fact that we, or most of us, feel the same. The feedback has shown this to be true. This was one blog David wanted to read and did so with tears in his eyes. It opened up a conversation that was enlightening if not a bit sad.

My husband, had not really talked much about how he felt, during the waiting, the surgery or post recovery. But he said he was very much aware of what it was doing to me. So, hid that well didn’t I?But the one thing he does say now, is that he ‘had’ cancer, never that he has it. Positivity being his middle name. During the 1st year on this journey, the first PSA test that began the horrors and gave a hint as to what was to come, David showed no worry, no fear, his pragmatism at times, made me angry. How could he be so calm? Our world had been turned on its head, our future dreams put on hold, our future was even less certain that it had ever been before. How could he be like this? I never showed my fear outwardly but felt it inside fiercely. But that was where we differed. As readers will know I was a wreck, waiting for the tests, having the biopsy, the MRI, the endless waiting for results. No one seemed in a hurry to find out the next step, apart from me! I hid my feelings very well, except on here. I shouted, cried, vented my fear, anger, sadness and absolute terror, in my blog, every week. David took it all in his stride . Showed no anxiety, being a ‘we are where we are ‘ kinda guy. ‘Whatever happens, we will face it together as we always do’ ‘It’ll be okay’. How could we face what we don’t know? How could we face something so huge, so horrid? How could it ‘be okay’?

The day of the final diagnosis, that horrible day that is etched in my memory and will possibly stay there, I was falling apart, felt faint, terrified and David, on leaving the office of the man who had ,to me, given us the worst news ever ‘You have cancer’, to the man I loved, sitting calmly next to me, was not showing anything that gave me a clue as to how he felt. He had stood up and thanked the consultant. Yes thanked him! Then suggested we go and do the weeks shopping! To say I was overwhelmed is an understatement. It was like I was in some kind of nightmare, a cruel , nasty, life threatening nightmare. All I could think was that my man, my rock, the one I had loved for over 30 years might die. Nothing about this day was ‘okay’.And so we went shopping. I have written about this in detail in earlier blogs.

It appeared at this time that David had not thought about that, that he might die. Perhaps he wouldn’t let himself, I don’t know but at that time, I know he didn’t voice it. Would voicing it have made it more real? Possibly. But to me, it was already far too real. The following months, I was trying to be strong, trying not to show my emotions but David knew me too well. He would reassure me that we would beat this unwelcome visitor, he was not worried at all. For me, the ‘what ifs’ were having their best days ever to that point. The scenarios played out in my head were so scary that I wasn’t actually coping very well. I had just ended therapy with 2 clients and did not take anyone else on. I was not in the right place to try to help others when I couldn’t help myself. I needed all my strength to be there for David, even if he didn’t appear to need it. I came up here, to my ‘safe place’ my study, looking out over the most beautiful scenery, that I had not been able to appreciate  at that time and poured my fears out on here, blogging everything and anything that was happening in my life. It was for me, at first, but  has been helping others, I have been told. That was the bonus.

During those first months, David just got on with his life, our life, like nothing was wrong. Showed no fear, no worry and verbalized no ‘what ifs’. Just being strong, dependable David, the man who loved me and whom I love with every ounce of my being. The days leading up to the surgery, my mind was a mess. I tried hard not to think about it but that was impossible. David seemed to be oblivious to what was ahead. It was almost as if, he had forgotten or was not thinking about surgery, the dangers, if there were any. Not thinking of the operation at all. We are incredibly close, best friends and yet I didn’t see it. See what he hid so well. Just didn’t see it. Why didn’t I see it?? See that deep down inside, that although he assured me he was fine, he wasn’t scared, that he would be okay, actually he, at times, wasn’t. Okay I mean.Why and how did I not see what was evident after the surgery and now seems to have been staring me in the face.

I remember waiting to go in and see him after surgery, the very longest day of my adult life, he was still coming round and we were told all went well. I sat by his bed and he reached for my hand, eyes still shut . The nurse had said he should have come round by this time, which was a worry as he seemed still out of it. Oh how I wished we had never had that first test. That we could un-know what we knew, un-hear the words of the consultant; these things had gone round and round in my head whilst waiting to see my beloved man awake. Then I would not be thinking he might die, he might not survive surgery, the first he had ever undergone. But then, slowly, eyes still shut, he reached for my hand and placed it on his lips. That brought long-awaited tears and I knew that he would be okay, would come home to me soon. 

This past week, after he had read last weeks blog, we talked a great deal about the past few years. Talked of the added pressure of the nasty family stuff going on at the same time and how that had made me ill, already low, before cancer came barging into our lives. But mostly we talked of my fear of losing him. Of how I would come on here, read all the Facebook stories of men having treatment, sadly some of them losing their battle, some surviving. I only shared the positive with him, not anything else at that time. We talked of how many men are diagnosed too late and he said how lucky he felt, having a GP who did a routine tests. I shared how I often wished he had never had that test, in the early days, but was now so grateful that he had, because it had found the cancer before it could do more damage. I told him of how scared I had been that I could lose him. He smiled and said he had never thought that, not in the years leading up to surgery but then admitted something I had not seen. That he had, in the few days before having the operation, been scared he wouldn’t wake up after the anaesthetic. He said he had never been afraid of any illness, but before the operation to remove the prostate, he admits to having been scared of not waking up, he was just afraid of leaving me, on my own. I felt awful, lacking in some way that he had not been able to share his fears with me. He had kept them to himself and gone down to theatre thinking that he might die and worrying about me. How awful is that. But then I thought of other times he has kept things to himself. I think I have talked of this in another blog, not sure. He surprised me by saying he was glad we are now saying he ‘had PC’ and not that he has it. He doesn’t like me using the words sufferer or victim in reference to him. He had never thought of himself as either. He had something ‘bad’ inside of him and it had to go. That was when I had likened it to being a piece of bad fruit in a fruit bowl, you leave it and it will contaminate all the other fruit, take it out , you will save the fruit in the bowl. He liked that. So this piece of bad fruit had to go, the decision was made.  When I asked him why he didn’t tell me of his fear, why he seemed so strong, so brave, he said it was to protect me. To stop me worrying about how he was coping. He said that he knew how hard the previous years had been , all the pain and worry, inflicted on me by my daughter and sister, he didn’t want to give me anymore. He loved me too much for that. This lead to a conversation about sharing the good and the bad in a relationship and how he had always taken on my fears and worries as his own. We have now agreed that he will talk to me more, tell me if he is afraid. 32 years together, nothing will shake our love and I think we are past trying to impress each other with our ‘bravery’ don’t you?

