This entry was written before I realized Zoë had already posted today, so there’s quite a lot of repetition in here. Funny though how she can sum it all up in a few short paragraphs, when I seem to go on... And I’m supposed to be the quiet one!

As ardent followers of the blog will know, yesterday we were back in hospital for more tests, and a meeting with the surgeon himself - Mr Ind. (Yes that should be ‘Mister’ and not ‘Doctor’ apparently it distinguishes the surgeons from the doctors.)

We began with an early morning trip to the Royal Brompton hospital where Zoë had to visit the Nuclear Medicine department for an injection of a ‘glow-in-the-dark’ substance that would be used for her bone scan later that day.

Despite this appearing to be a relatively busy department, we were in and out of there in a relatively short space of time, and then off to the Royal Marsden.

Thankfully the Royals (i.e. Brompton and Marsden) are just around the corner from each other, so it was no more than a 10 minute walk between the two. Good news when you consider the relatively tight schedule we were on!

Back in outpatients at the Marsden, after a few minutes waiting, we were ushered into a small room and told Mr Ind would be along to see us shortly. This, now familiar routine (waiting to see someone), is always a little unnerving as you sit there in the clinical surroundings.

Each time it seems to take a little longer for me to come up with some humorous comment about either some strange looking apparatus; the nurse (who yesterday was determined to dissuade us from having a flu-jab, on the basis it all but gave her flu last year); or anything else that springs to mind.

Personally I think I may have peaked when on the last occasion I suggested the device mounted in the room was in fact a periscope used to seek out and destroy Traffic Wardens in the area - but however stupid the suggestion, it matters not what is said if it raises a smile on Zoë’s face.

Mr Ind came in and told us again about the plans for next week's surgery. This was basically a recap of the news we’d been told last week by other members of his team, but this time from the man himself. Despite the repetition, it was good to hear again, as we’re bombarded by so much information every time we visit that it sometimes takes a while to sink in.

The only downside to us seemed that he was a little more sceptical about the likely success of the particular surgery - but in a strange way it’s actually reassuring that he’s open about all possibilities rather than raising expectations too high. At least we’re aware that there’s always a chance ‘Plan B’ will come into play.

After this it was down to the basement to Day Surgery where Zoë had her pre-op examinations. All fairly standard stuff really - height, weight, pulse and blood pressure and then a chat with another doctor.

Next we were off for another x-ray and then there was just enough time for a quick bite to eat in the canteen before heading back to the Brompton where the David Bailey of the Nuclear Medicine team was awaiting Zoë for her close-up.

A busy day then, but we got a lot done in a relatively short space of time. Mr Ind has requested one final test before the surgery; some sort of new MRI scan which she’ll be undertaking as part of a clinical trial. We’ve no problem with that though - the more information the surgeon has the better, it can only be a good thing!

I forgot to mention that in a rather random moment last week I saw the queen. Was just wondering into Kingston minding my own business when I was diverted by police to the other side of the road and suddenly there she was looking like a rather elegant Ribena berry.

Matt and I are still suffering from this cold and so it was rather miserable to have to head up to the hospital for MORE tests. We had to go to the Brompton for my injection and then to the Marsden and then back to the Brompton for my scan.

Saw my surgeon - he's more pessimistic than the other doctor last week as my tumour is quite big but he's keeping an open mind, just preparing us for the worst I think. Have to have ANOTHER scan next week in Sutton - it's part of a trial so not only will it help me, but also hopefully help other people - animal testing, but I'm the animal!

Then I had to be checked over in readiness for my op - not easy with this stinking cold and other things, which made my blood pressure drop to something so low that the nurse commented on it (90 something over 80 something I think).

So we got home absolutely shattered. But something that we have both commented on is how nice it is to have these outings. I have decided that all my singleton friends should consider their future partners with the hospital test. If you know that he/she will come with you and sit quietly and hold your hand and not worry if you don't want to talk for hours on end, or will make you laugh when you need it then they are the one. If you can't see that happening. Forget it. Harsh but fair.

You probably don't know this, but when I'm writing these posts I generally have at least one cat in the room. Either just being a cat somewhere, or on my lap, or standing on the desk, or on the keyboard. They are being very cute and protective of me at the moment.

