I haven’t updated this website in a while, I stepped back to aid my mental health, with the hope I could return and pick up where I left off.

Now, Hannah’s cancer has come back, the fears that caused my anxiety, have come to life. So, when I have time I will be updating this website and it will be my outlet, another form of therapy.

Thank you for being here to find out more.

One word, that’s all it took. A word that changed our entire lives, our priorities and concerns shifted, everything else went out of focus. One word. Cancer.

Our daughter has cancer.

Hannah, aged 2 1/2 years old. Taken 18 months into treatment.

Acute Lymphoblastic Leukeamia, to be specific, she was diagnosed at 11 months old.

We thought we understood what cancer meant, that it was difficult for children, we’d seen the adverts, shed a tear, and thought we understood. We didn’t.

Many aspects of childhood cancer are glossed over, such as, it’s a struggle to get new drugs approved, the mental health of the whole family is affected, research is severely underfunded and many more issues.

Because of this, I want to do whatever I can to raise awareness, for now, I have a blog on Facebook and this website. I volunteer my time, when i’m able to, currently with the few charities that have helped us. I’m also an ambassador for Fletcher’s Fund, a charity very close to my heart.



If only it was as simple as making a wish. Scrunch up your eyes, take in a deep breath and hold it in whilst making your perfect wish, all tied in a bow, then blow, presenting your wish to the powers that be. Then with a puff of smoke, the wish is granted. If only it could be so simple.

I wish cancer didn’t exist.

Cancer tears families apart, it changes entire lives, rips a hole in your heart, it steals family members away from loving homes, and doesn’t know that we don’t want it back. It also doesn’t care what you’ve already had to endure, it doesn’t care about your pre-existing conditions, it just doesn’t care.

I wish it was me instead.

Every single day, I want to take her place. I’d rather the toxic chemicals went through my veins, then she wouldn’t have to suffer the side effects. If it meant she wouldn’t go through the pain, then I’d take her place.

I wish for a cure.

There’s no guarantee after all this treatment, there’s a maybe, probably, likely and a good chance. We live with a percentage success rate, and keep our fingers crossed. We can’t trust those that claim a cure, because they refuse to tell us more.

I wish…… For so many things.