It’s week 8.5 since the last chemotherapy session, week 3.5 since surgery. It’s not the end of treatment - still have to do radiotherapy in a few weeks - but I’m told the worst is behind me.

And now it’s waiting for everything to heal. I feel healthier than I’ve felt for a long time. My energy is returning.

The hair is starting to reappear, slowly. Instead of zombie locks (couple of locks on a bald scalp) I now have fuzz all over my head, and some slightly longer survivors looking distinctly out of place. I’ll probably wait at least a few more weeks before taking the hat off.

The rest of my body has some timid growth reappearing. While this means I’ll have to get back on the feminine treadmill of eradication soon, I’m pretty glad to see them - being a smooth shop front dummy didn’t feel natural.

No trace of the monthly cycle, however, but I’m told that can take months, or may never come back, it’s a bit of a gamble. We’ll see. I’m not entirely sure what to hope for.

The surgery wounds are healing, I can now stretch my arms above my head and it only hurts a little bit. I’m waiting until the pain is completely gone before starting to exercise properly again. But I’ve registered for the Bath Half Marathon next March - why not - because I think I’ve got to make friends with my body again.

My mind is in a bit of a weird place. For months and months I had one clear goal: getting better. It was extremely limited and simple. Everything else had been wiped off the board.

Now it looks like I’m lucky enough to have reached that goal. I’ve got to go back to dealing with complexity. Reconstructing a model of the world, of what I want, of where I’m going. It feels like a rebirth, of sorts - wriggling out of a cocoon, the same but also different.