Yesterday was truly a landmark day - I jogged 6km (yup, count 'em, S-I-X!), did 20 minutes of tai chi, then climbled 15 flights of stairs, came down, and went up again! I cannot point to a single point in time before cancer when I was in better shape! Having grown up asthmatic, I was trained not to push myself for fear of an asthma attack. Now, I do push myself and I can - finally! - see what the fuss about exercise is all about.

Once started, my obsessive personality kicks in and I don't want to stop. One more km, another 5 minutes, yet another flight of stairs...and when I get back to the flat, I start on my free weights. I am determined to have firm, muscled arms by the time I start radiation in 30 days.

Isn't it ironic that I am supposed to be in the worst physical shape right now, and yet the opposite is true? Go figure.

I wish I had started on this much sooner - now that I am getting on in years, my poor knees are protesting. But I ignore the creaks and clicks and carry on! My fitter friends used to bang on and on about beating their bodies, control over the physical, mind over matter etc. I used to stare at them uncomprehendingly while slurping my umpteenth glass of champagne and munching my fois gras and caviar. Not me! I thought. Nutters! I muttered to myself.

Doesn't God just love to turn our words back on us? Now look at me, I love my exercise! I no longer drink, or eat any animal with fur, feathers or legs. Only scaly, slimey things for me.

It occurs to me my life is turned completely on its head:

Protein BC (before cancer): Steak, lamb, venison, fois gras, eggs, anything dairy (especially anything with a French or Italian name), all shellfish, raw or cooked. Now: all verboten.

Veggies BC - rocket, gourmet salads, potatoes (done any way), rich western style veg soups. Now: local veg only, no potatoes, no salads.

Fruits BC - never, unless part of cake, or pie, or pudding. Now: as many as I can, fresh, three times a day. No other desert allowed.

Beans BC - peas, corn on the cob all the time. Now: only 10% of intake.

Grains BC - udon once a week, bread every night. Now: all verboten, brown rice only.

Exercise BC - eek! confined to cross trainer, 20 minutes exactly and only if there was something on TV to distract me while I was on the machine.

Booze BC - oh yes!, every evening, a couple of glasses of red, several carafes of Cosmopolitans and/or Pimms on the weekend Now: forget it, mineral water and green tea only.

TV BC - all the time. Now: rarely - I read more. Am obsessed by medieval history.

Prayer BC - yes, complaining to God. Now: still complaining, but spend more time saying thank you.

Shopping BC - hardly ever. Now: all the time, since social life is shot to hell. Can only go out once a week for a social meal. Otherwise, I have to eat macrobiotic at home. (Ok, sometimes I sneak the odd curry puff, but I do make sure it is sardine and not chicken!).

So you see, like it or not, cancer is a life changing experience. I am more concious of my health and I have stopped looking at the world through my supplement capsules. It is au naturel health-wise.

Now, I just focus on putting one foot in front of the other as I jog - a meditative experience. And - boy, this is the icing on the cake - am living with my mother again, and there are days when I actually enjoy it!

Well, God - I guess you must be grinning from ear to ear! I gues we all need a little lift now and again...even the Almighty...

I have been out of Singapore for two years now, and the whole ERP/taxi peak hour surcharge system has become completely baffling to me. Even the taxi drivers cannot tell me what the charges are - they are just drivers, they say. This explains why there is an almighty effort, at all hours, to avoid the dreaded ERP charge by taking the most circuitous of routes, resulting in taxi fares higher than if they had just gone through the gantry.

Here's the thing - the $4-00 taxi peak hour surcharge operates until 11.30pm. This beggars all reason - is it really 'peak' hour until almost midnight? Are we having to work that hard? Or is this a PR stunt to convince us that we are a 'happening' island?

The ERP surcharge operates until 9pm. In the rush hour, the peak hour surcharge plus ERP amounts, in some cases, to more than the actual taxi fare. On the CTE to the CBD there are two gantries, making it the most expensive highway to use - and there are, I might add, no alternatives for those living in the north.

Now, another question - all car owners pay road tax for the priviledge of using our wonderfully maintained Singapore roads. So in actual fact, for any trip during a normal workday, we could be charged several times for the same act - getting to work in our own cars.

Something else - I understand the infamous COE, that precious piece of paper that we buy in order to be able to even own a car in the first place, is at an all-time low. Result: more cars on the road, one might assume. But hang on - is that really true? When the COE was high, the demand for cars was fairly inelastic - we just bought smaller cars.

