I have always been a bit jealous of my brother, Bert.

Not for reasons one might imagine- I think I am prettier, for example, and suspect that I may be able to hit a baseball further. However, he is the sharpest person I know. I am one of those unfortunates who always thinks of the PERFECT comeback at two o'clock the next morning. Bert has the right thing to say at his fingertips. He is never at a loss for words, and can verbally drop-kick any unthinking buffoon or smart ass into next week with an aplomb that leaves me shaking my head in wonder.

So when I was with the gynecologist on Tuesday, and he blithely informed me that he wanted to do a hysterectomy, and after all, 'The uterus is only for having babies, and you aren't going to do that any more', I should have said,  'If you're all done making babies with your wife, I guess we can just lob off your testicles, can't we?'

Bert would have said that.

As I have now made the decision about the treatment, it seems like the right time to start talking about the family. This may take a while. And if you tell Mum I said any of it, I will come after you.

As the final outcome will be basically the same, I have chosen the chemo-surgery-chemo-radiation option after all.  I will have the tumour shrunk first, not specifically because it will mean a less intrusive operation (With the hysterectomy thrown into the mix, all worry about the scale of the surgery seems academic now) but because it will give some time before the surgery for my mother to arrange to be here. And my mother needs to be here. Yes, because I will need full-time care in the hospital, but moreso because she is my mother. It is what SHE needs.

I knew that she would struggle. I am a mother myself, and know beyond doubt that if Annie were ill, I would be an absolute wreck. I did not know fear until I became a mother. The daft tricks and stunts I used to pull: free-climbing up waterfalls, hitch-hiking, walking home by myself after dark, playing cat-and-mouse with Dwayne and Nick and Keith around the Liverpool side streets- it never occurred to me that any of it was dangerous until I had Annie. Now I shake my head at my own stupidity and realise that I actually am only really afraid of two things:

- that something will happen to her
- that something will happen to me before she is ready to be without me.

And I think those are really the only things that any parent fears. Of course, facing the latter of those now, I am determined to turn the world on its arse to avoid that 'something'. She's not ready for me to go yet.

But, yes, I understand Mum's anxiety. She nursed her best friend during her last, awful days, and she knows that this thing can actually kill. She does not want me to hide anything from her, but she also gets herself completely worked up because of the information. She wants to know everything, even before I am able to tell her. I am not hiding any of it, but I am twelve hours out of synch with her, and am not able to tell her things that have not yet been discovered, or disclose details of conversations that have not been had. Also, her hearing is not good, and she does not always accurately recall the things that I have said. I am here, dealing with this: having the appointments, looking out for Annie, and  carrying on with work, and she has too much time to think. And she thinks I am alone.

She and dad have taken Rich's decisions very badly, and  believe that I have no support network here. This is not true. Yes, he left, and the whole business been VILE but the universe has ways of compensating. There is grace. Sometimes it feels like there is rather more yan than yin, oh, yes. Many times lately I have wondered about why the fickle finger of fate has decided to poke ME in the eye so repeatedly, but then it occurs to me: It could be worse. I could live in Syria. And maybe the cosmos doesn't revolve around me. Maybe.

But I have people. I am surrounded by lovely people I work with and who Annie lives with and who- how did this happen??- seem to like me enough to be simply wonderful. Fabulous, funny, loving, wise people with strong shoulders and good wine and big cars- all of which I have need, and shall use unapologetically in the coming months. People to give my daughter houseroom, or call to check that she's eating her vegetables and teach her to mix the perfect martini; others to release her from school early to give her breathing space, or give her an intern job so that she can be under the same roof as me. People to feed me steaks and take me to sushi restaurants in the middle of nowhere and talk about their new boyfriends just so that I can disapprove. People who arrange for the band to play in assembly because they know I'm upset about missing the last gig, and others who stay in the theatre to listen long after everyone else has gone. People who let me cook for them and watch Gavin and Stacey with them and then leave the second I say I'm tired and want to go to bed; who drive me all across the country looking for plants, or who drink warm beer in the park with me, or come with me to doctors' appointments to laugh in the face of danger. People who email just to swear at life's perfidy and perversity, and to tell me that I'm strong and brilliant and brave. People that I had forgotten were friends, who message with advice and love and reminders of just the sorts of antics I once didn't have the sense to be frightened by. I have people thousands of miles away, across enough different time zones that I have someone - somewhere- to call if I need to, twenty-four hours a day.

Somethings I have learned across two decades of trotting the globe: Home is where ever you choose to hang your shingle. Family is the folk who would bleed for you, not just the ones who share your blood. I am not alone, mother. I am so fabulously blessed. 

So she should stop worrying, right?

Ha!! Have you met my mother?

More later.