So he hadn’t told me, didn’t want to worry me but I also think it is because ‘men’ don’t talk about things that worry them. Admit to being afraid. Our men are brought up to be the strong ones in a relationship, or at least they did in our generation. Big boys don’t cry’ mentality. Well actually, they do. Not often enough in my estimation but cry they do and they must. We, the women, in their lives, need to encourage this in all areas of our lives. As mothers, as sister, daughters and wives and partners. I lost a son-in-law, many years ago, aged 29 to suicide, if I had known how he was feeling, if he had told any of us, maybe he would still be here.  If I have learned anything it is this. We need to encourage and allow the men in our lives, to tell us anything. Share anything. Their fears, their worries, their ‘anythings.’

For all the men going through this horrible illness, PC, I commend you. Maybe you are afraid to voice your fears. Maybe you don’t understand your fears. Maybe, like me, your partners/families don’t know how you feel. If you can talk to someone, let them know how you feel, that is the bravest part of being a man. Please tell us your ‘anythings’.If you can’t, my thoughts are with you all.

So this week has been enlightening and I am glad to have been able to share all of this with my husband. He had these fears  and didn’t share them because he was protecting me. I think that brave and strong and unselfish.He took it all on his own shoulders and spared me his fears. As the saying above states, being brave when he is afraid, is bravery indeed.

Thankyou for reading x

 

 

 

 

 

When David and I first got together, our lives changed forever. Neither of us had wanted a long-term relationship, having both been married more than once,before. But we met, fell in love and the rest, as they say, is history. He took me on, lock stock and barrel. I had a teenage daughter Lisa, a younger daughter Marie, 2 ponies, one dog, 3 cats and rabbits and guinea pigs. Didn’t seem to phase him in the least. He had never had animals, or children around him really, so my way of life was very different from how he had been living. A bachelor life, nights out, holidays abroad, more than twice a year and pleasing himself in whatever he wanted to do. My, how life changed for him.

Our life together soon became almost idyllic. Our love was stronger than anything we had felt before. David was a good ‘dad’ to both of my daughters and Marie very soon asked if she could call him Dad. Lisa was difficult, and made life hard at times until she left home but we always came together as a family. She married and gave us 2 beautiful grandsons and just before all of this, before the lies and heartache,adopted a baby girl, my grand-daughter. We shared everything and were a happy family. I had poor health at times and my husband took it all in his stride, never complaining, always taking care of me and our little family. Throughout most of our life together, humour played a great part. David could be very silly but also very clever with fun things and the girls and I loved every minute.We eventually moved to Wales with the MOD, David’s then employer and bought a small holding with a beautiful little cottage that we renovated. Seeing my handsome suited man, always spotless and smart, cleaning out stables, knee-deep in muck, was something to behold. Life for many years was wonderful. He had never been ill, one day off work in 40 years and was strong and healthy. Something we both were grateful for.

I have written on here about the family stuff, the bullying etc. so won’t repeat it, but for the past few years life has been very hard for us all. With David’s diagnosis, in 2016,came a whole new way of life. In the same way that my husband didn’t sign up for all the rubbish heaped on us by my eldest daughter, all the lies that caused so much trouble, I didn’t sign up for the worry, the fear and the ‘pain’ that came with PC.I also didn’t ever envisage caring for the man I love, in the same way a mother cares for her child. Some of the past few years felt that way. David was a very private man, there were things we never discussed, our close marriage did not include talking about sexual issues or the bedroom. That part of our life was spontaneous and without words. Healthy or not, it is how we were; down to me I guess. Nursing him, helping him with intimate issues, in the early days came naturally though, if not surprisingly easy. Every little advance, each milestone of recovery, praising him on completing little tasks, taking steps forward. Going to the loo on his own, with the catheter, without the catheter. Buying pants, then pads and all the things he needed to make life bearable. But we got through all of this with humour, the way we tackle most things where possible. But the worry and fear were always present.The ‘what ifs’ always in my head nagging away at my safety, my security, my love for this wonderful man. We were in the supermarket on one occasion and he went off to the toilets only to return with a huge grin on his face. ‘I used the urinal!’ he whispered in my ear, ‘stood up’. We hugged and laughed and were looked at with surprise by other shoppers. Only others who have shared this journey will understand the importance of this. Every step forward was shared, every visit to the hospital for blood tests, results we shared. We became almost inseparable and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. The closeness was there before PC and is stronger now.

So why the picture above?

In sickness and in Health’ our vows said and I didn’t falter, well not in front of anyone, not on the outside, as David never has when I have been ill. Goodness knows it has been often enough. But what they didn’t say was this. What I wasn’t ready for, prepared for or expected came as a shock. I was a strong professional woman with my own practice, caring for and helping those who came to me as clients. All nature of issues, physical and psychological. I worked with depression, anxiety, fear, PTSD and any other emotion known to man. But PC hit me like a sledgehammer and I was left wanting. But I wasn’t warned and I wasn’t ready for the strongest emotion this nasty illness thrust upon me. Fear. I wasn’t ready for that. I also wasn’t ready for the worry. I wasn’t ready for the huge sadness at changes that occurred in my husband and in our marriage. I just wasn’t ready! No-where did it warn me about any of this? I openly admit to struggling. I was angry, sad, terrified I would lose this wonderful man and scared out of my mind that he would change so much that I wouldn’t be the right person for him anymore. Why? Because I had done so much reading, I read of men having hormone treatment and how their partners struggled with how their men had changed. Could I do this? Would I cope? The ‘what ifs’ had a field day as anyone who has read my blogs will have seen. Yes the man has the cancer, the disease, the pain and discomfort but we as wives and partners are equally affected. Not in the same way of course but equally as bad. We feel alone in all of this.When we met people out, when family and friends rang they would always ask after David. I was happy they cared. I would give them updates and be pleased when the news was good. This is the man I love. The man who is my rock, my life. So asking after him made me pleased they cared.

