[Editor's Note: This is the full version of the Alternative Guide to Surviving Breast Cancer. A shorter version was featured in the UnderGuide slot on the Front Page on (enter date).]

Ok, I have finally succumbed to my nagging grey cells and decided to write it all down. Frankly I am still battling with the fact that I like to think I have no ego, therefore, no one on this planet should feel remotely interested in a word I have to say or, in this case, write. Still – those grey cells keep reminding me that it has been 10 years. I did a deal with myself all those years ago.

It's not like I have totally ignored the deal. I mean, I have marked this 10th anniversary so far by doing something out of character. Not like a total mid life crisis occurrence, although I think some of my friends are thinking that is what I am experiencing. Well, I promise, there is no toy boy waiting to whisk me away or a little sports car with my name on it.

I blame the daffodils. There were ten of them – another reminder of my ten-year deal. I bought them late last year. Ten little bulbs of such promise. They were specially modified so that the trumpets were pink in aid of breast cancer research and I bought them on a Breast Cancer Care charity night ran by QVC late last year. They were planted later than they should have been (I am definitely not an Alan Titchmarsh) and so only bloomed in late April and they kept going through most of May. Ten tall stalks with pink trumpets reminding me. One for each year since I made the deal.

I should have known better, perhaps it was not the best way to do something worthy in my life but I saw the advert on QVC. Yes, I do watch and buy from QVC, the shopping channel! It is the same as being an alcoholic and admitting it. Once you do, you feel better and you find others start to admit it, too. I currently work in a very corporate environment where everyone likes their designer gear and don't even think about staying in any hotel less than 5 stars. All on the company, of course. So shopping with QVC is like a guilty secret... you only tell a few people and even then you only admit to the branded purchases.

Oh yes, Birkenstocks are wonderfully comfortable and so fun. Where did you get them?

Err, QVC.

Oh really? Don't they sell plastic jewellery?

Not really, they sell a lot of great things. I buy lots of Molton Brown, Philosophy, and Liz Earle. I even buy Bose music systems for my husband.

Good God! I'll have to have a look next time I'm home.

I have had those conversations so many times. Always in whispered, reverential tones. I think I am a mini PR person for QVC; so many of my friends and colleagues are now members because I have confessed my guilty secret! Actually, I can never work out why there is such snobbery about it all. So listen up, I have a good job with lots of perks, live in a very nice area, and I buy from QVC, so there! Up yours with knobs on. It is so annoying that people think they know what QVC do but have never watched it. My business brain (this part of my brain only takes up two grey cells) says if I was running QVC marketing I would definitely do some PR campaign to ensure all those people out there understood how good QVC is. Try it and you are hooked.

The only purchase I have ever regretted were some slimming knickers. Most of the people I work with are stick thin and glamorous. I am not. The pants were the only option, although I did buy a set of CDs by Paul McKenna to programme my mind to help me to lose weight. I have never got past the first CD as I always fall asleep half way through. I have absolutely no idea what Paul says I should do to help me to lose weight. I am a hopeless case and so the knickers were my only hope. They gave me a flatter stomach but sadly they also gave me four mono breasts from the skin above the line of the waist band that was pushed under my several chins. It was not quite the look I wanted. Especially as I also appeared to have breasts on my back too. How the hell do you get back fat? The other problem with the slimming pants were that I could not get the waist band up high enough so every time I sat down and then stood up the waist band rolled down. People noticed!

What’s that poking out under your top?


Nothing, must be the lining.


Are you sure? You remind me of that scene from Alien – are you sure nothing is working its way out of your abdomen?

Still, I am confident that someone in the future will find something for pendulous abdomens that will retain them without the complications. If I could just stay awake and actually listen to Paul McKenna then I may be able to burn my undies.

