Days before my sixteenth birthday, I suddenly had bigger concerns than failing my Religious Studies exam and whether that boy I liked was going to ask me out any time soon.

The weirdest thing about it now, is that no one really knows what happened.  No one knows the whole story.  Maybe no one wants to talk about that summer I nearly died three times, or maybe they think they know more than they do, or maybe they just didn't know me then and sometimes forget it happened at all.  I keep catching myself saying something to friends, or even family, and then getting weird looks and "oh my god, I had no idea it was that bad".  I think a huge part of it was because I was sixteen, and most of my friends were sixteen and although I didn't realise it at the time, it was terrifying and knowing every single detail would've scared the crap out of everyone.

But Cancer was a huge part of my life, and still is sometimes.  What a lot of people are fortunate enough not to realise is that it doesn't just disappear from your life the day you get the all clear, or the last day of chemo or the day you get signed off completely.  Like any life changing experience, good or bad, it stays with you.

So, with that in mind, I'm going to be writing some little (probably not that little) retrospective diary entries about what really happened; for everyone who did and didn't know me back then and for everyone who knows someone or who is someone who's fighting or fought cancer.

The very true and real account of what it's like to be sixteen and trying not to die.