Throughout the whole 2 years, I tried to keep a strong attitude, tried not to let people see how close I was to falling apart. Nobody could have felt more inadequate, closer to the edge, full of negative emotions than I did at this time. I felt emotions I didn’t know I had and this made me feel guilty, ashamed. David had the cancer so why was it affecting me in this horrid way? After a blog a few weeks ago, a gentleman questioned this. ‘It is your husband who has PC. Not you’ or similar words and I know that. I can understand why he questioned what I was going through but it has affected me in a huge way, as it does other wives and partners.Life itself was a mess when PC reared its ugly head. It has no consideration for how your life  is when it strikes. It strikes on top of the nasty things already there. It shows no compassion. It never comes in isolation, how can it? But we, as a family had always been strong and now I felt it all changing, disintegrating around me. The family stuff, the bullying, lies and libelous stories by my daughter Lisa and my youngest sister Trisha, had left me already at a very low point, and Davids illness had almost pushed me over the edge. These are the only credentials I have, for writing this blog. I never showed how everything was affecting me, making me ill and so when I was even lower, I still put on a brave face but secretly hoped that someone would notice and ask me how I was.

But.

No one, ever asked after me. Never said ‘are you okay?’ ‘How do you feel?” Do you want to talk?” I had always been the one, others came to for help, advice or a friendly ear. Maybe they didn’t see how much I needed someone to ask me how I was, in all the horrible things that happen around PC. Perhaps my guard was so good, my ‘pretend’ so strong that no one saw Me and how things really were.I have read this week and other weeks, of wives and partners feeling a bit ‘left out’ if that is the correct phrase to use. People in their circle not asking after their welfare, asking how they are, offering a listening ear, a friendly chat. Maybe because it is our husband who has the illness, that they don’t even think about how all of the tests, treatment etc. affects the partner of the man affected. Maybe. But I would like to see this change. WE MATTER. We are struggling, becoming depressed. Scared, worn down with worry. I call PC the couple’s cancer as it affects us both. During the early days, the worry and fear are huge. During treatment again the worry is almost unbearable and at times you feel helpless. The waiting is horrendous. Trying to stay upbeat in front of the man you love is hard work. Trying to keep the truth of how you really are, hidden, is a struggle and can add to your tiredness and depression.Sometimes you feel like you are going to break. Feel you are in a world you don’t recognize. A scary, ‘medical’ world that is alien to you. You don’t feel like a wife but a carer.  You feel all on your own in your fear and worry. Or is that just me?

I don’t think so, as I have read this past week, of many who are at the end of their tether. Feel they are not coping. Scared, sad, angry and feeling helpless and hopeless. Some on the verge of leaving the marriage, PC having pushed them over the edge. If the marriage was not strong before, maybe about to break up, how hard must it be for wives/partners to then leave. I feel so much for these poor women. This illness can tax the strongest of marriages/relationships and pull a couple further apart. If they stay together because the man is ill, will it work? I don’t know. If they leave are they then full of guilt? I expect so but hope not. I have read of ladies in my groups not coping, feeling angry, sad etc. and no one asking after them. I know that feeling. I have also read of some feeling bad because they have these emotions, these feelings and I want to shout. ‘Don’t feel bad. Please’. ‘Sadly,during this journey, this unwanted unsigned up for journey, these feelings can become the norm. We all have them.’ I became accustomed to this new me, this new norm but determined it would not stay around forever.  None of us want sympathy, that is an unwanted unwarranted feeling, we are not after that. We just want to be asked how we are.So I say to all women struggling on this journey with PC. Shout, vent, show your feelings, I hear you! I have been you.

For some, the end of all the fear and pain is not good. Some sadly lose their men to this vile disease and I am so sad for all of you. These posts are hard to read but sending ‘hugs’ and condolences might just help  a tiny bit. Some on here are able to get through and survive, different maybe, but survived none the less. And for some of us, it does get better.I like to read all the happy stories, all the success stories all the stories of men surviving and moving on. It is important for us to read these and encourage anyone coming after us. Positive posts are good and useful to new companions on this journey.

Maybe if family and friends could appreciate how very hard it is for partner of PC sufferers, they may be able to help more. Listen to the woman, give her time and space to vent her feelings. Try and understand how hard it is to cope with everything PC brings, during treatment and after. Just to be asked how we are would mean such a lot. So just ask her if she is okay. Ask her if she needs to talk. Just ask her, please.

Don’t get me wrong here. PC is a nasty illness and a serious one. As women we will somehow survive it along with our men, maybe be different from before PC but we will survive. It is not the ‘Good cancer’ as I have written a while ago in a blog, there is nothing ‘good’ about any cancer.Men do die from it but more are living with it and after it. I am not in any way saying we, as women, suffer more than our men. I am simply saying that being the partner of a man with PC, is hard. Life is turned on its head for both of you, not just the man. In the beginning, I, for one, was all over the place. I am a senior Health Professional but found it so hard to cope. The thought of what if David died. What would happen if he changed. All the waiting for tests, for results, for treatment took it’ s toll on me, it seemed more than my man. This along with anything and everything that is going on in your life when cancer with a little ’c’ barges into your life and turns your world upside down. The very word, cancer’ hits so hard and fills you with the most horrendous fear. When our men are ill, we do become the strong one, we have to be, even if it’s not part of our nature, of who we were, we have to be strong. We have to be understanding. The wife, the carer and yes, ‘the mum’. Hard for some of us I know. Just to be asked how we are, would mean so much.

Life changes. Not just tiny changes but huge ones as well. Not for everyone but changes happen I believe, in any relationship post PC. That is what makes it different from most other cancers. The physical changes ,the sexual changes are all something that scares us, makes us reluctant to look ahead. I have always found it hard to talk about sex. About the sexual act because of my childhood. Sex was never on our agenda of conversation. David and I had a wonderful loving physical relationship but it had ceased in 2015 and we were told it was because of the Statins he was taking. We accepted this and enjoyed each others love with a closeness that we both were grateful for. I am only sharing this next bit to encourage all of you who think that after a Robotic procedure, sex is gone for good.

A few days ago, my wonderful man came out of the bathroom smiling like he had won the lottery. ‘It’ was back!’ It’ was working! No aids, no pills, just thinking about me, he said and suddenly there was life! So never give up. David had his surgery back in February 2017. Now we are here, continent and healthy with an undetectable PSA and now life in the bedroom! How lucky are we!

I hope this blog has not upset anyone. I hope it doesn’t come across as ‘poor me’ or ‘poor us women’. I just wanted to share how hard it is for us ladies and ask if others can think about this and ask after any wife/partner whose man is undergoing PC at any stage. Ask how she is, offer her a lending hand or ear. It will mean a lot. PC is a horrible disease and it is hard for us all.