So I've added some random cuteness because everyone needs to look at kittens once in a while (except Col, who can keep his thoughts to himself!!). These are Blue and Berry before we adopted them. I'll post some current ones at another time!

Berry posing as ever

Meeting Blue

On top of everything Matt and I have very bad colds so are feeling v. sorry for ourselves and rather soggy. It never rains... But we had a lovely evening on Friday going to our local bonfire night and watching the fireworks, though somewhat ironically no bonfire.

Anyway we had news of all my tests on Thursday and the news is not bad - it looks like even though my cancer is stage 2 rather than 1b as first thought, I may still be in with the possibility of a thracheletomy rather than a radical hysterectomy (in other words fertility saving).

It's pretty amazing because this is very new surgery and very few women are eligible for it, but because I'm "young" for cervical cancer, and the cancer although invasive is contained, I'm one of the lucky ones. Also it's not available in many places in the world and often people fly to the UK for it so I guess location, location, location plays a bit part in it.

HOWEVER it's worth bearing in mind that although things are positive, they won't know for sure until they open me up, plus they are a little worried that one of my lymph nodes is swollen so these will be removed and tested. If it's cancerous it's out with the surgery and in with the chemo.

So we've moved a step forward, although it is a small one. Surgery now on 18 November rather than the 11th, as there is some sort of conference next week and they wanted all the surgeons to be around.

I am also having a bone scan on Tuesday - I have had some discomfort with my coccyx and so we agreed that it was a good idea to be a bit radioactive for a day just to double check. Of course it could be anything but a certain amount of paranoia kicks in.

I've finished work for a while - it was becoming too stressful for various reasons and Matt put his foot down when I was a wreck last week (as a mild mannered chap when he does put his foot down I tend to listen!). So I will probably need to have 2 or so months off as this surgery, even though not as radical as a hysterectomy, us that it effects your whole core so recovery is slow. Though I believe that the Royal Marsden physios are rather scary and they will have me moving asap. I'm glad of this - I don't want to be sitting around for two months and hope that I will be able to move around a bit. Apparently pottering is ok, but housework not!

I also wanted to add that I don't see myself as brave, I don't feel it really. You just have to get on with things the best you can. I'm grateful for all the love and support that I'm getting (though still not convinced about cabbage juice!) from friends and family, and from work. The other thing is, all the books that you read are about breast cancer and other types of cancer. On the whole most of the websites for cervical cancer are very dry and medical and you don't hear much about other women's experiences in terms of surgery (most women I know have had less radical treatment). So my hope is that eventually this will be useful to other women who might find themselves in my shoes. I had found a website called Hyster Sisters (only in America!) which is for women who have had hysterectomies and I found it very positive and informative - though I feel a bit of a fraud now!

As Ann said, with cancer there are a lot of silver linings. I guess that I am a secret Pollyanna - I'm not very good at feeling sorry for myself all the time (though with this cold it's easier) and she's right, there are lots of silver linings to be found. The fact is that this experience is in some ways life affirming - the good is very good and the bad is awful, but a lot comes into focus - I'm afraid I'm not very patient with people who are negative about the smallest things at the moment!

I've learnt three things this week.

1. My coping mechanism is grinding to a halt. I'm finding it really hard to put up with work cr@p and the epic battle known as commuting. I don't have the energy to keep acting as if everything is fine.

2. I have developed cancer "tourettes". When people ask me how I am I just can't say "fine thank you". Before I know it I've said "well actually I have cancer". It's involuntary and then I feel awful that I've said it.

3. People are evil. Tired of people posting utter bollox as comments to my thread I have changed it so that only registered users can comment now. I figure if people don't want to be open about who they are then tough. I'm baring my soul here.

I had my CT scan yesterday. Results in clinic with Mr Ind tomorrow.

Discovered that Butler and Wilson have a shop near the hospital so bought some earrings - and yes I spent money on something frivolous. But hey, sometimes a girl needs cheering up.

