Guest Post - One Tweet Saved my Life.

Today I have guest post by a reader. She shares an important story. Read it, and if need be, make an appointment. And if you are a blogger and have written about this topic, please feel free to leave a link in the comment section.

How do you explain to Mrs Woog that her tweet saved your life?

Every woman should (MUST) go through this.. atleast every three years.

Some go through it once and think that's it.

Some go through it every year.. one of those people is me.

Yes that's right. I have a papsmear every year! I hate it. But it is a must.

Due to family history with Cervical Cancer, I have been going for papsmears every year since I was 18. 

It happened to me last year.

I know that if I hadn't read a tweet just over a year ago, I would not where I am today.

14th February 2012, Mrs Woog tweeted that her latest post was available to read, Do Not Fear the Papsmear. That afternoon I tweeted to Mrs Woog and thanked her for reminding me – I'd arrange one with my appointment on that Thursday. 

Before I went to the appointment I twittered: "off for my #smear today!! I am looking forward to taking my pants off and showing my bits to a stranger before my wedding day!!"

I missed my 6 week checkup papsmear in June 2011 because it was lady month and I had had papsmear while pregnant with my second baby at 18 weeks due to an abnormal papsmear the year before - it came back normal. I was putting it off as I was organising my wedding. 

With only a few weeks before my wedding, I decided to 'get it out the way' before I forgot about it again. Simple 5 minutes in and out. Forget about it until next year.

I was out buying the underwear for my Wedding dress - 3 weeks before my wedding, when I received an urgent phonecall from the doctors surgery.

The Dr welcomed me into her office.

Sat me down.

Told me that I was due for a papsmear (it was flashing on her computer)

I informed her that she gave me one last week.

"Oh yes – its here and yes I have the results… Oh.." she said.

OH OH??? OH NO is all I could think in my head.. a million things going on already in my head right now (I could list them – Renovations, Wedding plans, MasterS’s leg diagnosis, Toilet Training MissC, House a mess and never seem to get on top of putting clothes away etc etc – the usually Mummy thoughts)

OH is not what I need right now! I'm about to get married!

But Oh is what I got and the results were:

The results: (Medical Terms used here)
High Grade Squamous Intrapithelial Lesion
Microscopy: Endocervical Component – Present
Abnormal cells are evident indicative of CIN III and concomitant human papilloma virus infection.
Small numbers of dysplastic cells are present and in addition there are metaplastic cells showing reactive atypia.
Recommendation: Colopscopic evaluation is recommended.

Non Medical Terms (explained to me by a doctor friend):
Think of your cervix as a circle.

• Inside the circle are very few abnormal cells.. This is CIN I
• Inside the circle there are quite a few abnormal cells.. This is CIN II
• Covering the whole circle are abnormal cells.. This is CIN III – Pre-Cancerous
• Abnormal cells penetrated through the circle and into the blood stream this is Cervical Cancer.

Plus throw in a few other cells that don’t belong in my Lovely Lady Bits.. that I can’t explain what they are.. but all I know is that it’s not good!

So I have CIN III – Now that they have found this information out – they can do something about it – Biopsy, Colposcopic,  Laser Surgery and they will zap those abnormal cells before the penetrate into the skin!

All this happened within a year. This is not normal.

I locked it up in a box and threw away the key.. there was nothing I could do until I had my appointment with the Gynocologist at the end of April. I had a wedding to attend to. Mine!

April 27th came. I had a long wait ahead of me at the hospital. My husband came with me and sat next to me while we waited, and then I was moved to another waiting room, and then to another waiting room where I got changed into a lovely outfit with no back - wearing.. no knickers.

It was quite a quick procedure. I had the LLETZ procedure (also known as LEEP). This is where they remove the abnormal cells from the cervix with a heated wire loop. He said from the results, it is clear that I have HPV CINIII and that they need to be removed asap.

He said they are going to do the coloposcopy to find the abnormal cells and then do the LLETZ procedure, as it is clear these cells aren’t mild and would go away on their own, like most abnormal papsmears. It is important that they remove these cells before they develop into cancer.

It took about 25 minutes and it wasn’t uncomfortable.

I walked out relieved, the ordeal was over.

The checkup papsmear 6 months later - the results came back normal.

I am about to have my yearly papsmear checkup - where I hope it will be normal again. Then I will have yearly papsmears for the rest of my life (just like I have been doing since I was 18).

Mrs Woog saved my life.

