Another session of radiotherapy today. R7/23.
As ever, Kirsty was by my side to keep my spirits up, hold my hand when she saw I needed it, and generally teasing me to the point of giggles whenever I started to feel a bit down,
Everyone who is diagnosed with cancer should be given a Kirsty.
Just not mine.
We met in the Black Bull pub in Bedlington, Northumberland – on karaoke night. Well, on a series of karaoke nights until I plucked up the courage to talk to her.
Eventually I asked for her number, and she told me that she didn’t give it out.
I told her she couldn’t possibly include me in that scenario…
I got the number and, 12 years later, here we are.
Very, very happy.
One thing you quickly notice about Kirsty is that she speaks her mind. Even if she doesn’t always mean to.
She has… opinions.
Nothing nasty, or cruel. She just says it as she sees it. Which doesn’t always go down well. But, that’s just who she is.
I wouldn’t have her any other way.
When she was pregnant with Sam, I used to wonder if it was him I could feel moving around inside her. Or if it was simply the next batch of opinions, lining themselves up to be set free!
I won’t go into too many details here, but she’s not had an easy life. As a child, she was often mistreated and frequently hurt and abused.
She once asked a social worker how she could be certain she would never treat her own children in the same way. The social worker said the mere fact she was asking that question meant she never would.
She’s an amazing Mum to both Arran and Sam.
Not many people know this, but she has two other children, as well. Two daughters who – sadly – have been so poisoned against her by other family members, that she hasn’t seen them or spoken to them in many years.
It hurts her every single day.
Yet, she somehow continues to be this beautiful, uplifting person.
Again, few details, but…
When she was a child, Kirsty and her younger brother were put into a children’s home for a while. She says it was one of the happiest periods of her life.
During their stay, a visiting family wanted to adopt Kirsty’s brother – but not her. Splitting up siblings wasn’t necessarily seen as a bad thing in those days.
So her brother (who I’ll call ‘G’) was adopted, and she lost touch with him. Until one day, around eight years ago, when he contacted her out of the blue via Facebook.
Can you imagine how happy she was?
G now had a family of his own. He and Kirsty spent several happy weeks swapping stories and photographs. Until we discovered a terrible secret.
This was a fake account.
It wasn’t G at all.
It was another member of her family, pretending to be him.
That’s the sort of thing she’s had to deal with.
That’s how strong she’s had to be.
And now she’s there for me.
I love her. Get your own.