Taken together - the ERP, peak hour surcharges, COE prices - with the fact that the alternatives to private transport are the sardine like tin cans called the MRT, or the buses which are infrequent and often require a change of buses to get to our destinations, mean simply that the only difference this has made is that we are being taxed several times for simply having to go to work.

Having the ERP operate until 9pm simply taxes our need to get home to have dinner with our families. How many people stay in the office until past nine so they can avoid the surcharge? So much for the call for work/life balance.

The irony is that with taxi costs being so high and COEs being so low, it is actually now cheaper to buy a car (or another car) than it is to use public transport. So much for reducing the car population - something has got screwed up here.So much for reducing fossil fuel emmissions (oops, another tax in the offing...)

You know, I think this knee-jerk reaction of 'let's tax them!' from a government led by the most brilliant minds in Singapore is getting a bit old. Whatever it is, when it comes to our car population, all the existing measures simply are not working to control or reduce it. We have always known this.

I think perhaps some lateral thinking might be in order. Perhaps more vocal disgruntlement from our hard-done by population might not go amiss either. Otherwise, it seems to be that all these measures are a means to fatten the government coffers, and not help the constituents our leaders are supposed to serve - and I do use the word deliberately. Not represent, serve. That's why it is called the civil service, and not civil representation.

(Our PAP has been in power for so long that I do believe that our MPs are part of the civil service - there seems to be the principle of lifetime tenure in operation here).

There is a speak English campaign going on - methinks it's time to get out the dictionaries for our illustrious leaders.

My hair is starting to grow again. I have mixed feelings about this - mainly because it is coming out white. I am told that once the chemo is over, it will come back in its usual black. Meanwhile, it is white. There is some black, which makes my scalp look rather unsightly. I wish it would come back in a single colour.

The fact that the hair is coming back signals another phase of this journey called cancer survival. Over the past four months, my life has changed on every level there is. And there is more to come. Just in the next 30 days, I will be done with chemo, begin with radiation and start with a new phase. On the company front, many changes are afoot. In 40 days, I will have to go through a hysterectomy and in 30 days after that, I will be moving back to Shanghai.

Over the past three years, I have had two different jobs, have had my life hit rock bottom, climb back up, moved countries, seen my job in Shanghai change three times,learnt a new language, made new friends, been diagnosed with a dread disease, had a mastectomy, and faced my mortality - and moved in with my mother. I seem to be just having to cope with one thing after another.

I am sick of change. I yearn for a space of peace and stability. They say that when things change quickly, God is at work - there is something that is building up. I seem to be in perpetual preparation. I am exhausted.

So, the hair regrowth, although something relatively insignificant, is unwelcome because it signals the next phase. I had just begun to get used to the round of chemo every three weeks. Now, I will have to adjust to a schedule of daily radiation, and a new doctor.

I don't think people understand how stressful all this is. Because I am taking the chemo well, people think I am sailing through this - but the stress of constant change is a whole different ball of wax, and it is tiring. It does take its toll...

Over the past few days, I have been talking to people - and reading - about the experiences of other cancer survivors. They come in all shapes and sizes, and are all at different stages of the journey - some have just started and others have been travelling the road for years now. However, there seem to be several common denominators:

For instance, while I felt that my experiences were unique to me, I found that almost everyone I have talked to, or read about, thought death was imminent upon diagnosis. Most people had lumps smaller than mine, yet that sense of panic was the same. The reactions were different. I met one woman whose fear was focused on the treatment, not mortality. Yet another was focused on her legacy and how she wanted to leave this life. For me, I was focused on denial, a sense of anger, and simply...prayer for healing. And I refuse to leave this life!

Then, there is a refusal to be beaten by the cancer. We all react differently but all are determined to reflect the 'been to hell and come back in a fur coat' syndrome. I, for example, am determined to emerge as though from a chrysalis, thinner, with chic haircut - I saw the photo first, Kylie! - with uber-chic new wardrobe 10 years too young (but who cares), and a new sense of soignee calm, peace and maturity, reminiscent of the Dalai Lama. Hahahaha!

It is going to take ALOT of hard work, and will have to work on the 'act' in the next few weeks. Yes, yet another re-resolution to stick to macrobiotics, eschewing curry puffs, chee kuey, mee rebus, and Japanese kaiseki. Must practice calm demeanour in mirror every morning, meditate every night, exercise vigorously, and practice coping skills for dealing with inept service staff and taxi drivers who see the sign 'jam in tunnel' and yet head straight for it. Grghhh. Ok, deep breaths now...

