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Losing my 'memory a day' mojo

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Losing my 'memory a day' mojo Photo: Ann Gray

The name Warrior was given to me by my favourite Spanish Doctor - well the one who seemed to understand better than numerous others I had met on this unplanned journey. He explained to me in our own newly formed dialogue of Spanglish medical speak that he knew I would beat this invader of my body because of my positivity and refusal to acknowledge that I was no longer in control of my life.

One of my little idiosyncrasies of coping is not physical but psychological.

Every week I wear a colourful flamboyant outfit which not only uplifts my mood but also my fellow sufferers.I am to the oncology ward what Ryland is to the X factor, annoyingly in your face generating a kind of begrudging admiration.

No matter what age, culture, gender, I have developed an eclectic army of groupies who tut and shake their head at me week in and week out, but always make sure they make some acknowledgement of my presence.

A little wink, smirk, shoulder pat, even a fast paced dialogue in some strange tongue which makes no sense to me at all but we are united in our cause - we understand that we all share the same goal, to fight our unwelcome visitor cancer.

The problem with this visitor is we cannot hide - we have nowhere to run to. He finds us wherever we go.

He's not like my grandmas rent man. No matter how times I hide behind the settee, in the pantry or even the coal shed, he's there to strip away a little more of my dignity.

So, I decided to share my piece of coping with everyone else who is trying to hide, to make a memory a day - enjoy something no matter how small.

No matter what it is make everyday special in some way so that when we lie there in that grey oppressive paint peeling room watching the drip drip drip of our favourite fighting tipple, we can console ourselves with this weeks memories.

We can block out why we are there, we can block out our fear.

It was all working out fine then something dramatic changed. The problem is this week is that I have lost my mojo.

My hair is getting thinner by the hour. My false eyelashes have virtually nothing to attach to. My face goes from one extreme to the other grey and drawn with dark bags underneath big enough to fit all go Lady Gaga platform heels into, or round and more moon faced than the slimmer of the year before she started her diet.

I am not ill, I will not accept I am ill so why does my body look like it is, who is that woman looking at me in the mirror. Why am I lay in bed too tired to move, too tired to fight, too tired to be angry.

I just want to sleep, but I know this is failure and as you can see I cannot spell it let alone accept it.

So tomorrow I do not know where I am going to find it from, I do not know where I am even going to look but I am going to get back my mojo back.

Whoever has stolen it from me HAS to give it me back because on Tuesday I have the perfect outfit to put a smile on the faces of my army and the sergeant major, a little gold number that says it all

Yes, it'is true all the glistens may not be gold but also true not all cancer suffers lose the battle and this warrior is going to kick out her unwanted visitor by the scruff of his nasty neck, so if you are reading this and share my plight join my little army and do the same thing. We have too much to do to give in so take a peek in that wardrobe and wear that outfit you bought when you were brimming with confidence

Who knows, I may see you at our private members club and we can laugh away our pain, If we're brave enough to wear the outfits we are definitely brave enough to evict our unwanted squatter.

Tomorrow is our memory day and together we will win.

There is no option.

I am what I am and what I am needs no excuses.

Gloria Gaynor: I will survive

And so will we.

Night night and god bless,

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