And in response to Nancy's comment I have set up an Amazon wishlist - mainly rather camp DVDs (well if I'm going to be flat out I may as well catch up on show tunes) and lots of silly books I loved as a girl.

I'm not going to apologise to anyone for writing this blog. For me it's a way of keeping people aware of what's happening to me without having to phone lots of people or sending emails. I go through lots of different emotions and feelings and to be honest even with this medium it's hard to explain just how I feel at any given moment.

I also am aware that it's very public and that people who are not really interested in how I'm doing are going to read it and make comments and that's fine. Personally I think that demonstrates their own inadequacies if they need to be nasty. I'm also rather aware that perhaps I'm more sensitive about certain things than normal, and I can't explain it except to say that the only people who really truely understand all of this are the people who have sat in a doctor's surgery and heard the words "you have cancer".

It's like being punched and the next moments are like watching television with the sound turned off, in slow motion. It's hard for Matt because he's dealing with the pain of me going through it all, and is also watching me go through it all and I know that he feels helpless. And he also has to deal with me feeling angry or grumpy or unwell or sad and me not being able to express why I'm feeling that way at that moment.

I'd like to recommend a book that I bought the other day - I think it should be required reading for anyone who might ever know someone with cancer. It's written by Deborah Hutton and is called "What can I do to help?" And explains basically practical things that people can do or say that really help. It also explains gently why somethings that are said don't help, even if the person saying them means well.

I'd also like to say to the people who are reading this who care about me - please feel free to add comments. And also remember that just knowing you are there and hearing from you is really helpful, as long as you understand that I might not respond to all your letters and emails. Just know that your love is really appreciated. It may be that we ask you to do other practical things after I've had surgery and am stuck at home recovering.

Z xx

I had acupuncture on Monday and am feeling rather "zen" at the moment. Joss let me have his appointment which was great as the acupunctureist is so popular that there is a waiting list to see him. He's a vietnamese doctor who used to be a surgeon at Kingston Hospital of all places.

He works like a doctor rather than, so apart from the many buddhas that he has around the practice, it's very pragmatic and not at all "alternative". I was glad for that as whale music and incense tend to make me a little anxious (can deal with incense on it's own but not in combination with the whale music and crystals and such).

He said, rather bluntly "You have hysterectomy. You have keeds, you die. You have hysterectomy and adopt, you leeve." Strangely I was comforted by this honest and down to earth approach.

Acupuncture is not about having needles poked into you painfully, but they sit on top of your skin so you don't notice them and if you do it's more of a case of a slight tingle. I had needles to relax, energise, strengthen me, to stimulate circualtion and sort out my kidneys. Oh and to clear the spots.

He checked my pulse and once he was satisfied with it let me doze for a while. Afterwards I felt a bit lightheaded and as if I'd had a good night's sleep. Am going back next week to be prepared for surgery.

Last night Matt and I talked about everything and at least I know that we both are prepared for the worst and ready (or at least as ready as we can be) to face things together.

On more domestic matters I spent some of our wedding gift vouchers from Graham & Green on a pouffe so that when I'm home I can sit on the sofa comfortably (sadly my feet don't touch the floor when I'm sat back on it).

I'd also like to ask people to please give money to the aid appeal for Pakistan - there are people dying there and governments are not paying their share - please help and save some lives. I'm adding the link to the Disasters Emergency Committee. SO next time you feel the urge to buy hair straighteners or other such items remember that there are people who have lost their homes.

I woke up today to discover that I am covered in red, itchy spots. Now is not a great time to discover that I am allergic to penicillin. Ho hum. Have antihistamine and things to keep the itching at bay.

It's been a stressful week what with various things at work and not knowing what was happening - compounded by the surgeon's PA having less than adequate bedside manners. All sorted out thanks to Nichola who is lovely and really helpful. She apologised for the confusion and I now know when and where I need to be - a scan on 1 November, clinic with the surgeon on 3 November and admission to hospital on 10 November. At clinic we'll find out the results of the tests and know what they will need to do - am not looking forward to that at all, but at least then we'll know what we're dealing with.