Come to think of it, fashionistas would say I made another mistake with the purple poncho I bought from QVC in February. I purchased it because I love purple and it was all glittery and pretty. Well it was on the 6ft 2" model who wore it when I first saw it. I fell in love immediately. I had to have it. I thought I would look like a goddess and that men would stop and stare in awe at my beauty and all the local beautiful people would envy my effortless chic style. I don't think that is how I looked when I finally wore the poncho to Tesco. I forget that I am 5ft 3" and a size 18. I am not sure if I am over weight or under tall. I checked my body mass index and I should be 7ft 6". I looked like a sparkly Dairylea cheese triangle. Small children pointed at me. I have never worn it out since but I do get it out of the wardrobe from time to time and swish up and down in my bedroom doing the same moves as the model did when I first set eyes on it.

I am 42 years old. I am waiting for that moment when middle aged maturity hits. So far it has not happened. I may go and get my purple glitter poncho now to help me in my toils in writing this. It may give me the look of a bohemian poet.

Back now. Poncho on. Still look like a sparkly Diarylea triangle but will pretend I look like Princess Tatiana.

So the dilemma. Ten years. Need to do something. Then I saw the advert on QVC about the nation-wide search for their new presenter which would be run in conjunction with a national newspaper. My dream job! I remember saying to my husband that I thought I might apply as I would love to work for QVC. He laughed. A lot! "You! You! Very funny. The post office will go into mourning if you get a job there. You are keeping our postman in work with all the things you buy from Q. V. bloody C."

He had a point. I know I need therapy. As he pointed out, I really had a face and body for radio!

I told my two teenage children that I might apply. My youngest, who is thirteen, was actually quite sweet. He actually encouraged me to go for it! No laughter, no jokes... just encouragement! Blimey. Of course this boost to my confidence was short lived. My fourteen-year-old daughter put an end to that. She did a kind of scream. "Nooooooooooo. Mum. Nooooooo. You can't. I will not tell my mates. How could you? I will not be able to walk around our village if anyone knows. I am not going to be able to tell anyone that my mum works at QVC. I am never going to watch you on the telly. Oh. My. God."

Great. Bollocks to them. I made a deal. I filled in an online application. Quality. Value. Convenience.

I sent the application off and thought it best to forget about it... nobody will be interested. They will check my application and then look at my membership history and realise I order fat bird clothes. They won't call me for an audition. They will know I look like a sparkly Dairylea cheese triangle in my purple poncho.

Strangely, I did get a response. An email arrived asking me to attend the Birmingham auditions!

Shit.

My daughter nearly fainted. "You are not going to Birmingham are you? Don't go! You can't do an audition! You are not an actress. Mum, you are a manager. Mum, you used to be a nurse. Mum, you just can not do it. You can't do it! It will be sooooo embarrassing. Oh no, if my mates find out about this I will die."

I started to agree with her. She had a point. It did say "audition". I have no talent. I can balance a spoon on the end of my nose. When I sing along with my iPod I think I am Barbra Streisand/Maria Carey/Whitney Houston. I sound like a strangled cat. As for dancing, think Dawn French doing ballet.

Still, ten years. I did make a promise. I don't break promises. Sod it. It's not like I have never made a fool of myself. I have done all of the following:

• Walked down the hight street with my skirt tucked into my big knickers.
• Got drunk and decided to have a snack in bed and woke up the next morning with a Wagon Wheel biscuit stuck to the side of my head. I looked like Princess Lea from Star Wars (on acid).
• Wet myself hundreds of times... not that I have a particularly weak bladder, but in my job I do lots of driving and whenever they close the M6/M62/M1 etc, I am normally one of the poor idiots stuck in my car in the horrendous traffic jams that ensue. I am never near a hedge. I have tried wearing a long flowing skirt so that if you are in a situation where you are stranded on the M6 and there are no bushes, you can discreetly put your hand down the back of your skirt and, ahem, part your gusset and by standing with your legs slightly apart, allow the river to flow! No one will know what you are doing. Crouching is so obvious. However, it does not work. I had not considered the wind direction. Whilst the front of my skirt was pristine, the back got soaked. I did once wee in a plastic shopping bag in my car by trying to hide in the footwell. I discovered those bags have holes in. My car got a lot of urine sprayed in it. I have no idea who now owns the wee car. I did put a lot of pine disinfectant on the carpets and washed the leather seats so, fingers crossed, the current owner is none the wiser. Since then, some of the women I work with carry a large cooler box in their cars. For emergencies! Apparently, they fit in the footwell of most family cars and make perfect commodes.
• When I first had laser treatment to remove my beard and moustache (I am quite a hottie aren't I?) I did not realise that you smell like a pork scratching afterwards and arranged to meet friends to go out. They were obviously not only disturbed by the smell of crispy pork fat but the fact that my face resembled a blotchy marshmallow.
• I once was lucky enough to have a Saab convertible company car. I thought I was the dog's danglies. One day at some traffic lights I decided to wash the windscreen. I pressed the button and realised that when the roof is down that most of the windscreen wash ends up on the driver. I got soaked. The man in the car next to me at the junction did not hide his amusement. "Not had a shower this morning luv? You'd better get some windscreen wipers on your sun glasses!" Bastard.