Another commonality is the need to find a reason for it all. Someone said in her writing that breast cancer strikes at the very heart of what it means to be a woman - the hysterectomy, early menopause, the mastectomy - all forms of mutilation of womanhead. Why are we put through it? I am told by some that it is not a judgement (others tell me it is). Some say it is just luck of the draw. You know, I cannot believe it is all for nothing, just so we can go back to the way things were.

Initially, I focused on 'getting through this', so I could go back to my life. In actual fact, I am beginning to realise that this is my life now. I am changed by this disease. Moreover, I feel I have been changed on a level so fundamental I cannot see how much so just now. But when I think of my life BC (before cancer), I feel an inner rejection. I just do not feel it is enough anymore. I want more. But the question is - what? I do feel I need deeper, more visceral experiences, not the surface skimming I had before. The nine to five slog, the corporate environment, just doesn't do it for me anymore. I think of the executives and the games they play, the pally-wally, back-slapping, testosterone enhanced, male bonding childishness in the boardroom - good grief, is this what life is? How boring. Boys, you can have it.

Another commonality - the empathy with other cancer survivors, and the eventual acceptance of a life lived close to death. In the quiet, small hours, when I sometimes awake, I begin to think seriously about the final transition, how I would like to exit. I feel the old panic again, the fear, and the refrain of 'no, not yet' begins to echo in my mind again. Every time I talk to someone with cancer, we recognise this in each other, without having to speak of it. This is something that binds us all - the pink ribbon sisterhood.

This will, I am told, gradually go away after treatment and we get back to normal. But with every test, every physical event that does not seem normal - it all comes rushing back.

I am really grateful for the fact that I will be seeing my various doctors on a regular basis going forward. I cannot trust myself to know when something is wrong. I certainly didn't before. I want to put myself through the gamut of tests every 6 months, but am told I am overeacting. Well, it's my party and I'll panic if I want to! The fear may not go away, but I can somehow manage it if I do my bit.

Finally, cancer is a humbling experience. It tells us we are not in charge. And with every test, every check up, every symptom, we are reminded.

With all of this, how can one not emerge unchanged? We all, undountedly, have been. The question is: do we accept our changed selves and do we want to progress the change? Or revert? I, for one, think I would like to continue on this path to see where it takes me. I hope to be able to look back 5 years from now and see myself the better and happier for this experience. Fingers crossed...

I have had the last two days off and, not having had this luxury since I was first diagnosed, I have realised just how essential it is to be able to simply...rest. I was diagnosed in June and apart from the single week I spent in hospital, I have been at work 5 days a week ever since. My company does not give employees additional time off for extended medical treatment, apart from the standard hospitalisation leave. I do not have enough to cover the full six months of treatment and so am having to work through this.

At first, it was a relief, because I thought it would help me save my job, and keep my mind off the problems of cancer. Over the past months, however, and especially at a couple of points, the stress was pretty heavy going. In addition to juggling the usual workaday issues, legal issues, office politics, I am fighting - literally - for my health and ultimately, my life.

Now, with side effects becoming more manifest, I have taken a couple of days off simply to rest up. And what a luxury it is. I find myself calmer, quieter, happier. No perpetually ringing phones, endless grind of deadlines, people playing games. Such peace.

Everyone with a serious illness should have the right to a time out. It should be part of our employment act. But this is not always possible, even in more advanced societies. I have heard of people who have terminal cancer who had to work through treatment in order to keep their jobs to make sure their families are as well provided for as possible.

This, to me, is unacceptable. If people prefer to work, more power to them. But we should have a choice. It is bad enough facing a dreaded disease, it is even worse not being given the opportunity to really deal with it, come to terms with it - and here I am talking spiritually. The physical and medical side of things are easier to block out, because you are just prodded from one thing to the next - the doctors see to that. But spiritually - there is just you. And if you cannot find quiet time, spirituality does not get dealt with. There is too much internal noise.

To me, having cancer is a spiritual journey most of all. My mortality and the hereafter is suddenly front and centre. It is the biggest thing all of us will ever have to deal with. Cancer survivors, I have always felt - without being too morbid about it - are priviledged in a way because they now have the opportunity to think about their exit, their final journey.

The job situation, and other workaday, practical issues, should not stand in the way of this transition.