I met Mrs Woog last week (I flew from Perth to Sydney for the Digital Parents Conference) - I tweeted to her the week before - "How do you thank someone IRL who saved your life #cervicalcancer #Iwillcry".

I walked up to Mrs Woog - I had tears rolling down my cheeks as soon as I saw her. I showed her my tag which had my name on it and burst into tears. I unlocked that box I had been keeping locked up for the last year.

Mrs Woog, my name is Yvette and you saved my life.

Thank you.

My husband thanks you, my children thank you and the people who messaged me after they read my posts about my Papsmear journey last year, also thank you, for reading my posts about what happened, made them go and get a papsmear and save their lives.

Written by Yvette Bowyer – Little Bento Blog

THE TERRIBLE TRUTH ABOUT MUMMY BLOGGING.

I am in a constant state of puzzlement by the media's reaction, as a whole, to women who happen to have had children, who choose to write on the Internet. Call us Mummy Bloggers, like it is some sort of sneering, looking down the nose, patronising put down.

Whatever. 

I still prefer to be recognised as  a contraceptively challenged lady writer of the internets. But I know I cannot change any minds or perceptions regarding what it actually is that I do.

So I was thrilled when Annabel Candy asked if she would publish this on my site. 

Beware! It contains the truth.

Mrs Woog and her mate Penny Webb. Friends since primary school. 

THE TERRIBLE TRUTH ABOUT MUMMY BLOGGING.

It's a battle field. 

A dog eat dog world where women pit themselves against each other, fight dirty and stab former friends in the back. 

At least that's often how traditional media represents mummy bloggers. Headlines scream "Mummy Wars!" because good stories are based on struggle, battles and controversy, not happy endings, and the mummy blogging phenomena is nothing if not a great saga unfolding slowly in real time. 

In the mummy blogging world new characters are introduced on a daily basis while old ones write themselves out of the script because anonymity is easier than standing up for what you believe in when faced with criticism. 

Silence is safer than standing on a virtual soap box and speaking out. 

Three years ago, reclining in a business class seat on a flight from Sydney to Shanghai, I sat next to Brenda Gaddi. We were on a freebie, the tab paid by a fizzy drink company who had chosen to woo us because mummy bloggers rule the world. 

"So Brenda what do you want to do with your blog?" I asked as the plane took off. "What's your big bloggy dream?" 

"Well my big dream, my long-term dream," she said, pausing and sizing me up before continuing "is to organise a blogging event, a big conference for all the mummy bloggers." 

"Oh," I said politely, "that sounds nice." 

I was new to blogging, too wrapped up in my own life to share her vision. But a year later Brenda put her money where her mouth was and organised the Digital Parents Conferences. The first and second conferences went off with a bang but I couldn't attend them so it was exciting to make it to Sydney this year for the third Digital Parents Conference. 

I wanted to find out more about these mummy bloggers and why they do what they do. 

 It didn't take long to realize that this was a group of ridiculously self-assured beautiful and confident women. Women like Nikki Parkinson, Penny Webb, Karen Andrews and Kerri Sackville. Valerie Khoo gets an honorary mention in this category although I think she is the mother of cats, not kids. 

It was easy to see that these were some of bravest and boldest women in the world, women like Martine from Modern Parent, Rachel N from Mummy Muddles and Julie Seet from The Bumpiest Path who've suffered terrible loss or pain but are making the best of life and helping others. 

There were women with a vision like Joy from World Vision and Brenda herself. Then there were bloggers like Eden Riley, Mrs. Woog and Trae Flett whose blogs attract trolls and negative comments like a cow pat attracts flies, yet who refuse to shut up.

Women who were in equal parts crazy and loving, or at least it seemed that way to me because mothers with four or five kids were heavily over-represented. Women like Nicole Avery, Sophie Bone and Seana Smith with large broods who still make time to write their blogs and work hard for themselves and their families. 

These were women from all walks of life whose were all madly passionate, courageous and productive. These were women who were funny, honest and very real. Just like in any other industry the mummy blogging world may be competitive. 

Of course I want as many readers as MamaMia, as many comments as Mrs. Woog, as many freebies as Nikki Parkinson and as much recognition as Eden Riley. But these were women who had managed to overcome those baser human instincts. 

Women like Al Tait, Grace Titioka and Seana Smith who gave me so much even, in Seana's case, inviting me, a relative stranger, into her home and family so I could attend. 

So I didn't see any competitiveness or bitchiness. 

I know it's out there but all I saw was women supporting and helping each other. Then I realised the truth about mummy bloggers. 