So you see I have known shame and embarrassment. After all, no one would know who I was and, as the audition was on a Saturday, I could use the day as a great day to myself abandoning my routine of doing the weekly shop. Birmingham is such a special place for me. I did my nurse training there and got to know the West Midlands Police Force very well. (The main police station was opposite the nurses' home). Don't judge me, it was only one force!

So on the 30th June after several changes of outfit (I went for the monochrome look – I left my poncho at home), I found myself driving to Birmingham.

For the whole journey I was cool as a cucumber. It was absolutely pouring with rain and I could barely make out the road markings. Strangely not even the traffic jams on the M6 near Birmingham upset me. I had no sudden urges to wee in the car. It was all going so very well. That was until I walked through the door of the hotel and saw the reception for the auditions.

I nearly turned around and ran away. There were hundreds of people milling around all with numbers stuck on their tops. A really lovely lady with a pink sash with QVC written on it asked me my name. It took all my memory to recall who the hell I was. She was so sweet and just smiled and stuck two sticky labels on my jacket. I was no longer a person, I was now definitely a number.

I was shown into a huge room with lots of other people with stickies all looking nervous. I tried to get a grip and act like this was nothing new to me. I decided to strike up a conversation with each person who was sat next to me. A lovely looking lady who definitely had Monsoon clothes on was my first new chum.

Hi, it's all a bit nerve racking isn't it?


Yes, but you do get used to auditions don't you?


Erm, really, oh well I have not done an audition before.


Oh, aren't you an actress?


No. Are you?


Oh yes, of course!

Silence. She got a book out of her bag. I did not blame her. I could not think of much to ask her as the world of the thespian is a distant memory for me. I did do 'A' level Drama and Theatre Arts but that is as far as it went. I basically pratted about a lot in bare feet and pretended to be a tree, etc. Although I do remember being in Brecht's Antigone. It was very dark and I did not understand any of it.

I tried the lady sat on the other side of me whom I have to admit was the most immaculately dressed person I had seen in some time. Her clothes were definitely made for her, or certainly looked that way. She exuded quality. I had an ugly Betty moment.

Hi, I was just saying to the other lady how nerve racking this is.


Yes, I suppose it is.


I really like your outfit. You look absolutely lovely. (I hoped at this point she did not think I was coming on to her. I assumed she must be used to compliments but made sure I raised my left hand as I chatted so she could see my wedding ring!)

Oh thanks.

Then I had to do it, rather than leave it at that I continued to heap praise on her and let her know I knew I was not in her league of effortless style.

I bet you will do well. You are so glamorous, you look great and you will look lovely on the television. Gosh, I knew I should not have come. I am the most unglamorous person you could meet. I am just not going to be what they want. I suppose I am a dumpy looking woman and that is not what people want to see and I am not at all showbiz. Everyone I have met so far is an actress or actor. I am just a normal woman.

Without flinching she turned and looked at me properly for the first time.

Oh, don't say that. I honestly doubt I will get through. I'm not likely to be the sort of person they are looking for. I am not really QVC! Let's face it the average QVC viewer is middle aged and probably spends a lot of time at home and does not get out much. Actually, I think you would be perfect and just what they are looking for.

