I’m the real Mrs Christmas!
After Michelle Pulis and her boys had been through a tough few years, she decided it was time for some festive magic
While most people might be put out by strangers stopping to stare at their house, I’m not. Instead, I’ll often find myself smiling as they stand with their mouths slightly open.
Because they aren’t being rude – they’re just admiring the bright lights and decorations that adorn every inch of our home in Hemel Hempstead, Hertfordshire.
Yes, some people may say they’re over-the-top, or even tacky. But my decorations aren’t just to spread festive feelings. They’re for a good cause, raising money for a hospice that helped me in my time of need.
Back in April 2011, I’d found two lumps in my right breast. I’d been feeling run down, but with my two boys, Ollie, three, and six-monthold Stan, I wasn’t really surprised. Still, I took myself off to the GP and was referred for tests.
Just 33 and convinced I was fine, I’d insisted on going for the mammogram and biopsy on my own, while my husband, Ian, watched the kids. So when a Macmillan nurse came in with a box of tissues, I was as shocked as I was scared.
‘ We’re 99 per cent sure it’s cancer,’ the consultant said, and I burst into tears. I called Ian, but couldn’t speak through my sobs. In that minute, my life had gone from an unstated certainty to a big question mark. Would I be around to watch the kids grow up? I was terrified.
Days later, doctors confirmed I had stage three breast cancer, and treatment started immediately – a mastectomy, chemo and radiotherapy, followed later by reconstructive surgery.
We didn’t hide anything from Ollie, and he even helped shave my head when my hair started falling out. ‘Don’t miss that bit,’ I said, jovially. But, inside, I was struggling to calm my panic.
That year, Christmas slipped by quietly, without a fuss. My treatment meant that just getting out of bed felt like an achievement, so I couldn’t face shopping for huge piles of presents and eating the usual mountain of food.
It was so tough, at times, I didn’t think I could carry on. But the Rennie Grove Hospice was so supportive, offering free counselling and treatments, like reflexology. I was lucky to be able to take that time out for myself.
And Ian, now 40, was so strong. He knew exactly how to motivate me. At night, he’d take my hand and lead me to the boys’ rooms to watch them sleeping. ‘Remember who you’re doing this for,’ he’d whisper. He was right. I was fighting not only for my life, but for a future with my boys.
When I was given the all-clear in February 2012, I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.
For nearly a full year, the boys had been visiting me in hospital, rather than playing out with friends or riding their bikes. It was time to help them find the magic of childhood again.
‘Christmas has to be extra special this year,’ I told Ian. As I explained what I had in mind, his eyes lit up. Together, we pulled out all the Lego we could find, scoured the supermarkets for twinkling lights and set to work in October 2012.
Up and down the ladder Ian went, pinning lights to our house and around our garden. And while the boys were in bed, we worked on a Christmas nativity scene made from Lego in the garage.
By the end of November, we were ready to reveal our hard work to the boys. Pulling them into the front garden one night, I handed Ollie a button. ‘ What’s this for?’ he asked. ‘Push it and see,’ I said.
He did as he was told and, suddenly, it was as if the sun had risen. Only, its beams were red, green, blue and white, and they shone from all over our house. The boys weren’t the only ones to let out a squeal. It took my breath away, too.
And when we led them into the garage to see their Lego Christmas creation, they could hardly contain themselves. It was hours before we could get them back in the house, and they barely slept for all the excitement!
Soon, we were the talk of the street. Ollie and Stan were telling everyone we’d turned the house into a grotto, and neighbours were popping by to comment on how wonderful it looked.
On Christmas Eve, the boys scattered carrots over the lawn and went to bed, chattering about jingling bells and reindeer hooves.
That year, our home was filled with such happiness, it banished all the bad feelings of the year before. I embraced every single, special moment.
It was such a success that Ian suggested we go a step further the next year. So in the January sales we stocked up on lights, miniature trees, baubles…
Months passed and, as autumn set in, Ian decided to make a start. Every weekend, he was up and down that ladder – and all to great effect. Because everyone loved our extravagant efforts. ‘ We’re spreading cheer to everyone,’ I beamed.
Since then, the festivities have started earlier and got bigger every year. Now, dozens of our family, friends, neighbours and even strangers turn up to gather outside our house for the big switch-on.
And with all the interest it generated, I decided to start a collection box for Rennie Grove Hospice, as a thank you for their support during my cancer battle. So far, we’ve raised around £4,000.
The joy we feel celebrating Christmas this way has brought us so much happiness. With the pressures of life, work and school, it’s easy to lose sight of the important things, but cancer was the biggest wake-up call.
Now 40, I’ll never take our time together for granted. The locals call me Mrs Christmas – and I’m determined to live up to that name.
‘Our home was filled with such happiness, it banished all of the bad’