I realised what makes them both objects of ridicule and a source of fascination. I realised that they are ruled and bound by love. Self love which gives them confidence to share their lives, love for humanity which makes them want to help others, and love for their families which drives them to make working from home a possibility. 

I saw that mummy bloggers cause controversy because they're deluded in many ways, fixated as they are on mad dreams fuelled by passion and love. Such scary emotions to those who don't have them. But passion and love are what drives mummy bloggers, passion and love unite us. 

That's the truth about us mummy bloggers and it's really not that terrible at all. Passion and love. That's what we're all fighting for.

Annabel's been riding a roller-coaster round the world since 1968. 
She's a web designer and serial blogger at Get In the Hot Spot and Successful Blogging. 
This year she dreamed up the ridiculous 52 Exercises quest and is trying a different exercise every week in the hope of ending her mid-life crisis. So far it's not working.

Review - The Rooty Hill RSL Club.

If someone invites me out to dinner, I am most likely to accept. This is because I like to eat other people's cooking more than my own. And when an invitation was recently issued to go and dine at the Rooty Hill RSL Club, who was I to say no!

The Rooty Hill RSL is an institution located in the western suburbs of Sydney. Built in 1964, it opened it's doors with 127 members. Fast forward to modern day, and roughly 48,000 people enjoy the clubs facilities.

The Rooty Hill RSL Club is Australia's biggest RSL club and the sheer size of it quite overwhelming. In fact, it covers 20 acres. A lot of pokies and schnitties and schooners and the like.

But we are not here for a history lesson? We are here to discuss the food. In particular, the food at Zest Grill and Wok.

The setting

3 different fancy butters

The setting for dinner was a private room. As there were only 8 of us, and with at least 4 VERY loud talkers, I suspect that this was to keep the regular punters safe.

Important decisions....

Having scoped out the menu, I must be honest that I was a little bit put out that there was no Fisherman's Basket on offer. You know the ones, from the freezer to the fryer to your face? Crab claws and "seafood" sticks.

So I went out and checked out the regular menu in the bistro and noted this light meal was quite popular....

And I noted that some folk were doing their best carb loading. Lasagna AND chips AND Garlic bread? Genius!

But I had a date to keep, so back to the room I went where I ran into a couple of scallywags.

I started with the vegetarian Tart Tar-tin, which was packed full of roasted veggies encased in the most delightful pastry finished with rocket and a myriad of different sauces. It was simply one of the most delightful things to ever grace my mouth.

The range of mains made selection difficult but eventually I settled on the chook, as did the redhead sitting to my left.

And her doppelganger, complete with matching glasses, chowed down on a fillet of beef in a read wine jus. AND POTATO BAKE! Who can say no to potato bake?

Sides included parsnips and brocilini. Brocolini is my favourite green FYI. Because, like me, it suffers from an identity crisis and does not really know where it belongs.

I questioned the carrots, but turns out that they were NOT something found in the back of the fridge that you placed there 6 months ago. They are called heirloom carrots and are supposed to look like that.

I also whispered in the ear of a tentative waiter and within minutes, hot chips arrived. Klassy. It was agreed that they were the best hot chips in the world. Because apparently they were flash fried twice. There was some talk about the use of polenta, but I called bullshit on that.

Hot and salty. Never out of style.

The meal was finished with a selection of lovely cheeses.....

And a fabulous fruit platter.....

The staff at the Rooty Hill RSL Club were great. One person that stood out was Deborah. Deborah is a teachers aid during the day and works in the function division at the club as well. 

Once dinner was over, and everyone went their separate ways, she and I had a chat. She told me that she was at school when she got a call asking her to work on a very special assignment. And it was thrilling and exciting and her son was so proud of her.

I had to laugh.... I am not special at all!

Deborah said she was just pleased that she didn't drop anything on anyone. I told her, nothing would have shown up on ye olde leopard print kaftan, so she was free to throw anything on it. I would just moosh it in and Bob's your uncle.

Got a function to organise?

Click here to visit the Rooty Hill RSL Club. 

And the big question. 
Are you a Parmigiana type of person, 
or would you have preferred the seafood special?

Dined at any clubs lately?

Not (quite) stalking my new mate David.

Jabba in the front - Williamson in the back. Practically Neighbours! BECAUSE WE ARE...

Ok, so it has come to my attention that my neighbour up here at Jabba the Hut is a very, very, very famous Australian Playwright. I don't want to divulge his name because that would be just a bit stalkery, but if you said David Williamson, you would not be far off the money.

