Earlier today I tagged the gorgeous Kate Takes 5 in the Yummy Mummy writing prompts. Here is her post:

“On 4^th June 2004 myself and my husband moved into the first home we owned together – just five days before our first child was born and two weeks before my husband started a new job. That’s right – we fit three of life’s most stressful events into a two week period!

Our daughter was born on 9^th June and the labour was long and harrowing. The days following were a fug of confusion, pain and extreme tiredness. In the midst of this my husband had to go for a standard medical test prior to starting in his new company.

However the standard test did not take a standard path. He was referred for immediate consultation to a private clinic where the specialist quickly diagnosed him with testicular cancer. The little bit of reality that I was clinging to fell away and our lives crumbled before us. My husband walked dazed and confused to the car. We drove home in silence and it was only when he lifted our sleeping six day old little girl out of the car that he finally broke down.

The next week was filled with sleepless nights, medical tests, surgery and nausea inducing radiotherapy. My poor husband needed all the support he could get but I had little or nothing left to give – emotionally drained and physically worn out. With his parents and close friends living in another country and a desire to keep the news private he was cast adrift on a sea of despair, fear and loneliness.

But we were among the lucky ones. The surgery was successful and the radiotherapy precautionary. We slowly clawed our way back to normality until the whole experience felt like a distant dream – or rather nightmare. Last year my husband got his final ‘all clear’ and celebrated with a charity run to raise money for cancer research. Thanks to the experience of the doctors involved and the knowledge that now surrounds testicular cancer we all survived the experience.

Hopefully, with your aid, Clic Sargent’s continued fundraising for children with cancer will help others to be able to say ‘I’m a survivor’ too.”

So this week, the writing prompts are:

1. Personal post.  Tell us your story of survival.  What did you overcome?
2. Yummy post.  Do you know someone who has had cancer and survived?
3. Creative writing.  Get your kids involved again – give them the prompt word “Survivor” and ask them to draw a picture or write a story and post up the results.

I have chosen the first prompt and I hope that some of you can understand my reasons for this. Whilst I would love to write of the survival of a certain little boy who is currently in recovery from Leukaemia, I cannot- his story is not mine to tell. Whilst I would love to write of the survival of my Auntie following her son’s death, or the more recent passing of her husband- again, I cannot. These are situations that I cannot personally understand and for that I am truly grateful.

I have my own story of survival, one that has unfolded over the last two years and one which is the very reason I am sat here today.

Ghostwritermummy was born just over a year ago in a desperate attempt to become a survivor. I was not in a happy place and I was in need of comfort. Ghostwritermummy was, at first, shy and self concious. She did not want people to read her private thoughts or to discover her inner demons. She wanted to pour out her fears, anxieties and darkness over the clean white screen and keep them there. She wanted to hide from the world and chose to do this behind a keyboard.

Over time, Ghostwritermummy learned that she was not alone. There were others like her who had suffered similar- and much, much worse- and who had come through it all. They called themselves survivors. Ghostwritermummy wanted to be a survivor too, but there were too many difficult days which forced her back into the darkness again and again. It was going to take something huge to get her into the light once more.

In the end it was something tiny that did it. Here she is:

This tiny little bundle has finally opened the doors for me. I now wear the survivor badge with pride. Ghostwritermummy has come full circle in so many ways.

Please pop over to Nickie’s blog, link up your own post and read the others. Use the hashtag #dosomethingyummy and get as many people involved as possible.

This week I am tagging:

Katetakes5 and Mummy Central. Hope you can join in!

I know that my journey has not been as difficult as many others but it is my journey, and my story of survival. Yes, I am a survivor.

In the last week or so, we have re-decorated, sorted prams, assembled beds and bought going home outfits for the baby. I haven’t yet packed my bag, but I guess there is still time, right? One thing I have been thinking about but haven’t actually done though, is to write a letter that has been on my mind.

The final countdown letter. The one that’s addressed to every single person in my life who means anything to me. The one that betrays some of my darkest feelings at this time right now. The one I can never ever write because the words just won’t appear. They’re inside me but they have to stay there. It’s a letter full of reasons, apologies, thanks and regrets. It’s a letter of my life.

I want to write to those people, who know who they are. I want them to read the letter of my life, should they need to. I won’t be there, in person, but my words will. Those words that can’t be written. I feel 

scared

anxious

excited

sorry

hopeful

confused

I feel like I need to explain to someone, everyone. I feel like there has to be something, in-case.

