Well, folks. That dreaded day has arrived. The cancer is back - 2 small lesions in the lower lobe of the left lung. Detected during a routine PET scan. The overall 5-year survival rate, even with treatment, says my oncologist, is 30%. I was devastated.

For the first time since I was first diagnosed, I had decided to take a leap of faith and act out what I had always claimed, that God had healed me. So I had a small celebration dinner planned with some good friends at our favourite ci'zar place. For the first time since I was diagnosed 18 months ago, I had decided not to panic before the test, not to lie there in the dark while waiting to be scanned in a quivering mess, reciting Hail Marys, begging God for mercy.

I have spent the last two days blubbing and desperately searching for evidence that the scans might be wrong. The oncologists say there is a 10% chance. But that is simply a standard, fop, percentage. It's not real. The truth is that there are other indicators which would corroborate the suspicion of an erroneous reading. In this case, there was none. So, there I was hoping for a false positive. Hope gone, I'm afraid. The lesions are almost certainly malignant.

I am pissed off. There was no reason for the cancer to return - the diet, the exercise, the heavy dose of chemo, the ghastly Brand's Essence of Chicken, the constant juicing. My poor mother chopping and cooking all those special macrobiotic meals during my treatment, her hands drying out from the constant careful washing of vegetables. The cancer did not even have the good manners to wait years to come back - nope, it came back far too early, announcing itself as a 'bad' cancer. You can say that again. Early arriving guests are never welcome - I am always too busy doing some last minute panicking and cooking. Yet they still come.

I said to someone today that I thought God was a trickster, a prankster. Ask for a long life and he over-delivers - here comes forever, Simone! I am now afraid to pray. I am afraid of what I will get.

What next? I am seeing doctors for opinions on different treatment options. Each has different approaches. I keep hoping one might have a magic bullet. A little like how I used to see many different fortune tellers, hoping to find one that would tell me what I wanted to hear - wealth and happiness all round. Never asked about my health.

I know I have to make a decision fast. No point delaying things. I ask everyone reading this to say a prayer for me. For courage. For strength. And most of all, for a positive mental attitude. For the conviction that I will continue to live here on Earth, live this temporal life, and live it many, many long years to come, in perfect health. Pray that I will beat the odds. Please God.