Hmmmm, last time I could have posted with that title it would have been a breast pump! This thing is much more discreet, frankly. In fact, as DH is dropping me, my two brothers and my Dad at the train station to go to Twickenham for the England v SA game, I'm wondering if I shouldn't untuck some of the line to make sure I get a seat. No need to worry, we all find a seat without waving the cancer card and have a brilliant day watching a frankly piss-poor game of rugby (you do NOT take a penalty in the last two minutes of the game when you are four points behind you numpties) then home for takeaway with Mum, DH and DB2's girlfriend. This kind of day is rare in our family because we live a bit spread out and DB2 works shifts, so stuff the rugby and stuff the cancer - it's been a wonderful chance to enjoy time with my family without medical sh1te being the catalyst.
This week DH deserves particular cred. Not only did he have to handle super-mega-grump DS for most of the weekend, but on chemo day he ordered my lunch for me (they always come round when I'm in the loo!) and got me sticky toffee pudding as well. Now there's a man who knows his wife well.