She did not even blink as she said it. I smiled back at her and thanked her for her "compliment".

Fortunately at that point I was called into another room with my two new actress chums and a couple of other people. The first stage involved a discussion with an assessor as to why you wanted to work as a presenter for QVC. It was timed. I did not run out of things to say. Believe me, I can talk for England. I can talk so much that I can now breathe through my ears. It is a talent in more ways than one!

The whistle blew and then we were told that the assessor was going to produce something and we had to sell it for a minute. The item was a bottle of water. I loved that exercise. Brilliant. I will not bore you with how I sold the water but sometimes I wish I could have had a daft moment and said things like:

• Water is good for you as it flushes out your kidneys. I should know, I remember the time I was in a traffic jam on the M6 and...
• Water used to be known as "corporation pop" when I was a kid...
• Our bodies are made up of 97% water, in my case the water is very dense...

I did not say any of the above, thank goodness. Anyway whatever rubbish I said the lady smiled and wrote things on a piece of paper.
We were escorted back into the main room with all the other future-presenters-in-waiting.

The actress with the book said she hated the bottle selling exercise. The "you will be perfect" actress said nothing and inspected her nail varnish. I was more worried that I was now on the front row of the big room and when they called your number out and you had to do the rejected walk of shame, that everyone would see me go. Damn.

Very soon a very trendy looking lady came with a microphone. She must have been important. She had the mic and she was going to use it!
"If I call your number please stand up". Well I braced myself. I had worked out which was my nearest exit and how I could secretly do the walk of shame. I hoped I would remember to pull in my stomach.

"Ok, here we go." She called out one number.

Silence.

I then realised it was my number that she had called out so I stood up. I swear during the whole time all I could think about was how big my arse must have looked to all those rows of people behind me. "You are through. Thanks to everyone else. Take care and get home safely."

Before her words sunk in some enthusiastic QVC people with their pretty pink sashes came up to me and congratulated me. I don't think a single word escaped my lips at that point. I know I could have been mean and turned to my actress chum who said I would be perfect for the job and congratulate her on her prediction, but I am not like that. I sometimes wish I was like Joan Collins in Dynasty but no, it is no good, I can not do it. I did think it though!

I was accompanied to the next part of the audition in a room with lots of QVC items. I was told to choose one to sell on camera, and that a panel of some of the team at QVC, which included one of their senior presenters whom I had spent many an hour with, would also be watching me. (She was unaware that I had spent so much time with her, as my hours with her were me watching her present items on QVC. That is why broadcasting of any sort is so weird. Everyone thinks they know you. Poor woman, as far as I was concerned we were best mates. By the way, I do wish I had asked her for her beauty tips – I suspect she must drink the blood of virgins as she looks so young and she has never hidden her age so I do know how old she is. She also has a twinkle in her eye too; I suspect she is a great laugh.)

Now, I have to make a confession. I am a workaholic. I am a pleaser. I am a deep thinker. I am mischievous. However, I am not remotely domesticated. Not even a bit. I will gladly put in a 14-hour day for the company I work for, but give me an iron or a duster and I swear I will be traumatised. So why the hell did I chose a juicer to demonstrate to the panel as opposed to the bag, Molton Brown products or jewellery that were available for me to present? Oh no, I chose the Jack Le Lanne juicer.

A bloody juicer.

I am a size 18.

I treat my body like a temple.

Temple Bar.

What was I thinking? My husband once bought me one of these state-of-the-art coffee machines that you see in all the restaurants or beautiful designer kitchens. I used it once. It took 2 hours to clean the damn thing after making a thimble of coffee.

Before I went in, a lovely lady with a very high-pitched voice soothed my nerves. She complimented me on my outfit. Now I can take an insult, no problem at all. Oh, but compliments are torture. I squirm and say something negative. Fortunately, I had no time to tell her about my problems with elasticated pants as I was taken into the room to do my audition.

