Every month we will be inviting our readers to pitch us articles on a theme revealed in our regular newsletter. Our March theme was Illness and Health and Susie Hall’s pitch stood out to us for reasons that will become apparent in her article…
I begin this article with full disclosure because what I am about to share is not only completely true, but also most likely to prevent me from ever getting a husband, let alone a drunken snog after a night out on the tiles (the fact that I say ‘night on the tiles’ clearly means I have bigger problems). But sod it, we’re living in dark days of social distancing, I figure we could all do with a laugh.
On Saturday 20th October 2018 I experienced a heartbreaking day which will forever remain lodged in my brain. It began at 10.30am, day one of my period (this is important to know) and I was still in bed after staying up late googling pictures of a 100-year old Kirk Douglas. Why you ask? That’s another story.
My phone rang.
It was my mum.
She had cancer.
I have no memory of a conversation after this, suddenly I was home listening to mum and dad explain everything. She had developed a very rare form of skin cancer, that had appeared on her vulva. It wasn’t until I’d heard the word ‘vulva’ come from my parents’ mouths several times, I realised no child should ever hear their parents say that word repeatedly without being able to raise even a smirk.
After many questions asked, tears shed (honestly they said the word vulva like 200 times, it was harrowing), my parents did what anyone does in a crisis, they went to their allotment, and I did what I do in a crisis, I went and sat on the loo. Now, be warned, for what unfolded is not for the faint-hearted. Our beloved family dog, Phoebe, whose real name I’m sure she wouldn’t mind me revealing… ate my used tampon.
I immediately googled: can dogs die of toxic shock syndrome
All I could think was that mum had cancer and now my tampon had killed Phoebe. Taking Phoebe for a panicked walk, I hoped my tampon would pass through her little system quickly, but it wasn’t just her little system I was aware of, with my anxiety at high alert, dear reader, I shat my pants (I have terrible digestive problems and this is not an isolated incident, again another story).
Much later on, home and in shock, mum returned to find me, a ball of anxiety, desperately explaining what had happened to the dog and myself whilst she’d been gone. She looked into my eyes and as I looked into hers as they welled up with tears, she suddenly let out a laugh like I’ve never heard her laugh before. Bent double and in between gulps of air she wailed hysterically “And I thought I had problems!”
And so, the story goes Saturday 20th October 2018 was no longer known as the day that my mum told us she had cancer. It was now forever known as the day that my dog ate my used tampon and I shat my pants.
PS – Phoebe (pictured) is alive and well, with no signs of toxic shock syndrome. And so is my mum.
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