Thankyou for reading and Happy Fathers day to all who are dads. xx

 

 

 

 

Well here I am, still unwell and now getting slightly bored and more than a little cross. I am not critically ill, but ill enough to have to stop and  that is so annoying. Makes me angry that illness has stopped me. This past week, I have moaned a lot, frustrated at feeling poorly and looking around at the things I want and need to do, but have no energy to do. I was beginning to become more than a little tired of hearing myself say ‘I am so tired’, ‘I don’t feel at all well’. Of course I ‘m tired, of course I don’t feel well. ‘You’re ill!’ Moaning got me nowhere just a little more cross at myself. This brought me back to looking at how others deal with long-term health conditions. How my best friend Mo, coped with her deteriorating health, when going through Lung cancer. We would meet up regularly and she had told me she was dying. ‘It’s alright Carol Ann’ she would say smiling, ‘I am okay’. It wasn’t alright and she wasn’t okay and I would tell her so but she would just smile again and take my hand. ‘I have no pain. I don’t feel ill. Your issues give you constant pain and you often feel quite ill but we both keep going. We have to. We want to’ and then the smile again. This week I have felt quite ashamed of being and feeling so pathetic, but her words come into my head and I know, at least I will recover from this illness. Mo didn’t.

I began to re read a friend’s blogs, a man who sadly has terminal cancer, how brave he is and how his faith has helped him through these past dark days. I admire him and his journey, the way he has publicly shared it with us all on here and how dignifed and respectful he has remained. Always thinking of you Mark.

When Tony, my Big Bear of a brother, told me he was dying, I was heartbroken, felt helpless and was so angry. He didn’t deserve to die. Not yet. not this way. Not ever if I had my way. One thing it did though, was to make me realise my own mortality. Tony had always been there, in my life, as an older brother, my constant. He fought hard to stay here, with those who loved him and that included me. But cancer stole him from us all and left a huge void. One of the things that happened when he died, was something that began to happen, when David was diagnosed with PC. At that time,I began to evaluate our lives, look at what was important. Try and put aside everything that took up precious time, time away from ‘us’, time away from him. He deserved all of my time, attention, I needed to concentrate on him and that was what I tried to do. It wasn’t easy back then. ‘Family’ had no respect for the fact that he had cancer, that he could die and carried on regardless and I let them I am ashamed to say. My eldest daughter and youngest sister, stole so much time from him, from us here in Wales, months and months that were taken up with their constant bullying. They had also taken my brother’s last year and trampled over any little bit of peace he had left. Making it so much harder for him and all of us. All of this showed very little respect for either Tony or David, no respect for the fact they were ill. No respect for anything , in their lives or mine. But most of all, a huge lack of respect for life itself.I had to stop that and at last I have.

I see this in every walk of life, a lack of respect I mean. Today people seem to have very little respect for another’s property, their good name, or their lives. They seem able to take whatever they want that is not theirs. Hurt whoever they want with no respect for another’s feelings Say whatever they want, lie and have no respect for the good name of the person they talk about. I don’t think this is a generational thing and I don’t think it is upbringing. For example, I brought both my daughters up to show respect for their elders, respect other people’s property. Respect the good name of people and have respect for life itself. It was the one thing I wanted and expected from them and for many years, recieved. Most of all I wanted them to show self-respect. My youngest shows all of the above, the eldest of late????  I think the reason for this lack of thought for others is that we sadly live in a throw away society and it is seems to have spread to life itself. No value, no respect. It has to change.

Since joining the PC groups on here, I have ‘met’ some amazing people, dignified, brave and courageous. Some have terminal PC and have limited time left. Some, who yet don’t know what fate has in store for them. Others who are fighting so hard that it takes all of their strength to hang on. But hang on they do. Life is precious. When faced with a poor diagnosis, I read of men and their partners who show huge faith, great strength, both of character and in body. They won’t give in, not that in most cases, ‘giving in’ is the correct term. But they try so hard to show cancer with a little ‘c’, whose boss! I am always in awe of those who fight, openly on here, tell it as it is. Bear their souls to either help others understand or share their own way of coping. Whether it be by prayer, sending love and hugs or simply commenting on the posts to encourage others. I read with great sadness of men losing this horrid battle, listening to their partners and wives, openly grieve and hope when I comment, it is taken the way it is always intended. I can’t know how they feel and don’t want to feel that way. Sounds selfish but of course I don’t. It is at times like this, that the value of life is accentuated, accepted, realised. We show each other respect on the groups, comment encouragement when we can, share our success stories to encourage others who are only part way on this journey. But mostly I hear and read great respect for other members. Long may it continue.

This past week has brought shock and horror to us all, here in the UK. Reading of the brutal beating of a 90-year-old lady, Iris Warner, in her own home, has left me, for one, reeling. How anyone can harm another human being is beyond me. How anyone can beat an elderly lady is beyond me. We think we are safe in our own homes, but evidently this poor lady wasn’t. There were other stories of other elderly ladies having suffered beatings in this same week and it makes me ashamed to be human. Where is the respect for elders? Where is humanity in the sense of the ability to do this to anyone? Where is the respect for life? I am at a loss and my heart goes out to Iris, the other ladies and their families. The attacker!? The coward? The bully? I use ‘he’ because I just cannot believe a woman could inflict these horrendous injuries on anyone. I hope his family are proud of him! My Christian beliefs are now being tested once again. Forgiveness doesn’t get a look in.

Reading of killings, murders, wars, I am more than angry. People everywhere, on these groups, in our families amongst our friends, are fighting to stay alive. While the rest of the world it seems, are taking life as though it has no value. A picture of a little girl on Facebook saying’ Why can’t we all just love each other’ comes into my head. Yes why can’t we and value and respect this precious thing called life.

