The last couple of weeks have been a waiting game after my scan. It’s been hard, despite remaining hopeful. At 2am the thoughts that run through my head are often doom-laden, as for many in these unforgiving wee small hours. Without distraction, we trawl through all the what ifs, the fear of spread, the whole uncertainty of it all. The how-will-I-cope-if-he-tells-me-x panic.

The not-knowing is always, always worse than the knowing for me. I can handle most things if I can see my foe!

Today was my first appointment with my oncologist since diagnosis, so was always going to be a big deal. I’d got myself in a right tizz, imagining the worst. I turned up, full of jangling nervous energy and close to tears. Even the kindness and humour of the secondary breast care nurses couldn’t cut through the terrors.

Listening to other patients in the waiting room felt harsh too, many were at stage 1, fully expecting a complete cure. To them, whatever news I had would be their worst nightmare at their stage.

Yet this evening I am counting all my blessings, one hundred fold, as the news for me was positive. Tumour markers down, tumours reduced in size, bone beginning to heal. It was confirmation that progression can be slowed for now. The relief that flooded through me was immense. Cue inane grins all round.

Stage 4 is not an instant death sentence, despite what many would imagine. Instead, I’m moving forward with a heart full of gratitude for all who have supported me thus far, for the medics, the holistic therapists, gratitude for good food, good friends, for fresh air and birds and ponds and gorse and deer and most of all, untold gratitude for love.

I’m determined to make this time I’ve been given count, really count. To live, to live, to live.

Onwards, each step a gift.