The first time I’d met my oncologist, it was in the midst of figuring out what surgery I would be having for my mastectomy.

Naomi and I had visited Suzy on a Friday night in October. She had run through the treatment options that I could go with. I instantly knew she was one of the best.

Her approach was calming, informative and cautious. In comparison to my weekly appointments with Katy, I was only seeing Suzy once every three weeks, so the rapport between the two of us was not on the same scale.

Since chemo had started, my appointments were usually the day before my EC sessions. Every time we would meet, something would be different with my appearance. My hair had gone from shoulder length to bob to buzz cut; and each time Suzy saw me, she would compliment me on it, then the consultation would start in the professional calming manner that she operated in.

My last appointment, I couldn’t do much more with my hair, so I sat down, took off my coat and smiled.

Suzy looked at me, walked to the door and caught her previous patients and team.

“Oh my god, she’s wearing a pink unicorn onesie!”

I knew at that point I’d cracked her and we had bonded.

When you train for any long distance run you have to take two things into consideration. The physical stamina required, and the mental battle that will come about. You hear about it all the time. How runners hit the wall.

They start at a steady pace, and move along. They mark off each mile or kilometre as they pass, and slowly progress. But then something happens. They run out of steam. They let the remaining distance get the better of them. They crack.

This very wall exists with chemo. People start their treatment. They go to chemo. They deal with it as best they can. Then suddenly they just want it to be over. The side effects get too much. They want to give up.

I’d hit the wall a month ago, but recently hit that wall again. This time with full force.