Yes, life is precious. It should be valued in every sense, every species, every race. Losing those we love, we realise just how precious life is. In my own personal life and in my professional role, I see life thrown away. I see it wasted. I see those who face enormous pain and heartache and I have felt it myself. I have wasted years, lost on those who don’t deserve it. This past few weeks, being quite ill, I have valued good health so much more than before. Of course it is not the first time I have been ill, I don’t have very good health but also don’t give in to my illnesses. But this time I have had to. I suppose the older we get, the harder it is to shake things off, to cope with being unwell. One thing this episode has told me is this. I have no more time to waste. I owe it to my family, to those who love me and to myself, not to waste anymore time. It is too precious. But for now, I need to show respect for my own health, my own frailties and let my body recover. I owe it to me. Once I have recovered, I will get back to book 3 because I feel it is going to help many people. I will focus on David, Marie and my animals and not on those who have chosen to alienate themselves from me and my family here ‘on the farm’. I will once again enjoy nature, play with my ponies and enjoy everything I am lucky enough to have here. Life is for living. I have learned how easily it can be snatched away. I also know how being ill can focus the mind. Being helpless , ill and a bit down, has given me food for thought. Now, every morning as I awake, I am thankful that I am still here to see another day, whatever it brings.

The threat of losing my wonderful man to PC has made me appreciate him more, and reminded me of how much love we share and how much I need to keep showing him. I am one of the lucky ones. I know the value of life and respect it.

Thankyou for reading xx

 

After last weeks blog, my disclosure, I received many private messages and some comments in my groups re the blog. Just want to thank everyone for the lovely words and kind sentiments expressed after my revelation. I was told, back in 2009, by the son of the man who committed CSA against me, to ‘name and shame’. I wasn’t allowed. I still have not done that but have now ‘owned’ my story. This has given me a sense of freedom. I can now openly work for children who are suffering CSA and know that I do understand their fears, their pain and help them talk about it and break free.I can talk now about my early life, my fears, my hurts and my truth. I had made reference to my past, to the abuse, to the ‘woman they called my mother’ to the break down of my relationship with my eldest daughter at her instigation. I can now talk freely about how PC impacted on that already ‘difficult time of my life’. I hope last week’s blog allowed readers to understand me a bit more. Understand where I am coming from and my need for honesty and truth.Thankyou all once again.

This past week I read of many posts in my groups that told of successes and good outcomes of PC treatment. One that stood out was a young man who told us all that he and his fiance had married. She knew of the cancer with a little ‘c’ and knew of the outcomes after treatment but still wanted to get married to the man she loved. He sounded proud but a bit surprised. I won’t name either of them but they know who they are. I hope they have a long happy life together. That story showed what true love is.

I wrote a blog on March 11th, called ‘We Are All Fighting Our Own Battles. Be Careful With Your Words.’. This is something that has come to light again in the past week. A member had written that she and her husband had been scared that the PC he had , had metastasized and told of her fears. She later wrote another post, telling of her huge relief that it hadn’t. This sadly brought comments on her post that sounded angry, unkind, because their own partners cancer had spread, the outcome and future was not good and they sounded angry to read that she was in a better situation than they were. I don’t believe they meant to sound unkind. I think their own huge sadness and fear made them react instead of respond to the post. Sadness and fear are often disguised in anger , by anger. That anger can breed resentment , sometimes bitterness and that comes across as personal to the reader. The tyrant that is the ‘F’ word, is always so close. Fear can sound angry and bitter. When you are facing the worst outcomes, waiting for results, tests etc. is scary, unbearable and when proved wrong, we need to express our happiness our relief. We need to share it and others need to read it. Especially those new to this journey, early on  in their own journey.

I for one, love to hear the positive stories, right from the first day I joined the groups, I needed to read the happy outcomes. There were those who sadly wrote of this horrid disease and how it claimed the lives of their loved ones and I felt so much pain for them. So much fear for us. But I needed to read of successes of treatment, hear of those who had thought the worst and had discovered, that in actuality, the worst was not as bad as they had thought, or even been told. The positive stories, the happy outcomes, we all need to read those and feel happy for the people involved. Sometimes after writing positive stories, your own ‘undetectable’ results, you receive congratulations,you may also hear of another person’s fears and how your post has encouraged them, given them hope. We also need to be aware, that every story will impact on readers. Sometimes in a good way, sometimes not. People genuinely happy for you. But you may also have hit on other people’s emotions when they are still raw. They may be struggling with a diagnosis, facing unbearable fear,pain and sadness and anticipating loss.They may comment in a way that comes across as being unkind. None of us know how we would react in the same circumstances, so lets not judge.

We all share that one emotion, Fear, in differing amounts. At various times on this journey none of us wanted to take, we are scared. No terrified. I have spoken about how the ‘F’ word rears its ugly head in my own life, even now. Even though I now say David HAD cancer and not ‘has’ it. Sometimes, with little or no warning, it returns along with the ‘what ifs’. The ‘F’ word I mean. He has been unwell this week, but it was a virus. Didn’t stop me worrying, beginning to think the worst. Letting the ‘what ifs’ begin to stir. Not quite got a handle on controlling them all the time yet.

Cancer has touched our lives, some of us more than once and every-time, it brings back previous fights against it ,that we have endured. Years ago, I lost my first sister-in-law, aged 26, my brother Tony’s first wife who lost her battle against this cruel disease, after her giving birth to her second son. 6 years ago I lost my best friend Mo, she fought so hard but lost her fight. Then a close friend’s husband died far too young, from the ‘c’ word. 4 years go today, my eldest sister Georgina lost a long hard-fought fight and January this year my beloved big bear, my brother Tony succumbed to Lung cancer. So cancer is a regular visitor, and that is just in my life. Each time I become afraid. Selfish I suppose, but these deaths make me realise my own mortality and that of those I love. Cancer has not boundaries, doesn’t care who you are. It will hit as often and as severely as it chooses, affect any of us with no exceptions. Making the afflicted scared.

Fear is a normal, if sometimes unwarranted emotion. But however small that fear, it needs airing, talking about, facing. Holding on to emotions allows us to internalize, causing us to become angry, anxious or depressed. It damages us, hurting us, sometimes doing harm that could be avoided if we tackled the very thing that was scaring us, at the beginning. We can allow the fear to make us so scared that we avoid talking, either about what the fear is about, or the fear itself. Sadness within the fear causes us pain. This in turn can manifest itself in anger. Fear can replace common sense and allow us to let our mind go into overdrive and think the very worst without having all the facts. Sometimes we can’t control it. Not sharing, not talking about what is scaring us can make us ill. Unresolved fear can be very unhealthy and unhelpful. We need to take the cause of the fear and reality test it. We can often anticipate the worst and that increases the fear. Yes in some cases, the worst might happen, but if we try to think in a positive manner, at least until we have the facts, it will help us keep things in perspective. We are often more afraid of Fear itself, than the outcome of what is making us scared. Words of a song ”What if I fall, yes but what if you fly’, come to mind. A thought can’t hurt you so try to push it aside until you have the facts, that way, you will be in a better position to cope with whatever life throws at you. Don’t jump ahead of yourself. Try not to panic. Worrying won’t change any outcome, so take one day at a time, within the facts as far as you know them. I wrote an earlier blog. March 26th ‘The Nasty Effects of The ‘F’ word in cancer’. Take a look if you haven’t read it.