Because he is my neighbour, I shall refer to him from now on as David.

David has written some of the best loved screen plays and plays of our time including The Year of Living Dangerously, Don's Party, Phar Lap, Balibo and Gallipoli, just to name a few.

And the man lives next door to me. I told my sister that David and I should put in an application to council to rename our street LITERARY LANE and she laughed, and pointed at me, and laughed some more. Then she repeated my story to a group of people later in the day and they all did the same.

Assholes. You need to think big, right?

So he lives next to me and dear lord, I feel sorry for him. The kids are up at a sparrows fart, playing handball right outside his bedroom window and fighting like banshees, and he has not stuck his head out and yelled once. Not like me, I am forever sticking my head out the window and yelling at them.

Woogs are in town and the silence is shattered.

I have been spending some time dreaming up ways to meet him. There is the old tried and true cup of sugar scenario, or someone has suggested baking something, but I want him to actually like me. I have every intention of sharing a bottle of plonk in this hot-as-fuck sunroom at the back of Jabba and talk writing.

You see, I would show him the novel I am working on and he will be super impressed and tell me that I am indeed an undiscovered talent.

"Thank you David..." I would say before offering him another CC which he will decline because he is quite tall, fit and healthy looking.

I will eat the remainder of the CC's while he shares stories with me of how he got his start in writing, the adventures that he has been on and the joys he gets from wordsmithing.

I nod along and ask him what he thinks about Mummy Bloggers. He will throw his hands up in the air with complete joy and declare that they are the soul of all things associated with literary brilliance and even, as a group if they are a little bit bonkers, they do important work.

So apart from  "accidentally" walking out in front of his car as he pulls out of the driveway, what is a fool-proof way to make a good impression on my favourite new neighbour?

See you next year.

I went out to dinner with my 3 best mates last night. It was to celebrate that the first quarter of our gaggle had just turned 40. The rest of us will join her swiftly over the upcoming year. I know many people freak out at 40, and I will not be one of them. I look back at me at 30, pregnant and trying to navigate corporate life in a series of meetings with speakerphones and whiteboards. I will take 40, thank you very much!

Almost without exception, most gals I know just get better with age. Do you agree? Or is that just me....

My mates were running late and I was running early, so I ordered a glass of Prosecco and treated myself to a little reflection time. I do not do New Year Resolutions, because I have an innate  fear of success and do not like to set the bar too high.

Recently I met with a client who told me that he wanted to see my plan. How do I plan to double my readership in 12 months? How do I expect to build my empire? 

"What empire?" I asked.

He made it sound like I needed to go back to the white board and meeting rooms. And that sounded like to much work to me.

For about 3 seconds I felt a bit like the ultimate loser. 

Here I was, daring not to build an empire or implementing goals and plans. 

Here I was, on the most basic of all blogs. My photos are rubbish, all taken on my iPhone, and my subjects are more or less mundane.

I just do not think you can build an empire on mundane. Empire makers have PIZAZZ! 

I told him that I had no plans to build an empire, double my traffic or do anything that I wasn't doing already. I have a small loyal band of readers and my mum. Truth was that I am happy doing what I am doing. I really like writing, simple as that. This is a blog for me.

(But special mention must go to Judy from Canberra, who positively hates my guts and sends me emails to let me know. Happy New Year Judy! I love your turn of phrase. Thanks for reading my blog x)

But mainly I must thank you for visiting each day and reading my mundane. This community (that sprung from no planning) is amazing. Supportive, smart and did I mention funny? The joy I get from reading the comments is unmeasurable, especially the ones that have me rolling on the floor.

One particular post produced some chronic crack ups and small urine emissions this year...

I have been sucked by a wobbegone, but it was all my own fault.  That's all I am saying. - Seana

Would you believe I got bit on the bits after sitting on two green ants. My whole body welted up, I passed out, peed on my husband (while unconscious omg) and was ferried off to hospital by ambulance. Am now severely anaphylactic - need to carry an epi pen 24/7. Happy days. It was Christmas Eve to top it all off!! - Jules

When my husband and I were on our honeymoon in Tahiti, he was jumped on from behind by one of those massive stingrays. It tried to hump him like a wild horse. 

Left a nice hicky on his back too. - Lisa

I have been kicked by sheep, stood on by cows, thrown on my head by horses, stalked and attacked by a boxer, and you are not going to believe this one but it is totally true . . . I was dragged off the beach by a gigantic octopus when I was three.  No shit.  Next question. 

