(The Sun) (12/04/03)

Edited By Michael Bennett

LONDON, UK - THE OSBOURNES' brand new book, "Ordinary People," has been released in The UK.

Excerpts of SHARON OSBOURNE's comments were published this week by The Sun:

When I talk about the early days of the love affair between Ozzy and me, I have to be honest -- it wasn't just the two of us.

Randy was a vital part of the tale. He was the softer, kinder, more understanding peacemaker.

When Ozzy and I weren't speaking, we turned to Randy, and when we were on loving terms he was there too.

During a stop in Phoenix, Randy had to have all four of his wisdom teeth out and was left in agony.

Ozzy and I nursed him through the night by putting him in our bed and sleeping on either side of him.

It wasn't the first or the last time the three of us slept together.

On the road we often ended up in the back of the tour bus together, watching TV at three in the morning and dozing off without thinking anything of it.

Other times it just felt good to be together.

Not that we were having sex with each other. There was one time I was with Randy.

Ozzy knows about it but has never wanted to discuss it. That's his way of dealing with it.

But don't read any dissatisfaction into it. Ozzy knows the one-time occurrence was loving, not lustful.

And he was just as in love with Randy as I was. He still cries when talking about Randy. So do I.

In the book, Ozzy writes: "You couldn't have illustrated the two of us better than the way we dealt with the devastation of losing our best friend."

"I wanted to drink myself into the grave next to him. Sharon wanted to get back to work."

"Three weeks later she started auditioning new guitar players -- not to replace Randy. We couldn't replace him."

"In a way, we've never lost Randy completely. We continue to play his music and every year on March 19, the day of the plane crash, Sharon and I light a candle for our friend and cry."

Sharon continues: Besides being an emotional man, Ozzy is a world-class hypochondriac.

He had been begging me for ages to see the doctor and in the summer of 2002 I gave in and made an appointment.

The doctor went through his list of questions, then scheduled some tests right away.

They did an upper endoscopy, sticking a tube with a camera attached down my throat, and looked inside my stomach. Then they put me out and did a colonoscopy.

When I woke up, my doctor told me they found two small growths and sent them to be biopsied.

I took the news calmly. I assumed it was no big deal and left it at that.

A few days later, while I was staying in New York, I got back to the hotel to find a message to call my doctor -- urgently.

That's when it first hit me. My stomach sank to my toes and came back up again.

He said: "You have got to come back right away. We need to get the cancer out of you."

I hung up, left all my luggage at the hotel in New York and flew back to LA with my three kids.

The four of us hugged and cried the entire six-hour journey.

Then at the airport I saw the cutest, most loving sight of my life. It was Ozzy.

All dressed up, waiting for me on the runway, holding my two little dogs, Minnie and Maggie.

For the first time since getting the news I felt at peace.

At the crack of dawn the next day, I was wheeled into surgery.

Ozzy and I held hands until I was about to go into the operating room. Then we kissed.

During the four-hour operation, my surgeon removed 12 inches of colon and half a dozen lymph nodes.

Then the results came back -- cancer in two nodes.

We were devastated but the doctor said: "We're still looking good. We caught it early."

"It's not in Sharon's liver or anywhere else. We can zap it with about three months of chemotherapy."

In mid-July I went to the hospital to begin the chemotherapy.

I fell into a routine. Every Monday I saw my doctor.

If my white blood count was high enough I got myself hooked up to chemo then went home and waited.

I felt sick within 40 to 48 hours, like clockwork.

By the end of the first month I was in a dreadful state.

I had lost 20 pounds and hair by the handful.

Anyone who thinks I agreed to the second series of The Osbournes for the money is wrong.

I wouldn't have gone ahead if I'd known about the cancer first.

I negotiated the deal two weeks before being diagnosed.

Anyway, I had to keep thinking about living. I continued to make plans.

I had missed my 20th anniversary in July and was too ill in October to celebrate turning 50, so I planned a New Year's bash at which Ozzy and I would renew our wedding vows in front of our family and friends.

Our first marriage had been a lovely enough ceremony on the beach in Maui, but none of our friends were there and Ozzy had passed out drunk.

Then this year 500 of our closest friends and family members filled an elegant ballroom at the Beverly Hills Hotel.

Ozzy looked dashing in a tux.

We held hands and cried while we exchanged vows again. Later I found Ozzy passed out on the sofa in our suite.

What could I expect? It was the same on our wedding night 20 years earlier.

At least this time he made it into the room.

Then one morning in February this year, not long after all the TV crews had packed and gone, I woke up feeling different.

I don't know how, but somehow I just knew the cancer was gone.

A week later, I had a blood test and for the first time since that first exam, the results were negative.

Ozzy and I celebrated with dinner and champagne at home. We were alone in the house. The kids were all out.

No nurses. No camera crews.

"Do you hear that, baby?" I said.

"Hear what?" Ozzy said.

"Quiet. We're the only ones home."

We got in bed and watched TV.

Ozzy fidgeted and tensed like a man in the dentist's chair -- then looked across at me.

"I don't know if I can get used to it," he said.

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