Today hurricane Imogen is whacking us around the head at full force. The fence has blown down and the chimney is howling like the wizards sleeve of a hooker. An act of nature sent to remind us just how puny and insignificant we are.
I've had 3 rounds of the new chemo, the most recent having been on Thursday and I'm sitting here with a mouth like Ghandi's flip flop and my guts turning over in preparation for 'poo-nado' number 170.
Noah is at his Nan's, Tait is asleep upstairs and we have just chosen the headstone that will sit on top of our daughters grave.
Our daughters grave. There's something I never thought I'd say.
When I started this blog in October it was to merely update friends on my progress.
It was later shared on disgracebook and as a result awareness has risen around Inflammatory Breast Cancer, I've got more twitter followers then Scouse and my family have learnt lots of alternatives for the word clunge.
Raising awareness is now part of my goal and continues to be a little extra nugget that motivates me to be positive even when I'm drowning.
I did some more news type stuff last week as I realised you guys hadn't seen my new hairstyle which resembles a badgers testicle; and the question on everyone's lips was do I regret anything?
It's a tricky question you see because all of these shit-uations are interlinked.
Is it regretful that Dr Bellend didn't diagnose me at my first appointment in March because then the cancer was at its infancy and much more likely to be curable?
If he had diagnosed me early then Ally never would have been born. So this I can't regret. I got to meet her.
It is regretful that as well as having Voldertit I also am HER2 receptive which means the cancer is fuelled and I need the drug Herceptin which cannot be had in pregnancy. So I had to risk my life to have Ally as I wanted to keep her.
It is regretful that the baby friendly chemo didn't work and that in order for me to give all three of my children a mum I had to have Ally at 28 weeks where her prognosis was over 90%.
It is regretful that she was not in the over 90%.
It is regretful that she died. But it is also so much more than that. Regretful is a fucking stupid word.
And with regret comes guilt.
I feel guilty everyday that I didn't decline the medical advice and just stay pregnant.
I feel guilty for thinking that as I also need to be here for the boys.
I feel guilty for going home the night Ally got ill.
I feel guilty for having just lost a child and then laughing at big brother when Stephanie left her crusty pants out for all to see. And I feel guilty that Ally died.
Regret and guilt. These are two things that seem to go hand in hand.
I could have done more? Could I?
I'm currently experiencing a very low level of fame at the moment. I'd liken it to the equivalent of that bird on Facebook recently who was photographed drunk posing with her very sexy boyfriend and appeared to be shitting a cat....people know who you are but for all the wrong reasons. I'm sometimes recognised when I go out but I'm well aware it's because I'm that bald, unlucky woman off the telly.
One lady came up to me in boots a few weeks ago while I was buying vitamins (ironic) and said 'I just wanted you to know that you made the right decision'.
Now this woman will never know this, as at the time I couldn't quite explain my gratitude to her, but by having a complete stranger tell me this really helped me. I question my choices constantly and to have someone uninvolved reaffirm my decision, was so extremely kind.
The title of this blog has never meant more to me then it does right at this second.
A tit cup, even with baps like mine, is a relatively small place to hold a storm. My tit cup houses Voldertit!!!
Voldertit is so much more than cancer. It is the threat of saying goodbye, the anxiety that comes when living your life with your mortality dangling in front of you and it is fundamentally responsible for the death of my daughter. So a storm? More like a bitch ass hurricane!!!
A mighty mother fucking hurricane.
The skies are dark, the noise is deafening, the shit from our lives is blown all over the garden. The rain is battering the window's but I do feel slightly cosy on the sofa looking out. A few weeks ago I'd have been sat right there in the mud, with the rain soaking my trousers but right now I'm grateful for the warmth.
As the storm rages on and the isobars push across the UK, they seem to move in one direction, forwards.