So, believe it or not, I had the audacity to stand with my legs trembling in front of a judging panel of three senior people from QVC all watching me "sell" them a juicer. I am surprised they heard a word I said. For a start my legs were knocking and wobbling so hard that it looked like I had stuffed a couple of ferrets up my skirt. My top lip also stuck to my teeth so it was impossible to pronounce any words. I could barely look at the senior presenter; I was a bit over-awed at seeing my chum sitting there.

I can not remember the full horror of what I said, but it was probably something like this (Join in the fun, stick your top lip to your teeth with glue and actually stick ferrets up you skirt or trousers and repeat after me in a gulpy, breathless squeaky voice.):

Today I would like to show you this amazing juicer by Jack Le Lanne. Jack was one of the first people to win a body building competition. His name sounds French. He is American. He started the craze for TV keep fit shows in America. My kids are teenagers, they don't eat vegetables. My son thinks a potato waffle is a vegetable. If I had a juicer I could make sure he got his five a day. I have not had my five a day today. I had a sandwich for lunch. It had no salad on it. I never get my five a day. Let's look at the juicer. (I turn to the juicer which is on a table next to me and my mind goes even more numb). Oh look, it is stainless steel. The plunger is sturdy. You can put whole fruit or veg down that bit. Oh look that is where the juice comes out! You can put this in the dishwasher. If I had this I would make cocktails. At Christmas I would make punch with it.

I was finally put out of my misery by one of the judges saying "time up".

At that point I was really hoping the fire alarm would go off or maybe aliens would land in Birmingham. Sadly I had to endure the panel feedback. The first judge said I should smile more, the second judge, my old mate, said she also wanted me to smile at her and I didn't, but she thought I had good fluency! The head of the presenters said I was likeable and despite losing it a bit in the middle (!), I got back on track. They all then said they would put me through to the next round in London.

If I could have found a psychiatrist at that point I would have had the whole panel sectioned for their own good. I could not believe that they were going to put me through. I was again escorted out the room by the pink sash people only to be met by another of the QVC presenters. She had a camera crew and asked me how I had done? The only thing I remember was how overwhelmed I was by how beautiful that woman is. I swear she has the skin of a peach. I did not tell her how gorgeous she was, as again, I was clearly having a day of finding other women attractive so I just said I had got through and then shyly tried to escape. I hate having a photo taken, so being filmed was beyond painful.

I was then given my "next steps" folder and a QVC mug. Magic.

I drove home in a trance. No loo breaks, no radio, no CD or iPod playing. I just drove home in silence. My mug carefully nestled in my Mulberry handbag. (By the way, my lovely husband spent hundreds of pounds on that bag for my birthday. He is a mad, romantic man. I now feel I have to take the bag everywhere. I will use it until the day I die. No bag should cost hundreds of pounds. My dad used to think if anything was over £5 it was expensive, so for me to own such an expensive bag, it feels wrong and I am sure he is turning in his grave as I write this. That is why I use it. I must get my money's worth out of it. Of course I love the fact that I have it, but still, I felt so bad when I found out how much is was, that I made sure I gave extra to Comic Relief this year. I know it does not really balance things out but it made me feel momentarily better).

When I arrived home the immediate response was that my QVC mug must have been a consolation prize. When I revealed my "next steps" pack, the response was quite different. My daughter went back to her hysterical mode whilst my son and husband laughed. Great. Still, I was secretly impressed with myself. Even a woman who is under tall and whose wobbly bits are too much for big knickers can get through an audition.

After reviewing the pack I realised the fact that things were about to get worse. I was going to London.

I was going to the studio.

I was going to have to do a presentation in the studio.

I was going to make a complete and utter idiot of myself.

The day they said they would ring me to let me know what I needed to prepare for the next steps I would be in Florida on holiday so would not get the chance to talk to anyone. Buggar! Still, there was an up side, I could go and buy my next audition outfit in the interim. Hooray!