How to write the letter of my life? How to feel like it isn’t even needed? 

Please excuse this very small wobble. It’s been a very long, arduous journey so far and it might just be taking its toll. 

I was born in the late seventies, to a mum who was to go on to dedicate most of her life to raising me and my sisters, and a dad who really- let’s face it- couldn’t be bothered. I was six when my dad left with his ‘fancy woman’. My mum had had enough of his constant affairs, grumpy nature and solitary hobbies. He preferred to spend his weekends playing golf, fishing or taking photographs to spending time with his wife and three kids. Oh, and he liked to have affairs with other women too. These were all activities that we were not really invited to join him in and so I don’t really have many memories of the man. Those that I do have involve being told off.

When I was about eight, I think, my mum met my step-dad and eventually he and his daughter moved in with us. My little sister turned five years old and the absence of a card from our dad glared obviously amidst the celebrations. Ever the feisty one, my older sister called my dad and demanded to know where the birthday card was. The call was ended after he told her that as far as he was concerned, he no longer had any daughters. We were disowned.

At the time, it changed nothing. We never saw him anyway. He never took us out for the day, like the other dads you sometimes see in McDonalds or at the cinema on a Saturday afternoon. He never picked us up from  school, but he did spend the next few years turning up here and there, then disappearing again. At various points over my life I have had no idea at all where he is living or whether or not he is even alive. Today I only know thanks to my Auntie- there is no contact at all and its been that way since my daughter was 9 months old.

My dad’s absence was accepted as I was growing up. I didn’t know him at all and so I rarely missed him. I think I sometimes felt envious of other children who were able to call someone ‘dad’ but in the end I realised that was just a name. It took a  lot more to actually be a father.

My mum married my step-dad in 1985 and two years later my youngest sister was born. We were a family of five girls and life settled into a routine of hormones, nail varnish, pop-star posters and tears. My parents worked hard to make sure that we always had enough to eat, foreign holidays every year and even half term breaks in the UK every year too. My mum was a teacher and she and my step-dad always emphasised the importance of education. We were expected to leave home for university and to make something of ourselves. Staying in the small village where we were growing up was not an option. We were to see the world.

And see the world we did. At the age of 16 my eldest sister left home to work in Jersey. She then moved to London to study nursing and today she is a mental health nurse in Queensland. My second eldest sister (step) moved away to Birmingham for teacher training and is now a deputy head at a school close to where I live. My younger sister initially moved to Derby for university, before moving to Bournemouth for a few years. She then spent a year in Australia before moving back to the UK to study nursing. She now lives and works close to me too. My youngest sister met her husband at a young age and chose to stay local to our parents. She trained as a teacher in Lincoln and lives there now.

And me? I initially left home a year later than my sisters had, the only real rebellion I was brave enough to perform. I thought I wanted to work in a pub for the rest of my life and it only took me a year to remember that I had aspirations too. I left home for Bedford, then changed my mind and came ‘up north’ to do my Creative Writing and Literature degree. I dreamed, as I always had, of being a writer.

All that my sisters and I achieved were down to my parents. We were brought up to strive for something more in life and to chase after our dreams. We were brought up to believe in family and to rely on family. We were brought up as a family.  Someone once asked me what is was like coming from a ‘broken home’ and I had to laugh. My parents’ divorce didn’t break my family- it made it.

Last week, lots of bloggers took part in the first set of Yummy Mummy writing prompts and the results were fantastic. So many beautiful posts to read through. Thank you to everyone who took part.

This week, the second set of prompts are up on Nickie’s blog  and I have a feeling they will produce yet more examples of superb writing. Week two is all about what family means to you and the prompts are:

1. a personal post: What kind of family did you grow up in?  Why is family important to you?

2. a yummy post: What happens to a family when a child is diagnosed with cancer?  How do siblings and parents cope? 

3. a creative post: Write about a perfect family moment.

As last week, we are asking as many people as possible to take part and if you could be so kind as to tag one or two people that would be fantastic. So, here are my tags:

The Boy and Me

Polythene Pram

Please spread the word by using the #dosomethingyummy hashtag on Twitter; add a twibbon to your Twitter avatar; join the Facebook page. Also, check out the other head mum’s blogs: