The tumour returned in July 2014. I'm besotted by my consultant, like every other patient who's life he has saved but he has the power to scare the living daylights out of me and he did that day in July. He's very smiley but kind of curls and cringes when he has bad news- understandably and with compassion. The sarcoma was back, the size of a grapefruit, attached to my aorta, my stomach, what was left of my pancreas and my diaphram. I sobbed, my sister sobbed and then I told him and the nurse who was there to hold my hand, about the trip to Paris I had booked in two weeks. I was terrified but ran towards it- the nurse agreed it was a good place to be alone and to get 'lost' in- so I went, with that old lover called adreneline and my Nikon camera...in the meantime we drank gin and tonic in the little pub by the Marsden and cried some more.