I took one of my friends from work to help me chose something. I normally wear purple or black but for some bizarre reason I chose some clothes in red. Yes, red! Not exactly the most shrinking violet of colours. Not a colour I ever wear! The other thing I had not considered was that I was about to have a holiday in Florida and immediately on my return I would then go to do the next audition. I bought the red outfit prior to the holiday. I returned from Florida the shade of a boiled lobster. My skin now matched my clothes. The one thing that made my holiday complete was actually seeing an advert for the Jack Le Lanne juicer on American TV. Jack did it himself. His hair looked considerably younger than he did. He put a whole cucumber in his juicer. He stuck melons, grapefruits, in fact everything that Carmen Miranda wore on her head went into that juicer. I was very impressed.

The other slight hitch was whilst I was in Florida I managed to slip not one, not two, not even three, but seven discs in my back and neck. I spent my holiday in agony. On my return to the UK my GP prescribed some Diazepam to try to reduce the spasm in my neck and back, as well as some anti-inflammatory drugs and other drugs to prevent the side effects of the anti-inflammatory drugs (namely gastro-intestinal bleeding!).

Someone from QVC gave me a quick ring to check I was ready for my big day and to ask about my holiday in Florida. I told her I had a few problems when I was on holiday with my back. She recommended the anti-inflammatory drugs I had been prescribed. I told her I was on them already but decided not to point out that they gave me diarrhoea and made me bleed from my stomach so that going to the loo was always fun, fun, fun! I also did not tell her that the Diazepam three times a day was mixing with the Methadone I already took for nerve damage and was turning me into someone from the "Living Dead" movie. Instead I heard myself saying, "Oh thanks for calling. I will bring a bag to sell for my bit in the studio if that is OK, and yes I am sure the anti-inflammatory drugs will help. See you on Thursday. Bye."

Now, I know casually dropping into this story that I take a heroin substitute is perhaps not the norm for a woman who prances about in a purple poncho. To be honest, 10 years ago, I would never have anticipated that I would be on Methadone, or that I would ever consider purchasing a purple poncho.

Ten years ago I was a normal 32-year-old woman with two children that I had twenty months apart from each other. I also had a marble shaped lump in my left breast and felt permanently knackered. I used to tell myself that I was tired as I work in a very competitive, highly demanding job. However, being an ex-nurse I think I always knew what the marble in my breast was. I remember vividly going for the biopsy and having a cup of tea at the hospital whilst I awaited the results with my husband who sat nervously at my side. I even remember the irony of being shown into "the bad news room" by the Consultant. (When I worked as a nurse, if we had to give bad news, we had a nice room that looked less clinical with wall paper and soft furnishings. We used to deliver the blow there.) So it was quite strange sitting on the coach waiting for the inevitable words. "I'm afraid you have cancer. We can bring you in on Sunday for theatre on Monday and I'll do a mastectomy if you want me to or, if possible, I might be able to do a wide excision. Do you have any questions?"

Isn't it weird, sometimes you feel so much pain and shock that no words come out. In fact no noise comes out at all. Silence.

To be honest, that was not really the worst day. The worst day was after the operation. When I went back after my surgery to sort out whether I needed chemotherapy and/or radiotherapy, my surgeon told me that I had an invasive ductal carcinoma that had spread through my lymph nodes. I did not need to Google that to know that survival rates for this type of tumour were not good. Although ten years on, things are looking much better for anyone with this diagnosis.

The next six months life was full of challenges. I call this period in my life "My Summo Wrestler Period". Chemo does not exactly make you look or feel your best. I got used to my new look and frankly it was one of the few times in my life where I was liberated about my appearance. I did not care.

I will not bore you with the things that happen to you when you have chemo, but I chose to remember the funny things that happen and rarely allow myself to remember the really bad bits. As for radiotherapy, well that has left me a permanent reminder in the fact I know have an amazing burn that has scarred me across the left side of my upper body. My poor surgeon would be really pissed off. He did the most intricate surgery and ensured that my operation scar was as neat as the stitches on the finest silk dress. Then I was burned to a crisp!!!

Anyway, that is where the deal is starting to come in. Whilst I was receiving my money's worth of NHS treatment, to get me through it all, I would make a deal with myself to achieve something each day. They started off small and were very short term and then they got more adventurous and eventually I could project myself challenges for the future. Here are a few of them. (By the way I always imagine this list being read out by the man who does the voice overs for all the movies that come out. It also helps to have Whitney Houston singing "One Moment in Time" in the background.)

