I am lucky to have had a dream run with my chemo. The side effects have been minor and mostly ignorable. The drugs have been spectacularly successful. My 5cm+ tumour was reduced to specks, the largest of which was 6mm according to my post-op pathology report. I am lucky to have been treated by a surgeon and an oncolgist who are both highly skilled and respected by their peers and who are the two of the kindest and most caring men I've ever met. They've answered my multitude of questions thoroughly and patiently and have always shown me the respect of telling me the truth. I appreciate this more than I can say and I feel privileged to know them. I will never forget the look of sheer joy on the face of Michael, my onco, when he examined me at the end of my AC treatment and couldn't feel a mass any more. I have seen him accompany patients out to the waiting room with his arm around them. All those of us who are fortunate enough to have him as our doctor absolutely adore him. The same goes for Bob, my surgeon. I love the easy, jokey relationship we've developed and the way he calls me "Toots" or "Susie" makes me smile.

I have also discovered the strength of my relationship with my husband. He has been a tower of strength. Whenever he's there I feel I have all the strength I need to cope with whatever happens. He has learned to make cancer jokes that are almost as black as mine and that keeps me laughing. He invented the term "Fred's shed" for the box into which I put Fred the Falsie to sleep each night. I've even forgiven him for opening up my mastectomy wound by taking me for a test drive in a sports car just after I'd got home from surgery. Which reminds me. When I last saw Bob the surgeon, he suggested using honey on this gape in the wound to help it heal better and it fixed it within a week! So there's a hint for you all. Look for Manuka honey that comes from New Zealand.

All these pieces of knowledge and experience are being put into the box that I've visualised and will eventually go into my mental attic. They are PART of who I am and where I've been, no more, no less.

And now for the consultation with the radiation oncologist. I plan to tell him that I want my tattoos to say, "Radiation Oncologists do it with machines"!