This time last year the house was full of flowers and cards. In the preceding four weeks a large chunk of my abdominal contents had made a great escape, courtesy of the surgeons at the ERI, I had been hit with a diagnosis of ovarian cancer, I had cut my hair, chosen a wig and had my first chemotherapy session. It had been an emotional few weeks for the whole family, thrown into the early stages of a ride towards unknown territory. Looking back on it now, from the distance of the first anniversary, it seems like a bad dream. Just to remind me that it was all real, though, this orchid that I was given last autumn has come back into glorious flower. So I think it’s time for me to look back over my year – and then forget about it.
I have recently read Lance Armstrong’s story Continue reading