On Thursday, I saw off my family to school and work, deliberated over what to wear, then cycled the five-ish miles to the Guardian office in the sunshine. I checked emails and chatted to colleagues about plans for the day. It was all very much like 27 June 2022, with one major difference: at lunchtime I didn’t pop out to the hospital and come back with a breast cancer diagnosis.
Realising it’s already two years on from that day is a shock, but what’s weirder is to think of the same day a year ago. I had finished my chemo and radiotherapy and had had my surgery but I was still on targeted drugs and felt absolutely exhausted – just the thought of getting on my bike made me need a sit-down. My hair was thin and several different lengths, I looked strangely grey and I was working just two days a week.
