This page may contain affiliate links. We only recommend products and services that have tried, trust and love. For more information, you can read our terms and conditions.

Hopelessly Devoted

Olivia Newton-John was one of my first heroes.

I thought she was awesome, beautiful and talented. I wanted to be her.

Sandra Dee

I was not a popular child, painfully shy and the wallflower amongst all my rose friends. I was convinced if I looked like Olivia, someone would perhaps fancy me.

Look at me

There was a birthday party at our local village hall for a friend of mine. I can’t remember how old we were, but am guessing around 13.

I was very excited. I made my mum put heated rollers in my hair. I had a brand new outfit: black satin trousers – not too tight because I was a bit overweight (seriously I was not but my confidence was near to zero and I had to have a reason), a purple satin jacket and a black and silver sequin boob tube. It was as near as I could get to looking like Liv.

Are you making fun of me?

It should have been a great evening. It started out okay although my John Travola was nowhere to be seen.

And then It wasn’t. I was not popular, have I said that already?. Boys didn’t fancy me. I was not pretty and a bit chubby compared to the cool girls. But I loved to dance, the music taking away all that pain, the joy filling my every cell.

Unfortunately it was while I was dancing that one of the boys came up behind and pulled my boob tube down.

Possibly Shaun or Adam. I’m not really sure. The only thing I was sure of was how traumatised I was in that moment. And why was the ground not opening up and swallowing me whole.

I was not wearing a bra and my size 32As were visable to everyone. Everyone laughed, even girls that were supposed to be my friends. I burst into tears and ran.

Suffice it to say, I did not wear the outfit again, preferring to be more Sandra Dee than Sandy. I’d tried not hiding away and look where it got me.

And was never leaving the house again.

Let’s get physical

Who knew years later that my similarity with Olivia would in fact be breast cancer. She too had a huge gap of almost 20 years between her first two diagnoses, time enough to think you are cured and it will never happen again.

Until her third diagnosis 4 years later. The one she didn’t survive. How cruel life is.

She was always so graceful and that smile could melt the coldest heart. She simply shone her light brightening any darkness along her way.

Xanadu

I have to admit this has made me anxious, and quite emotional about my own journey. Next year will be 4 years. Every ache could be something right? Is Stage 4 a possibility? Could a stray cell not have been caught and is currently winging its way around my body looking for an organ to grab onto? I hate living with this hanging over me but what is the alternative I wonder. Is there one?

The best I can do is accept that breast cancer is something that happened to me, is not me. There is much more to me than that and that is what I try to focus on. Positive, uplifting thoughts attracting positivity to me. But there will always be those moment of shadow, I just try not to let the, stay too long less they too start to attract.

I try to be more Liv.

Oh Sandy, I will always be hopelessly devoted to you.

For the record, I am now really too overweight for skinny black satin trousers, but I pretty much always curl my hair. Tongs mind, not heated rollers.

And as for the boob tube? I’d totally wear one now – if anyone wants to risk trying to pull it down, you go for it – I don’t think I’d be the one left traumatised!

You might also be interested in:

Milly Molly Mandy

2 October 2022

I can remember the day I met Milly. She started as a temp for law firm and was covering one of our department’s secretary’s maternity