Our society has to recognise the non-material, and give cancer survivors and others with a dread disease time. And even if, as a society, we do not recognise the spiritual element, what about simply giving people the chance to just...rest? It is NOT civilised to expect people to carry on with their lives, in addition to dealing with major health issues. That many still have to do so is an indictment of our society, our materialism, our driven-ness, and the lack of sensitivity and caring for the needs of particular individuals amongst our lawmakers. We like to think that we are a sophisticated society, but the attitude to sub-groups shows us up.

Democracy is about serving the needs of many, while protecting the rights of the few. Cancer survivors are in the minority. It is time that people spoke up for this minority. Let's give them a break, and give them the best possible chance at an improved quality of life, post-diagnosis - physically and spiritually.

I have been on a macrobiotic diet (with numerous deviations!) for about four months now and I can honestly say, despite its many detractors, that there is something to it. For starters, when you first go on the diet, you go through a detox process and subsequently become much more sensitive to what your body wants and needs. So, for example, there will be days when you just want nothing except brown rice, strips of nori and an umeboshi plum. No other food or dishes. Then on other days, you need something with stronger flavours.

Whenever I cheat, even if it is a meal with a regular seasoning of salt, or a teeny bit of milk, that's it - lethargy immediately sets in, I need to nap for a while, and I need to rush to the loo to eliminate the food within an hour of eating it.

Bowel movements are extremely regular, and apparently this is good for the toxin elimination process.

Essentially, the strict macrobiotic diet is soothing and gentle (read: bland), unlike the spicy foods I grew up on, hence the deviations.

With the new chemo regimen I am on, fatigue hits harder. I find, however, that when I stick to the strict macrobiotic diet, my energy levels go right up. I could have an 'illegal' meal, but two macrobiotic meals later, I am on an energy high again.

I now exercise for an average of 75 minutes a day and feel completely revived at the end of the session. A scant four months ago, pre-macrobiotics, merely 20 minutes on the cross trainer would have given me shakey knees!

I have done alot of reading across the various cancer battling diets, and the common denominator for all is the brown rice or whole grain element, as well as the number of servings of vegetables, which are central to the macrobiotic diet.

In our lifestyle here in Singapore, though, and given the range of restaurants available, the biggest drawback is the fact that so much of our our social interaction takes place in restaurants, coffee houses etc. Being macrobiotic, the options are few - to only drink mineral water, or to cheat. I usually choose to cheat - and pay the price.

The price is not merely the energy drain - there is also the anti-climax. I simply LOVE MY FOOD, the more varied the better. I really look forward to meeting friends over meals. I plan all the food I want to eat, salivating all the time, sometimes even dreaming about it. But having eaten it, I am beginning to find that my tastebudss just don't relish these culinary out-takes as much anymore! It has become a sad anti-climax. And the worst is that there is no substitute experience. Is there just the mineral water route from now on? How very sad!

With the increasing health conciousness-raising in Singapore, I am keeping my fingers crossed that a truly swish macrobiotic bistro will open up here soon. Otherwise, I am going to be severely deprived, depressed and be a sad sack of a homebody because I cannot go out anymore and trust myself not to head for the nearest Old Chang Kee stall, that dastardly, 'we-are-everywhere' franchise of the chicken curry puffs of my youth! Even as I write this, I am thinking of heading out to get one - sheer force of habit, and what a strong force it is.

(It must be obvious by now, dear reader, but did I forget to mention that the word 'will-power' is not in my vocabulary?) Blame my Dad, I was raised on Benjamin Spock who advocated instant gratification for infants. Who says we don't remember anythhing we are told in our bassinets?

Well, it is the week before chemo again and it is the usual rush, rush, rush. And I am beginning to hate the new regimen I am on.It may be easier to take in terms of less constipation and less of a wierd feeling, but the side effects are much more evident - with FEC, my gums did not bleed, my toe nails did not fall off and I actually felt really great after about Day 8 - 10. Now, my gums bleed, my toe nails/nail beds are beginning to die, and I feel tired alot of the time. Not tired to fall asleep during the day, or sleep longer at night, mind. Just tired enough to still push on in spite of it.

I hate it. It is reminder of what is happening to me and that no matter how much I try to stick to the macrobiotic diet, and exercise (am up to one and a half hours each day - jog, tai chi and climb up 11 flights of stairs to apartment) I cannot run away from it. It is frightening to see/feel your body deteriorating, despite everything you are doing to get better. Once again, one is not in control. In actual fact, with cancer, there is no 'better'. There is just cancer that is evident, and then there is cancer that is non-evident. But the cells are there, prowling about, just waiting to take hold.

