“I’ve got good news!” said the surgeon first thing when we went to see her today. Credit where credit is due, she didn’t let me hang one minute more than necessary - I don’t know how she announces bad news, but I’d be surprised if she was this direct.

All the cancer cells are gone from ground zero, and there’s none to be found in my lymph nodes either! Woohoo! I have won the chemo jackpot.

The news triggered an interesting mix of emotions. Joy, relief, for sure - but also a deep weariness. It seems that for all my talk about meditation and acceptance, my mind had been fighting an invisible enemy. And suddenly, mid-lunge, that enemy disappeared, and my mind fell flat on its face, so to speak.

I’ve worked hard to put up a good face for everyone. I felt like I would’ve burdened my family and friends if I’d shown even a smidgen of despair - and I managed to successfully convince them and myself that I was FINE (shouty caps intentional). No cancer would get me down, not me, no Sir. Fatigue? What’s that? I’m an independent woman and busy professional, you know. Only Joe might’ve seen the mask slip on occasion.

And now I’m really fine, I’m going to be fine. The NHS organizes “Moving On” information days for patients who finish the treatment, and that makes perfect sense to me. When you get your diagnosis immediately cancer becomes one of the main topic in your life, however much you don’t want it to. Coming back to normal is not as simple. I’m going to have to reset a bunch of synapses.

I want to hold on to some of the learnings of this time - it would be stupid not to remember the clarity that comes with an awareness of mortality. Minor irritations just don’t count that much. I’ve started doing things I enjoyed and had forgotten to do, like writing and drawing a lot more. I tried being more smiley and conversational and to be kind to strangers. I enjoyed a ray of sunshine, the smell of lilac, a cuddle with my daughter more fully than I did before.

But I’m going to forget, a little - that’s what we do. The pendulum is still swinging over my head, but it seems a lot further off. There’s a good chance I’m going to see my daughter become a sulky teenager. And for all my weariness I’m really, really grateful for that.