- Laney

The sea cucumber which attached itself to me with those weird goodgy tentacles when we were in Fiji in the summer of 1983. I thought it was a pretty shell, picked it up and the tentacles came from nowhere to encase my hand. I remember screaming - Kim

Readers make writing this blog so easy. Thank you, all of you. Thanks for the emails and Facebook messages and story suggestions and pointing out my spelling mistakes. Thank you for reminding me that it is ok to be flawed, and that there are plenty of us out there.

And for those 1973 vintages who will be turning 40 with me next year, bring it on! I have decided to be braver with my life. Not resolving to do so, just going to slightly push the boundaries a little bit more than I normally would. Who knows where I might end up in twelve months time?

Hopefully, not being sucked by a wobbegone, but if that is the worst that happens, I will be ok with it.

So here's to 2013 my friend - May your merkins be glossy, your condom dress stretchy enough to fit in a second helping and your sav blanc forever be poured with a positive meniscus!

See you next year! And thanks again.

xxx

Reservoir Dad - A Guest Post

I first met Melbourne Dad Blogger Reservoir Dad on the dance floor at a blogging conference. He was behaving rather badly so I knew that we were to become lifelong friends.

He sent me this post a while back and I have been sitting on it, waiting for the right time to release it into the world. After yesterdays discussions about keeping things simple, the release date is TODAY! Thanks RD.

“I think housework is far more tiring and frightening than hunting is, no comparison, and yet after hunting we had eggs for tea and were made to rest for hours, but after housework people expect one to go on just as if nothing special had happened.” 
Nancy Mitford

A bazillion toys going shoulder to shoulder with shoes and towels and school bags and books. There are more clothes on the floor than in the cupboards and when I have the absurd thought that there are enough crumbs – in the dining area alone – to turn the two kilos of chicken in the fridge into chicken schnitzel, I am reminded that I need to begin preparing dinner before the kids start going nutso for food.

As I start unstacking the dishwasher to access the necessary pots for cooking it hits me – like a mallet to my hanging ovaries – that I will be restacking it again in about an hour. I will also be cleaning dinner off the floor and piling wet towels into the overflowing basket in the laundry and flailing my way through the bedtime routine, all googly-eyed, like a hurled Octopus.

I hear the idyllic squealing and laughter of children and when I look outside I see that my freshly cleaned boys have gathered around the dog’s water bucket and drenched themselves with its filth.

I am sucked back into the immediacy of the domestic frontline, wounded, on the verge of spiralling into a housework-born despair. The approaching numbness allows this truth to arise –

Housework is stupid. It’s a first world problem created by the affluent, requiring lots of floor space, a heap of possessions, an over abundance of vanity and enough insecurity to sprinkle over everything. To be truly disruptive to the spirit there also needs to be a perceived pressure from ‘society’ to maintain a level of polish and sheen that is not only impossible when raising a young family, but is also a distraction from true family engagement and the rewards it can bring.

Don’t you think it's weird that we buy all these cars and houses and objects and then have to spend our lives cleaning them all the time? I saw this doco once about a tribe living like their ancestors in Papua New Guinea. They ate off leaves and when they were taken to a posh English pig-raising family who lived in a Mansion, they were astounded that the wealthy people spent so much of their time cleaning things. One of the tribe guys, who had dinner with the pig farmers and then watched as they spent hours cleaning dishes, said, 'Why don't they just use leaves and then throw them away?'

When Reservoir Mum returns home I hand her a child, give her a kiss and inform her that I am going to go outside and find some leaves to eat our food from but when she shakes her head and offers me a bemused smile, it occurs to me that all I’ll find is gum leaves and they’re way to small to hold the amount of food I like to eat. Plus, we have really nice dishes. It would be a shame not to use them.

Yes, those tribesmen and women have a housework-free life – and they’re probably right that we own too many things and spend too much of our time maintaining them – but they don’t have a Plasma TV inside their perishable huts. I do. I have a sensational Plasma TV. And I keep a packet of Kleenex screen wipes in a draw next to it because I like to keep it….  shiny.

I’m an almost forty, stay at home Dad, married to Reservoir Mum. Four boys under seven, a dog named Ekko, a guinea pig and rabbit named Nugget and Chips, a Tarago called Mighty, and a robotic vacuum named Wilson (I love him best of all). You can find more of my work at my website. I’ve also written several unpublished novels. Some published short stories. Some poems about ducks. 

Join the Reservoir Dad Facebook Page and follow him on Twitter.