I dress and ask Mr Pittam if I can know the results, please, he knows I like to know and tells me very matter of factly that it was a Stage 1, Grade 3 cancer, invasive and will require chemotherapy.

Without pausing he runs the conversation on to the fact that his field of expertise ends here and he must pass me on to the oncologist consultant who will tell me the next steps.

The world only seemed to shudder slightly before restarting and it was almost a "blink" in my brain. Chemotherapy? What happened? We were talking about radio therapy and now we've jumped a bit and Grade 3 cancer, there's only grade 4 after that so where did this come from? There has been a sudden but subtle gear change upwards and I almost wonder if I misheard that last bit!

Mr Pittam departs and I am aware of being "normal". Smiling and thanking him and looking, I think, every inch the model patient. Inside something wants to shout Aaaarrgggghhh! very loudly indeed but the nurse has started talking now.

Oncologist on holiday – no worries, I will be safe for a fortnight, can't start chemo anyway till the wound has completely healed, it's belt and braces and I will have radiotherapy too – what! – stop, stop, stop.

All too fast, all too much. I shut off to save what sanity I might have and listen carefully. Five minutes later I emerge to Alan, clutching several appointments for this that and the other and feeling like someone else is controlling the strings. Just got to make these appointments, I say calmly. It's a grade 3 cancer, invasive, chemo etc.

We stroll to reception slightly stunned but everything around is going on as normal until, "Su, Suuuu, pssst", I hear. Oh no! I look around, oh oh, it can't be, not now, but, there is Mrs Boss Woman sitting at the far end.

Alan says: "Is that her?", but does he need to ask? We are beckoned to her throne – what's the matter with her legs, I think as we walk all the way down the clinic to her seat.

I introduce Alan and she asks how I got on. Chemo, I say brightly, wasn't expecting that. Mrs Boss Woman is not listening and can't wait to tell me how she came out of her anaesthetic "bopping" to the music (I obviously couldn't hear the music because of all my retching!) and how everyone thought she was amazing etc etc etc, boring very boring I think, slightly envious.

She asks me if I was allowed home after the op and I tell her no, I was slightly sick. Hard luck, she says, I went home.

The perfect end. Why did I think I was lucky! Even then, there was the telling of relatives and friends to endure, what can anyone say – it's just a real bummer and whatever happens you have to go through with it.

I have accepted it almost without any trauma, so what, let it all happen. Later it does. Our chinchilla, who we all love very much and who hasn't been too well lately, dies. Very peacefully in his beloved sand bath, he just passed over in his sleep. The hot weather today has been too much for him. Today has just been too much, full stop.

Monday, July 28:

I went out Saturday for the first time in three weeks. Only to the Town but it seemed like an outing! Of course I bump into a friend who knows about my "illness". She rushed out of her workplace to see me and for one dreadful moment I thought she was going to hug me.

I hadn't thought about that until now, although I had been walking around clutching my breast – it sort of hurts when you walk – can't wear the seatbelt in the car close to me, but hugging – definitely not!

Luckily she has the same sense of humour as me and remarks how well I look and am I doing this for attention! We had a joke or two about NHS wigs – I think I'm going to go redhead – and depart with her shaking her head in disbelief about the general state of cancer and what it does (or will do) to you.

I glance in the shop window and see nothing amiss whatsoever. I look the same apart from the hand clutching my breast (I must stop that!) and I feel just fine.

Only every so often a wave of sheer "what on earth is happening to me" washes over me, but apart from that it's like it's happening to someone else.

Either it will come home to roost with a lot of flapping soon or I will continue to deal with on this "third" person kind of basis which, at the moment seems to be the way it's going.

It randomly occurred to me today, as I picked up one of those "insure your life – no medical needed" letters from the mat, that this is also a "good" time to be ill.

A year ago I would have been caught in the middle of a whole house refurb and even earlier this year I was putting finishing touches to some rooms. Now is a relatively easy time and I was wondering which project I would tackle next, garden? That rickety old shed? Hmmm, now it looks like its rickety old me, so that's settled, then!

I'm easing off on the painkillers now and slept bra-less last night. Far too hot, anyway! I feel very much better and seem to be returning to normal mode. Under arm is still a little bit sore but all seems to be going really well.

A few stabbing pains through the nipple, bordering on the itchy side, but that's good, I understand. I have been very well behaved and not lifted anything or driven the car.

All my friends have been so kind. Messages of love, sympathy, phone calls, flowers, chocs. I've been really spoilt. There will probably be no further entries in this diary now as until August 12 – when I see the oncologist – I'm hoping there will be nothing to report. I don't look ill and hopefully I can enjoy some time with Laura and being at home.

Today I still feel very sad about Muffy the chinchilla. Where his cage stood there is now a space. I cleaned it all on Saturday after we buried him. He looked so peaceful and his tooth troubles are no more. I feel I let him down.

I was hand-feeding him several times a day with many cuddles thrown in. He looked forward to this but after the op I didn't think it was wise to hold him close to my breast. Chinchillas have such fine hair and Muffy was always covered in sand – how he loved that sand bath!

I couldn't spend so much time with him, either, and he never really loved the others as much. I realise that he died at a very emotional time for me and that he might well have died at any time as he was very thin and obviously ill from his teeth, but he loved me and always came to see me and I feel I took my eye off the ball for a while and lost it.

Perhaps now I've written that down I will feel better about him. He didn't suffer at least and was loved till the end. God bless Muffy.


Part 14 next week

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