I pulled up on the side of the road. I knew I had the right address, as the pink door was the giveaway. I had always admired Cat for her quirky way of decorating her home; so it was a no brainer that as soon as I stepped through the front door I wanted to move in.

We hugged. I got a tour of the house. I met her dog, and her adorable son.

“OK, you can sit down, and I will ask you questions, and I want to hear all about it.”

I smiled. I loved Cat for her no bullshit approach.

You can ask me anything you want. If I don’t want to talk about it, I’ll tell you.

I hadn’t seen Cat for over a year. We had exchanged texts here and there, but since I’d last seen her, she had had a baby, and I had been diagnosed with, and finished treatment for breast cancer.

I started talking. Cat asked questions. I responded. We discussed what was next for me. I cried. We exchanged stories of our existing life choices/situations. We laughed. And before I knew it, three hours had passed, and it was time for me to go.

Thanks Cat, I really needed that. I feel much better. 

I got in the car and drove off realising it was the first time in months that I’d felt I could talk properly.  I felt like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Five years ago. I was in the living room doing the ironing. Mum was in the kitchen. Chris was upstairs.

*ring ring*

The phone rang and I stopped what I was doing. I knew it wasn’t a good sign. Nobody really called during the day, and nobody called the house phone in the middle of the day.

It was the hospital. They wanted to speak to Mum. They wanted us to get there as soon as possible because Dad wasn’t doing good.

We got in the car.

I kept thinking that he was doing good the day before. How he looked me directly in the eyes as we said goodbye for the night. The doctors said that they would put him on a rehabilitation program. That we would plan all sorts of exercises and therapies for him, similar to others that had had strokes.

We got to the ward. The curtain around his bed was drawn. The doctors told us he had stopped breathing in the early part of the night. It was at that point I chose to shut off every emotion I had. I chose to go into nodding dog mode. Into ostrich with my head in the sand mode. Into pragmatic, what should we plan to do mode. Anything, but to deal with it that very second.

Then that night, when I got home, after 8+ hours in the hospital with family, and endless phone calls to the US and the Philippines, I got home and cried in bed.

I came out of Baker Street station, and did the usual walk. Zipped passed the Pret a Manger and tourist shops; walked by Madame Tussauds, and crossed over to Nottingham Place.

It had been three months since I was last at the Princess Grace; and it was a weirdly strange but familiar feeling to walk through the sliding doors and to the front desk.

Hi, I’ve got an appointment at the Breast Institute.

The receptionist smiled, released the door, and pointed me in the direction. I walked up the flight of stairs, got to the top, pressed the button for some hand sanitiser, took a deep breath and opened the door.

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.