I went to see the radiation oncologist today - again, another scary round of side effects to wait for. At best, I will experience sunburn-like side effects, at worst the skin will deteriorate and peel off, exposing raw flesh, there could be some pain and I could lose the use of my arm. Oh, only one in a hundred experience that. Good grief, I have cancer - can I really expect to get lucky and be one of the 99 instead? Fingers crossed!

After six rounds of dose-dense chemo, I will still have cancer cells in me, which hopefully the radiation will kill.

In addition, I am told that tamoxifen, which will reduce the risk of recurrence, will also cause me to gain weight - breast cancer survivors report a range of 10 - 30 lb in weight gain. No, exercise will not help, nor will dieting. Most say the weight is there to stay. Not exactly reassuring, considering that breast cancer occurs in fat cells.

So, now, it is back to strict macrobiotics, only in smaller portions and more intense exercise. Got to get down to under my ideal weight asap before tamoxifen.

I am losing my grip - literally. I am dropping things all the time and I wonder if this is a sign of the neuropathy - loss of feeling in extremities. I do not close my fingers fast enough around the objects, so they fall. This is permanent, I'm told.

And, to round it off, I am losing my short term memory. Some days I feel I am min a fog and I cannot recall what I heard on the radio just seconds ago. Really.I find myself forgeting the simplest things - oh, why did you take out the onions again when I just put them away? Oh, did I not actually put them away? This is permanent and of course, being such a dedicated corporate soldier, my first thought was: how will I function in the workplace like this? Now, I am down to searching for books on how to stop Alzheimers' on Amazon.com. Maybe the mental exercises will help.

The only good thing is that - finally! - menopause has started. No period pain for the first time ever! Wonderful. Cannot wait to have the lot out. Mayhap the hysterectomy will mean more weight loss?

Must remind self - every cloud has a silver lining! Gotta look for, and antipate, them, and hope for the best. Got side effects? Well, at least I'm still alive to see another day...So, bring it on! Yeah. Ok.

I have spent the last 4 months going to and fro with my insurance companies, trying to get some of the compensation that was promised when I first bought all the policies. All the insurance agents told me that it would take 10 days at the most, that there would be no problems with payment. Yes, we have done lots of these claims before, ten days max. Really? Seriously?

The next time you buy any insurance policy against illness, beware. I now understand the extensive investigation these companies put every claim through - 10 days max? Forget it. First of all, they poll ALL registered clinics in Singapore for records of any visits you might have made to them. Think that all of these would respond in 10 days or less, if you include the time it takes to issue a cheque? Really? Seriously?

Then they wait to see if other insurers will be paying you. Why? For a precedence? Why? Surely one company's product has nothing to do with the other? Nope, they wait.

Secondly, these illness policies are the ones with the highest margins. These are the ones the agents are told to push. Why are they with the highest margins, given that 30% of the population has cancer? Go figure.

Like all major financial institutions, when it comes to taking your money, they cannot issue an invoice fast enough. But when the shoe is on the other foot, they drag along. What about people who need the money for treatment? Those people who are struggling to make ends meet for their families, and who, like the responsible adults they probably were, bought insurance to keep their families 'safe'.

Singaporeans really need to stand up for themselves and demand their rights. I know many other people who have been diagnosed, and the insurers refused to pay. Apparently they NEVER pay without question - the first move is always refuse to pay. Is this what one calls an honourable, even conscionable, way to do business, especially when insurance is supposed to protect us from disaster and crisis that devastates? Every time I see an insurance ad with the happy three generation family, I feel like choking. Apparently, Singaporeans, when confronted with crisis, prefer to get through it, then forget it, rather than litigate.And insurers make hay out of this.

Don't be fooled by your friendly insurance agents - they are trained to be friendly and encourage you to part with your money. On a good day, I think that they do not know better, that they themselves trust the company's sales pitch that they have been trained to parrot.

Check out the track record of the insurer first - like any other product, it's caveat emptor. You will be putting in a huge some of your hard earned cash over the years - make sure you get what you deserve, and have paid for, back.

A word about fatigue. If you are feeling tired over a period of time, weeks or months, you should get a check-up. I have recently discovered the meaning of fatigue - or rather, weariness. It is fatigue that won't go away, no matter how much you sleep. Or you are weary, but not tired enough to fall asleep. I have that now, and now I know it is because of the chemo, not because of remote office politics.

