And so we begin

It was that simple. 1.46am, Dionne Warwick on the i-pod, useless, useless Ibuprofen, and only 10 hours from the CT scan that's going to change my life, confirm my fears (you are such a pessimist, but you do tend to be right). How much would I pay for a clock that runs backwards?

Someone once said, "Write about the moment you were diagnosed." Good plan - better get on with it before the next diagnosis comes along and bumps it over the horizon.

As innocent a Friday morning as they come; sneaking an hour at Nitin's Cash and Carry en route to the office (half-term, who'd notice); Mrs. Nitin delving deep for the freshest coriander; the mobile rang - now normally, I never get to it in time, but, of course, this time, I did. Voice of a total stranger, never to be heard again, "I don't usually do this, but..", he'd just reviewed my mammogram, there were "irregularities", and all I had to do was phone my GP, she'd be expecting my call.

Now, when people say "my knees gave way", "the sky fell in", "everything stopped", I'd never actually realised that they meant it. In my already distorting memory, I sat abruptly down on a large sack of rice, but that might be merged in my head with visits to the miller with my tiny bag of wheat all that time ago, when India was India, not a close-your-eyes-and-pretend on the North Circular. I think Mrs. Nitin brought me a well-worn 3-legged stool, yes, far more likely. Suddenly, whether to go with one or two desserts for Saturday lunch seemed low on the priority list.

It's what happened to my mother. It's happening again. Surely I'm not old enough: the NHS wouldn't even give me a mammogram, I'm but a slip of a girl. This is ridiculous. I'm taking the shopping back home & going to work. Bloody ridiculous. So why am I crying? The Nitins are straight into sensible/religious worship mode: what's wrong? what's wrong? I've had some bad news, very bad news. Oh, dear, very bad, very bad. Pray to Krishna, he will help you. Here, take this agarbathi home and light it, he will help you.

And so I did - lit the incense, unloaded the vegetables, phoned a friend (my dearest, most sensible one), but went to work on autopilot just the same. Became involved in deep conversation with someone I'd never met in my life, but who thought I'd given him a rough ride on paper. And all the while he was harrumphing, I was thinking, "but I've got breast cancer". Welcome coffee with our D; and walking back through the gates, suddenly noticing, "D, I can feel it". "Don't be ridiculous", but I could, and I did, and it was. And that was that. Got to the GP's about 4 o'clock, and watched upside down as she ticked a box that said "Diagnosis of Cancer".

Two surreal, sleepless weeks later, lumpectomy, radiotherapy, tamoxifen, zolodex, zombiedom. Onward.