Nicole Dash Jones, a British-born beauty entrepreneur whose new Madame LA LA range promises something different to most other self-tan products on the market. It’s not that its inherent biscuit smell is near unnoticeable, or that it boasts a foolproof streak-free formula, but rather that it offers up a totally different shade to its competitors – it gives you an ‘LA glow’.
James Moore will chronicle his experiences in wheelchair basketball, highlight any events of note (world/UK championships and the like), and cover some of the big issues facing disability sports
It’s fair to say, I’ve had a number of speed bumps in the road of life recently and to be honest I’m a bit bored of them!
When you’re young, I think you think that by the time you’re, say, 36, you’ll have it all figured out: love, family, money, career, that important fundamental kind of stuff. Not necessarily all perfect, white-picket-fence sorted, but perhaps at least a muddy-brown splintered gate sorted.
Welcome to part three of the ‘Ismena treatment catch up’. I arrive at the Royal Marsden with a smile on my face ready for round three of chemotherapy.
Well, I was right. Mostly right. As predicted, today was messy. Hannah played Mary, ‘Purple’ class played green aliens, 80 other immensely special (in the ‘unique’ and ‘brilliant’ sense of the word) children played stars, angels, donkeys, sheep, kings and shepherds, and I, you’ve guessed it, wept.
It’s been two long months since I have last written and even longer since I have filled you in on how my treatment is going.
Sitting in conversation with Professor Sharon Lewin in Bangkok, it is difficult not to be stunned into silence by her encyclopaedic knowledge of HIV. Lewin is a basic scientist, physician and head of the Department of Infectious Diseases, Monash University and Co-Chair of the international AIDS conference (AIDS 2014) being held in Melbourne next year.
I like to think that I am generally a realistic, feet-on-the-ground, faces-the truth kind of a person. Since the initial shock of diagnosis wore off, I have imagined that I am facing the reality of my daughter’s condition in an informed and educated manner. But actually, I’m not. I’m in denial. And never has that been clearer to me than this evening.
In a few days’ time, I will be playing at single parenting for approximately 89 hours. It’s a daunting prospect in many ways, not least because I am increasingly unable to carry the six-year-old up or down the stairs, and because there is not a buggy in existence which can be pushed once they’re all in it.
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