One thing more about Fear. If you have come onto the groups I am a member of and have told us you are scared, terrified, you have done a very brave thing. Saying you are scared is courage itself. Laying yourself wide open. It is an admirable thing to do. It is the first step to taking back control when you may feel life is spinning out of control. I know I did. When my husband was diagnosed, life was already very hard, very painful. Fear was already apparent in abundance, after the estrangement of my daughter, the lies she was spreading and the damage she was trying to do to me and my family ‘here on the farm’. I was scared, not of her, but for her. I didn’t recognize this young woman who was trying to destroy me and all I stood for. I am her Mum. I was and am afraid for her psychological health, her mental state but am not scared of her anymore.The fear turned very quickly to a sadness that is still with me today, the only way I was able to cope with this sadness she brought to me, at the time, was to turn it to anger. This was what I showed on here. Anger. For the lies and stories told to family, the lies she told to my publisher but most of all for the lies she has told to my grandchildren and to herself. But today, I am not angry anymore. I recognize the anger she shows me is sadness. The anger I show in return is sadness, angry’s bodyguard, bred from fear. So I know what fear is all about.

Well, that was a bit heavy wasn’t it. One thing I feel I need to say now is that for all readers whose partners/husbands have incurable PC I send my love, my prayers and if I could, some strength to help you endure whatever comes next. I feel so much for you and although I am grateful for our personal outcome, that doesn’t lessen my feelings of sadness for you all. My thoughts are with Mark Bradford, one of the first men who replied to my first blog and first post on here. I hope he is resting and feeling held in his faith and comforted by what it gives him. Sending Welsh cwtch’s, in abundance.

Thankyou for reading x

 

 

 

 

 

 

Today’s blog is not about PC or about my life today. It is an explanation to those who have been asking questions and hopefully today I will answer them.

The questions? Where is your book? What is your book? Well, here it is.

I had always wanted to write my story, tell it as it was, warts ’n all. I wanted people to know, that even if everything appears okay, no one knows what goes on behind closed doors. As a little girl, I thought my life was normal, that this was how every little girl felt, what every little girl went through. As I grew older, I realised that none of it was ‘normal’. I later wondered, if there were lots of little ‘Carol’s’ out there, living lives like mine and wanted them to know they were not alone.

The childhood I had, affected everything I did as I grew up and after. Every part of my life was governed by the legacies of my early years and my growing up. Some of which almost destroyed me. People who knew me as a child, but more as an adult, might now make sense of my life. Things, that those related to me, those who knew of my struggles as a young mum, might now understand. Facebook friends who read reference to ‘my story’ or ‘my book’ will now know to what I was referring. My whole childhood had been full of lies and secrets and that is the reason I base so much on honesty and truth now.

Back in 2009, I wrote my autobiography, hoping to slay my demons and be released from the nightmares of my early life. I had partially done this, during my counsellor training, but not to any great extent. Writing it all down was a cathartic experience although painful. It was so hard, revisiting the horrors of my childhood. But with the support of my family and writing mostly at night when the cottage was quiet and still, I completed my life story.

I thought of having it published, hoping to inspire others who had lived as I had lived and to enlighten those who hadn’t. But I knew it might not be possible because of the content. There were no, or very few books about the kind of life I had lived, at that time, not like today I am glad to say. Not glad that others had suffered but glad that today we can talk about it. Even back then, 2009, it was something no one spoke about.

But. One Thursday morning in February 2009, I sent the manuscript off, by email, to the largest UK publisher and went off to do my clinic. I thought I had nothing to lose, so aimed high. On my return, there had been phone-calls from the publisher, urging me to contact them straight away. I rang back and arranged a meeting. That was the beginning of an extraordinary period in my life. I had full support of my husband David and daughters Lisa and Marie and other people mentioned in my story, especially my brother Tony. I travelled to London, signed a contract and off it went. I went onto Facebook and told everyone to expect my book to be on sale soon. A few weeks later I placed a photo of my book cover and I DID TELL I DID, by Carol Ann Wright was out there. It was like a dream. I had many letters from FB friends and some authors, all looking forward to seeing the finished product. Now, at last, my past would be worth it. Now I could help others by telling my story.

A few months after I had told on Social Media, of my publishing contract, the publishers decided that I had to write it under a pseudonym for legal reasons. I didn’t want to do this but eventually gave in and Cassie Harte was born. I didn’t know what to say on this Facebook page, my Carol Ann Wright page, I felt silly, embarrassed and let down. What could I say? So I said nothing, leaving those who knew of my story, wondering what had happened to my book. I opened a page in my author name Cassie Harte and gained hundreds of followers and received hundreds of letters from others who had suffered like me. Many I am proud to say, since talking to me and been encouraged, have come forward and published their own stories.

Mine was the first story around CSA of its kind. There were no others to compare it with and because it was launched in the November 2009, it was not expected to do very well, with competition from Christmas celebrity autobiographies and cook books. But it did. It went straight to Number 3 and then to Number One in its first week, staying there for a while and in the past years, selling in total around 100,000 copies over 4 countries. It is a Sunday Times bestseller, selling in France, Russia, Poland and the UK. Still selling. How good is that!

Last week I found that Russia, had produced I DID TELL as a hardback, how thrilled am I!

Writing under another name was not what I wanted, I felt it was colluding with those who caused me damage but I had no choice. In my book, everyone had different names and professions and I purposely did not elaborate on the lives of my siblings or friends. I don’t have the right to tell their stories, only my own.

A few years ago, June 2016, I was named on my author Facebook page, in my own name and those who did this, contacted the publisher saying I had named them, which was not the truth. I had signed a contract saying I would not identify myself or anyone in my story, back in 2009, after creating Cassie Harte. Family members who did this, had written on Facebook, in their own names, thus identifying themselves and me.My contract was terminated and the Rights returned to me. I am not going into the details but that is why my book is now out as a 2^nd edition with a different cover. The story is exactly the same, with a postscript.