• Get out of bed and get dressed before the children are home from nursery and primary school.
• Only cry when you are on your own in the shower so no one can hear you. Smile at everyone you see today.
• Look at the dew on the grass when you walk the dog.
• Don't hide today when you get dressed or undressed.
• Make it to my 33rd birthday.
• Go commando.
• Act like everything is Ok and it will be.
• Book a holiday.
• Stay alive to see both children complete primary school.
• Get promotion this year at work.
• See both children complete middle school.
• Move house.
• Get my belly button pierced!
• Make sure Bab has the best 50th birthday pressie ever. (Bab is a pet name for my husband!)
• See both children get to secondary school and complete their education!
• Make it to my 40th birthday and go on a fantastic holiday to celebrate.
• Live your life everyday and do not take anything or anyone for granted.
• Make sure everyone you love knows how much you really do love them.
• Ignore the pain; it is possible to live with it. Don't ever let it stop you doing anything.
• Visit all the continents in the World.
• Get an upgrade on a flight.
• See the Chrysler building lit up at night.
• Buy a vibrator and use it!
• Do something amazing when you make it to 10 years of survival.
• Get discharged from hospital.

Most of this list I have done, although the list is much longer than this sample. It is never-ending. The discharge from hospital will hopefully happen in December this year. As my wonderful oncologist said to me last year, "Well, we have known each other since we were man and boy." She is an amazing Irish woman and many women like me owe our lives to her.

I still have never had an upgrade on any airline; maybe the purple poncho would swing it in my favour. I also have not yet visited all the continents of the World or seen the Chrysler building lit up at night. I still have Asia and Australia to go. My children are also still at secondary school so I need to hang around for a good few more years to see them complete their education. As for the vibrator... no I am typically old-fashioned regarding this one, much to the amusement of some of my more liberated female friends.

So you can see, one of the deals I made for myself was that I would do something amazing for my 10th year anniversary. I knew originally the odds of making it were stacked against me so this year is personally a really special one for me. Although auditioning to be a QVC presenter was not what I could have ever imagined doing! Still, I decided to go for it. It was a job I would savour so I turned down my internal negative self talk and went for it.

Due to the treatments I have had to get rid of the cancer, I have ended up with permanent nerve damage which affects my left upper body. Basically, my brain tells me that I am in pain - permanently. It will not switch off. It's there now. All the time. So that is why I take Methadone. I never wanted to take it due to all the stigma around it. I also knew that once I used it, it was unlikely that I would ever be able to stop using it. The Palliative Care Consultant at the hospice told me that. However, Methadone is used a lot to help people like me. I realised my anxiety was based on a prejudiced view of the poor addicts I had seen in the past glugging bottles of the stuff to get them through the day. Cancer patients who have the same issues as me, take small amounts as Methadone also has a beneficial side effect. It is a nerve blocker. So, I take a very small amount twice a day to help block the nerve pathway that tells my brain I am in pain. It does not stop it completely, but it is a bit like turning the volume down on the pain. It is always there but more like background noise.

On the evening of Wednesday, 8th August, I travelled by train to London to stay at Sloane Square Hotel ready for my next day at the studio. By the time I got to the hotel, with the combination of slipped discs and pain in my left side I was not in a good way. I went straight to my room and lay on my bed. I took another Diazepam as my neck had now completely seized up. What was I doing? I reminded myself that in my job I am always travelling and often have a bad day due to having to take luggage with me which aggravates the pain. Normally the only thing I need help with is carrying anything, and as I drive many miles, I always have an automatic car as the issues are on my left side and to keep changing gear can send the pain over the Richter scale. I have never taken a sick day from work due to my nerve damage. Ever. So I certainly was not going to let the combination of slipped discs and the nerve pain stop me now.