I have felt tired before, and in fact, I used to fall asleep in class in the afternoons. I had headaches and was convinced, at age 16, that I had a brain tumour. I went to see the doctor and he told me - guess what? - I was bored! Since leaving the classroom environment, and going to university where there was airconditioning, and since starting work, I hardly ever have headaches.

But I have been weary many times. I guess it is a consequence of being a bit of a workaholic and being in jobs which are deadline-driven. The days can be long and so my waking up feeling tired is not new.

However, I have to say that since just before Christmas of last year, I began to feel wasted by 3pm. I thought is was the work - one project after another, one business trip after another, no break until I was diagnosed with cancer in June. I wonder what my prognosis would have been if I had just listened to my body and had a check up back then.

I recall my aunt telling us that my Dad, who died of lung cancer, used to fall asleep while visiting them. If only he had had a check-up then, 10 years before he was diagnosed. An MRI would certainly have picked up his cancer.

My point is that the Singapore lifestyle of work, work, sleep, work, work, work, is a breeding ground for cancer. The stress, the lack of time to exercise, the quickly grabbed meals before we have to get back on the computer, coach the kids in their homework, drive them to their ballet and taekwondo classes - it is go, go go. No wonder we are tired. No wonder we do not notice, or think it is normal to feel tired. I listen to my friends talk about their lives and I feel empathetically fatigued.

Our lifestyle could be the death of us. Things are not going to get easier here. It is up to individuals to value their health, and to say: enough. Enough long hours, I am just going to leave the office while it is still light out.

Do yourselves a favour, seriously - call it a day - and get out of the office, spend time with your family, just veg. Free time with no agenda. Try it. It may be hard at first, but learning to listen to your body in quieter moments could save you. And if you are tired over a period of time - please, go get a check-up.

There was launched over the weekend an advertising campaign for hospice care in Singapore. It used shock tactics - the headline on the full page, text-only launch ad said: I have lung cancer - and how are you? The idea behind the ads was presumably to bring cancer out of the shadows, and to get the general population to look at terminal cancer patients as people who are still alive, just on their final journey. The TVC I saw had a man saying: Come join me on my final journey.

I must admit that while I support the sentiment, I did not appreciate the tactics. We are all, in a sense, on our final journeys, whether or not we have cancer, and whether or not it is terminal. To me, shock as a strategy is an extreme form of interruption marketing and denotes an agency that simply did not spend enough time trying to understand the brief properly, or a client that lacks imagination, resulting in a campaign that is lacking in sensivity and maturity.

To use terminally ill cancer patients as the springboard for this lack of imaginative power is reprehensible, and in poor taste. I am not sure what the objective of the campaign is, or why this strategy was necessary - the fact that this is unclear is another weakness of the campaign. Shock campaigning also may have the opposite effect ie, to turn people off.

The tagline 'lifebeforedeath' makes nonsense of the fact that everyone diagnosed with cancer should be buoyed up, given as much hope as possible. This is what makes the difference on our respective journeys. Even if one is terminal, there are so many treatment options available today that more and more, people are defying the odds and living longer than the original 3-5 month prognosis for terminal cancer.

To focus on death is to lose sight of the fact that each day that we are given is precious and should be lived for its own sake, not because the ending of it takes us a step closer to death. It is imperative after diagnosis to hold to a 'glass half-full' mindset.

Sure, cancer patients all face a loss of years, or weeks, of life. But to tell ourselves to live more fully just because of our wake-up call to me is doing the rest of humanity a disservice. I believe that as the ones receiving the wake-up call, we should be spending our time working with our loved ones to live better, indeed, live exceedingly well, even if we are not there to do so with them. And that means a focus on the quality of life in the here and now, and a readdressing of priorities. That is the legacy.

Paradoxically, a brush with death should really mean a resultant focus on life in all its forms, mysteries and glories. We none of us knows when the end will come - cancer or no. It is therefore irrelevant to focus on death. The message on cancer should be - celebrate life - NOW! This is what will keep cancer patients positive, and the attitude to cancer positive. Cancer needs to be taken out of the realm of dread whisperings, and made part of the buzz of daily conversation. It keeps us in the mainstream, and relevant. It keeps the discussion on cancer front and centre.

To highlight the terminally ill as being different from others is to marginalise them, and this is something that anyone with cancer will tell you they do not want - for themselves personally, or for their cancer.