I have no shame in my story, I did for many years, I felt the shame of those in my book as my own. I now know it was not my shame to carry. I am proud of the person I have become, a Health Professional, an honest and open woman, despite my early life. My past does not define me but does go some way in explaining, the down parts and low moments, in my life today.

So why do I feel the need to disclose this today? Why Now?

Back  in 2016 when family identified me as the author of I DID TELL, I was rendered very low, at this time, my husband was diagnosed with Prostate Cancer and my brother, diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. I had so much going on and wasn’t in the ‘right place’ emotionally or psychologically, the disclosure didn’t happen. But I now want to work openly for survivors and victims with them knowing that I do understand, I can feel their pain, know their struggles.I am currently writing a self help book, ‘Come Walk with Me’, which draws on my own experiences and teaches techniques I use with clients. I hope this book will help them grow from being a victim to becoming a survivor. I would like this published in my own name. I have always been a great believer, that if this kind of book is written by authors who have experienced what they write about, they are more believable and helpful. With the credence of being a published author, I stand more chance of getting this new book out there, to help others.

Having I DID TELL I DID published under a pseudonym, I had no choice. Now I do. This is my story, my life and something I am now, very proud of. I owe it to my wonderful husband and daughter and thank them for all the support they showed me in 2009, 2016 and continue to show today.

Thank you for reading. x

 

 

During this journey with PC, one I had no idea I would ever travel, I have learned the importance of having all the facts. Being told all of the truth. Facts, honestly told, become knowledge and knowledge changes our perception, our mind-set and influences our decisions. Honesty and truthfulness are characteristics I live my life by. Mostly it has paid off, sometimes I have lost out. But more of that later.

A little knowledge is a dangerous thing they say. For me, for us, it certainly was when David was first diagnosed. We ‘knew’ he had PC and that it was a ‘safe’ cancer. People said things to make us stop worrying, to help I suppose but it didn’t. It just lulled us into a false sense of security. We believed that it wasn’t a serious condition. That it didn’t spread. That men never died from PC, they might die with it, but it wouldn’t be the cause of death. It didn’t shorten your life, you won’t always know you have it. It is an old man’s disease, so in light of all of this ‘knowledge’ David would be okay. So we had been talking, at that stage, of leaving things alone, doing nothing. There was no importance put on his diagnosis, we thought. But the untruths we ‘knew’ the ‘lies’ about this cancer with a little ‘c’ almost made us do nothing. Oh how glad I am that I began to doubt these things, I wanted and needed to know the truth, so that I could cope with  it, however bad. I needed to be prepared, to know. So the real truth, was what I went seeking. The ‘truth’ we ‘knew’ was actually a kind of ‘lie’. So the research for the truth, the actual facts, of this nasty disease  began.

I joined groups on social media who knew about PC, people who had actually been there or were still there. This is where I always look for facts. Nobody can actually talk about a subject and say they ‘know’ unless they know! Unless they have been there, told the story and got the T-shirt so to speak. In our case, the man badge. We learned that PC can and does kill. That it is always a condition to take seriously. I read of horrific statistics and also learned of a failure in the awareness of this horrid blight that had attacked my husband and therefore me. I learned that many men did die, do die, usually those who knew nothing about PC, nothing about a condition, a disease that kills more men that breast cancer kills women. Some who had been misdiagnosed or diagnosed too late. How did this happen? How were we not aware? Why had we not read about something so blatantly worrying and scary? This is the knowledge we should all have, this is the honesty, the truth we should all be told. Ignorance, in cases such as this disease, is not bliss. It is dangerous, life threatening and unnecessary. I am so grateful for groups like these on FB, I have learned so much. Yes I did sometimes want to ‘un know’, to ‘un hear’, to ‘un learn’, of course I did but knowledge it a great asset in making informed decisions.

So the truth in this case was imperative. People speaking honestly and openly on here was priceless. Without the groups input, who knows where we would be today. So thanks everyone. I will continue to blog on here about our journey as I don’t think it is ever over. Yes we are getting undetectable in our, or rather David’s PSA tests but the legacy of the trauma of cancer remains, at least it does for me. I have spoken on here about my worry every time David feels unwell, has a pain etc. because until his first routine PSA test, he had never been ill. Had 1 sick day in 40 years for the MOD. So yes I worry now. Whatever hits us in the future, I will still want honesty and truth from those looking after us, the only way I can make sense of anything, is by knowing the truth.

When I began blogging my bywords were ‘Tell it as it is’. I have done and that and will continue. I have nothing to hide and very soon, another part of my life will be made public. Something I am very proud of. Something again, family tried to ruin for me but did not succeed. Watch this space!

If you want to read fiction, lies or untruths, then please read no further. Scroll past. I write as I feel, not intellectually, but full of emotion, of memories, thoughts and feelings and yes, truth. I have always written this way, the only way I know how. I have said before, it is therapeutic to write things down, a way of making sense of the sometimes nonsensical. So here I am.

But before carrying on, I would like to thank everyone who has commented either on my blogs or my April 30th post, which was an explanation of the previous blog. I am so pleased none have been offended by the post it referred to. I began blogging a few years ago, a way of explaining things that were ‘mentioned’ in passing on social media by myself or others. It was also a way of letting family, living far from me,who had been either stopped from writing to me or estranged through lies and stories, about me and my life, my way of telling ‘it as it is’. I do talk of my children, my grandchildren because they are my family. Because they have made my memories. Because they are a huge part of my life, but now my past. I am still sharing old photos as they come up in ‘our memories’ part of FB and will continue to do so, even though I have been ‘told’ not to. My memories. My past. Our truths and our memories. My blog and my page. Nothing will change that.

It was my need for honesty and truth, my inability to lie for my daughter on an official adoption form, that instigated the break with her. In 2013,after travelling 5 hours in total, renting a room, to make a statement to a Social Worker, about our relationship, my daughter Lisa’s and mine, our closeness and my then becoming her pivotal support after her adopting a little girl. Something I was so looking forward to, Lisa blocked me. I had criticized her on the phone about something and  before I had signed the statement that then, because of her blocking me, became a huge lie. I couldn’t sign it because it was no longer true. She wouldn’t talk to me, email me or anything. I was blocked from her and my grandchildren’s lives. How does that make us close? How could I then sign something that was glowing in my opinion of her and talked of our love for each other, our mutual respect and support and regular contact? So signing something, that would leave me culpable and responsible for her future actions, I couldn’t sign. It made no difference to the adoption because I had made sure of that, but she has made it like it did.  So honesty has indeed cost me a great deal.