But there have been some highlights to this week, all my friends who have called and emailed and met me (you know who you are) and made me laugh and talked about normal things, and the pixies who posted chocolate through my door and other pixies who are sending me things from the US. A random bottle of raspberry vodka. It all helps a lot.

We had dinner with Lawtie and Cliff and Faith and went to Rules. We introduced the Americans to British game birds (wild duck and grouse) and hot sticky puddings. It was a lovely evening - lots of laughs and good conversation, an amusing waiter and some random fellow diners celebrating Trafalgar. I'd forgotten how much I like Rules - you get the tourists like the table of Japanese men eating oysters, and stuffy old English men, and young bloods in stripy shirts and clipped vowels, and botox blondes, and English eccentrics and the obligatory table of dandys. It's the oldest restaurant in London and really despite a few modern conveniences has not changed much in terms of atmosphere and clientele.

I've had my hair cut to a bob, figuring if it's ok for Sienna and Paris it's ok for me. Though admittedly mine's not a breakup cut, more a cancer cut. It's going to be much easier to handle in the hospital. Didn't get my highlights done as while it's unlikely I'll have chemo, I'm not paying £100 for it all to fall out (which would be just my luck) . But I'm pleased with the cut, even if I did have to tell the hairdresser that I was covered in spots and not infectious.

Not much more to add at this point in time - as Zoë’s already said, we're unlikely to have any significant news for a while...

So in the meantime, how about one of the better honeymoon snaps - that is to say one where I'm not blinking, squinting, sneering or generally making a really stupid face.

This picture was taken almost exactly a month ago today at Uluru (formerly known as Ayers Rock).

Halfway through the honeymoon, this was our little piece of luxury - and very special it was too.

I listened to a wonderful piece on Radio 4 this morning by Frank Gardner, the reporter who lost his legs. He did a report on people who had survived the 7/7 bombings and their experiences then and after, and dealing with the injuries that they have suffered.

In many ways I realise how lucky I am - my cancer has not come from trauma and I don't have flash backs or bad memories linked to it. It's something that's happened not by something I've done or even someone else. It's no one's fault. So who can I be angry with? It's just something that's happened.

The hard thing is though, that although I'm not losing a limb nor will have facial disfiguration, I am losing part of my body. Cancer and the things it does is not visible. When you sit on the tube you look the same as everyone else. In someways it's reassuring to be treated the same, but at other times, when someone is rude or you have to stand even though you're so tired. I look at people differently now. I wonder what is going on under their skin. What I'm going to lose is part of my identity as a woman. Oddly enough it's more part of my identity than changing my name.

I'm getting used to being called Mrs Ruddock now. And I like it. It's not losing my identity but reinforces it. Chris and Charlotte are Team Davis and Matt and I are now Team Ruddock, with a Sanderson-Ruddock backup team!

I said to someone recently that I'm grateful for being in this country. A comment had been made about how all our rescources are going towards helping people overseas when the NHS is suffering. I said, thank god I don't have to worry about paying for my treatment - let alone where the next meal is coming from.

It's a mantra that I keep repeating to myself - that despite everything I'm very lucky. I probably sound like a Pollyanna. But I need to try and stay postitive and count my blessings because it's so easy to feel angry and negative about everything. Many people have said how strong I am and perhaps I am, but it's not easy and I don't want to fail them.

I obviously didn't get enough attention as a bride. That seems to be the only explanation for all this crap. So my body must be shouting "me, me, me! Over here!"

Am tired and nauseous today - my arms are like pin cushions and my tummy is sore. Yesterday was a big day. Lots of tests and investigations. Luckily most was under general anesthetic because none were dignified. I've learnt quickly that there's no dignity in getting cancer - it doesn't matter what part of the body it's on. The worst bit I was conscious for was the enema.

The day before I'd amused myself by doing a google on the word. Oh my, there are some interesting fetish sites out there. How ANYONE can find sitting on the loo for half-an-hour sexy is beyond me. (please don't tell me any more I don't want to know). Actually the whole colonic irrigation thing is beyond me too now.

The MRI wasn't too bad though I did wonder how large people don't get stuck. The tunnel is quite small. I pretended I was on a sunbed and did relaxation breathing and listened to my CD and was groggy anyway.