Having grown up in a dysfunctional family where my ‘mother’ was stranger to the truth, I made a promise that I would never lie. Having seen the damage done by being dishonest, by hiding the truth, by lying, I was determined this wouldn’t be how I would conduct my life. So please expect raw, open, frank writing. My perspective. My life. My Truth. If you are always honest you have no fear of being found out. You also don’t have to remember everything you say, because you were there, you experienced it. Your truth. I don’t talk of things I don’t know to be true, I don’t pass judgment and don’t believe, unless I have all of the facts.

I have heard of things said about me, by my daughter and sister, captions placed on pictures that are derogatory to me but have left it alone. Thought I was bigger than that and that I was all hurt out. How wrong was I. They have now lowered  to depths of stories that are dangerous and contain libel, criminal acts and involve others. I am writing on here because I have nothing to hide or prove but hope those involved will read this and back off. If the other people talked about, in the latest lies, find out, I am not responsible for anything they do.

After last weeks blog, at a time I really thought all the horrid stuff, that has bombarded me in emails etc. since 2013, had stopped, that they had hurt me all they could and had now run out of ways to do this. Wallop! It starts again. I said in last weeks blog that most of the ‘sad’ was over. How wrong was I! After writing last Sunday, I received an email from my eldest daughter, Lisa, that saw me hit rock bottom. Even when you know things to be untrue, fabricated to hurt you, stories and lies that are nasty beyond belief, they still have the power to knock you off your feet. In this case, what she wrote, stories she told me, lies retold to family, told her by someone who had no part in our life throughout the timeline these lies were about, has rendered me lower than I would have thought possible. Not because of the made up, vicious, untrue stories; but the fact that she has believed them, told others of them and dragged my name through the worst of mud imaginable. Has also ruined the reputation of others in the process of trying to ruin me. When will it end! Yes I talk of her on here, but only ever the truth. Because the blog is mainly about PC, it doesn’t mean the other nasties in my life are not present. PC is one of the blights in my life, one I am now coping with. Seeing David so well and happy, has helped me with this. But these ‘people’ did not stop when they knew he had cancer, they never let up and it appears, never will. So I write about my life, including family stuff on here, that is my only way of explaining myself or defending, against the lies that have been told over the last few years. Knowing that my daughter Lisa and my sister Trisha, have spent years undermining me and libeling me to anyone who will listen to them, making my family for a while, listen and believe the lies, now makes sense. Now, I had hoped, everyone knows the truth, has seen these two ‘women’ for what they are, no input from me. They did all of it to themselves, through their dishonesty and things had settled down. But dishonesty breeds dishonesty and the lies are getting more fantastical. Would make a great fiction novel, the farcical stories I have now found out, been told, would be laughable if they were not so cruel and damaging. I made it impossible for her to read my blog but she obviously does, to be able to write and tell me of the content. I didn’t do this because I have anything to hide, because I know everything I write is how it is. The truth. I did it to be able to vent and write out my anger, my sadness and my fears on here without nasty comments from her. I never realised that she could make up names, in this instance one of her dogs names, go onto Social media and read my blog and posts anyway.

Those trying to hurt me still, are incredibly stupid but also evil. A few years ago, being the victim of a horrible internet hoax around CSA, I had a saying. ‘when evil and stupidity meet, ‘yer gonna get caught’. Caught they were. In this instance, current family stuff, last weeks email, the lies are so incredible that anyone with a brain, with the ability to follow a timeline, would see how ludicrous these stories are. So why am I upset? Because firstly my daughter believed them. Secondly she spread them around. Lies or not, once spoken mud sticks. This is the latest of the nasty acts of bullying and cruelty thrown at me so why shouldn’t I speak of them on here, even though she has ‘told me’ not to? I have nothing to hide. If those involved want me to speak well of them, perhaps they should behave better, now and in the past. If I hear anymore of these lies from anyone, I will expose those who are continuing to inflict hurt on me and my family and take action. Will have no choice. I can, as always, only speak for me, but I can imagine the hurt , confusion and pain caused to the other people mentioned in these lies, how it feels to have your memories stolen from you with lies and dishonesty. How your whole life now seems to have huge doubts in it. How you can even wonder who you really are. Lies about parentage, can cause distress and leave legacies forever. Oh how I know this to be true! My daughter has been told lies that have made her doubt her parentage, I really can’t believe this, as the person telling her, was nowhere in her life for almost 40 years. Trisha has stolen Lisa’s heritage and birthright with lies. Lisa has stolen my grandchildren’s heritage, their birthright by retelling these horrendous lies and now they must doubt their own life line. All of it made up to be not as it really is. Unforgivable. But the one things they cannot steal are our  memories, things we shared, times we loved. The truth.

As the saying above says about truth , ‘it always floats to the top’. The oil will eventually dry up and I hope then, questions will be asked and answered with the truth.

In the first part of this blog, we thought we knew the truth about PC. Things we had previously read, the facts, but evidently we didn’t. Having half or none of the information, the decisions we may have made, could have been catastrophic.

The second part of today’s blog, was my looking for the truth, about PC. I had a need to know the facts, find them out, discover the truth of how it was, this disease. I was concerned as to what I had read and been told so decided to research PC, look at statistics and outcomes. With this awful threat to my beloved husband’s life, the fear of the unknown, then having all of the truth in detail, we were able to make an informed correct decision.

In the third part of the blog, lies have been told that I have only just discovered. I had heard a while ago of the outlandish stories spread by my sister to my daughter and then to the whole family. Lies that were cruel and nasty but these latest stories are way out there. So much worse and so much more damaging. Opinions were formed on these lies because no one knew the facts. I was not around to tell them how it actually was, I was the only one who really knew what happened in my life as I was the only one there, the only one living it. I knew the truth, others didn’t. The same is true of the latest lies. Forming opinions without the facts, is very harmful to others, dangerous and hurtful to anyone else affected by the lies. In all three of the parts of my blog, no matter how hard you work to depress it, the oil will always float to the top. The truth will out.

Thankyou for reading and watch this space x