We may not hear for a couple of weeks as the surgeon is away and they have to get results on everything anyway. They did not rule out the fertility saving surgery any way after the intial findings so it's slightly positive. But the waiting is the worst part... tick, tick, tick.

I’m not as adept as Zoë when it comes to the written word, but I feel it’s time I said a few words and contributed to her wonderful Blog!

It’s difficult knowing what to say about something like this - and it’s even harder having to tell so many close family and friends that someone you and they love so dearly is going through this right now.

How can our “Perfect Day” wedding and fantastic honeymoon be followed by such devastating news so soon after we return?

Obviously it’s almost impossible to convey all our thoughts and feelings here, but it’s a remarkably convenient way of keeping in touch rather than emailing, telephoning or visiting everyone en masse - none of which are practical.

The next few weeks/months are undoubtedly going to be tough on us both - and not just the two of us but many others too.

Right now though, the hardest thing for me - and probably Zoë too - is that we simply do not know precisely what we are dealing with. It’s an almost unbelievably frustrating situation to be in, especially as there is an inevitable tendency to react with ignorance rather than act on (as yet undiscovered) wisdom.

Roll on Friday – here’s hoping for some more positive news then - or very soon after!

So I wonder what the odds are of my friend Ann and I having cancer in the same year? Ok we have different forms but it's strange. She said that she wonders what they fed us in Brazil.

She's one of my oldest friends - we lived in Brazil when we were 8 and have been friends ever since sharing a lot of life experiences. Even having parents seperate at the the same time. I wasn't figuring on supporting her this much though. But her words have been so helpful and she's made me laugh.

Yesterday it felt better to be at the Royal Marsden and feel like we're making progress. I had basic tests yesterday and will have more on Friday - one under a general anaesthetic and a MRI. Radiotherapy and chemo are unlikely given the area of the cancer - they avoid that with younger women - but there will be surgery. The team were wonderful - I think it shocked them that I'd had no symptoms and that I'm so newly married. They are hoping as much as we are that the cancer is small enough that the surgery I need is not too radical. Thinking about the possibility having a hysterectomy is mind boggling. I cried when talking to them.

MacDonalds for lunch yesterday for the first time in years - well hey, it's not going to give me cancer!

Last night I heard that Elk had died. That is so sad. He was one of the original people from Fool.com that entertained me and became a virtual friend. There's another star in the sky where there are some good people - Four*dave, jboa and Patti's earthangel. It has been a sucky sucky week.

I know there will be more tears and possibly some difficult decisions to make, but I'm strengthened by Matt and all of you reading this.

At the risk of sounding too sappy and American (apologies to my stateside friends), I remember how lucky I am as messages of love and goodwishes flood in from all corners of the world. If good vibes heal then I'm better already and I'm sure that it all helps - emotionally if not physically.

At our wedding Col talked about how I have DNA from strong Aussie women behind me. I can't let them down! :o)

Well the bad news is that it's cancer.The good news is it's early stages. Scans next week and then they can work out what treatment I'll need.The other good news is that I'll be at the Royal Marsden Hospital which is the best cancer and cervical cancer hospital in the country.There are many many issues to deal with, not least that I may not have children. My bad for waiting for the right man I guess.Still at least I have the right man. Many many many emotions right now. So many people I have to tell. It's weird breaking that news about yourself.

The weird thing about cancer is that until you know you have it, you think you feel ok. And then suddenly it's diagnosed because by some accident you find a lump like my friend did, or you have a check up like me. And then suddenly you realise that maybe it's the reason that you've been tired all the time, and it's not just jet lag.And the horrible thing about cancer is that the treatment is in someways the cure is worse than the disease. I know I will end up at least having surgery, and maybe radiotherapy and maybe chemo. I may even have to have a hysterectomy. Even without that the chances that I'll lose my chance of having children are high, which is hard to get my head around after 5 weeks of marriage.

And that you feel like you have this great big sign saying cancer sufferer over you with an arrow pointing down. Yet you still can't believe it's you.Cancer? That's not me. But it is. Scans on Tuesday and then I'll have some idea how much my life will change.

Just married