Once the drugs kicked in I decided to practice my sale in front of the mirror. I was going to sell a Kipling bag that had been my trusty companion in Florida. (I know I have a Mulberry bag but this is the bag I put inside it as it is light and fits loads of stuff in it and in Florida I certainly would have looked an idiot carrying a big oversized Mulberry bag around the theme parks. Not that I went on any rides. The slipped discs put an end to that!)

Now I had planned to tell stories about the usual issues that face all women who have bags that you have to rummage in. The Mulberry bag is one such bag. These bags are brilliant fun but you can never find anything in them. It is not always a problem because a good rummage inside is quite satisfying. However, if you are in Tesco trying to find your credit cards with a big queue behind you, then having a good rummage is not a good thing. You can hear the audible tutting from the queue as you spend twenty minutes trying to get your lost credit cards out. Also, I end up having a Mary Poppins moment. You know where she pulls out a hat stand, lamp, table, etc. from her carpet bag? Well with me, if I have to empty my Mulberry bag to find something, there is always a decaying tampon in the bottom of my bag that I end up pulling out in front of everyone. I don't know how many times I have checked my bag, and thought all was well, no old Tampax in here. As soon as I go into the shop or go through customs at the airport, sure enough there the bloody thing is, frayed paper bursting open to reveal a fraying tampon with fluff everywhere!

Now with the Kipling bag, well this never happens. There is a place for everything and everything has its place. I practised my stories and thought it best to just be myself. I practiced in my drug induced state until I could not stand looking at myself in the mirror anymore and decided to put in an odd funny story. That is more in keeping with who I am. I like the sound of laughter and I like to make people laugh - whether intentionally or not. I decided not to go into detail regarding the tampon. I thought I might say something about how sometimes when you rummage you take things out of your bag that you did not mean to and you always find surprise items in your bag that you did not know were in there!

I did not sleep a wink.

It was a relief when daylight arrived and I went down for breakfast. I knew the drugs were too much on an empty stomach and I could not take the anti inflammatory drugs without food either. I could not stomach a cooked breakfast and attempted to eat a bowl of muesli. Not a good choice. It would not go down! I glanced around the restaurant and saw other nervous people like me all trying to eat. Once I checked out I met up with those people in the main entrance to the hotel where a car came to collect us.

I tried to make the others laugh by reading out our horoscopes in the driver's newspaper. It did break the ice as some of the horoscopes were funny. Mine was not accurate. It said I would find love at last and I should accept this in my heart. Not any mention of "Today you will amaze everyone with your wit and charm. As for any presentation you do today, well you know it's a winner and so does everyone around you. You will also look tall, elegant and not remotely like a sparkly Diarylea cheese triangle, not even a hint of dumpiness will be associated with you. Leave the slimming pants at home." Still, it was too much to expect and at least the horoscope I had was better than some of my new QVC "presenter-in-waiting" chums!

I will not name my new found pals in case some of them that did not get through and do not want to be identified. The only thing I will say is that they were all absolutely fun, charming, kind, lively and dynamic. I can not tell you how much their energy helped me to get through that day. The other thing I will say is that every person who works for QVC was professional and friendly. They made you feel welcomed into their world. I am sure that they must sometimes have days they don't like working for QVC like we all do in our respective jobs, however, I suspect they don't have many days like that. They are a great bunch of people.

The day started with some ice breaker-type chats (all on camera in front of each other). I really enjoyed this. It was a nice way to start to get to know everyone and as I said, I knew that I instantly liked all the people there.

The day progressed with a selling skills presentation on how we should sell. Some of the presenters talked about their experiences. That's when I began to think about the reality of the 3 minutes on camera. No time for Mary Poppins stories, no time for embarrassing items stories. We practised doing a three-minute presentation on a chosen topic on camera, to get used to the timing, and although I touched on the cancer topic, I kept it upbeat as on any assessment day it is really important to keep your energy levels up and I did not want to dampen the mood of the great group of people I was with. The other weird thing is if you actually survive you do get a bit of an odd guilt complex. I have lost so many family and friends in the last ten years and so often I ask myself why am I still here? It is a pointless question of course. Still one thing that always happens is that when you hear of anyone who may be a stranger to you, going through it, you can not help but feel some pain for them. It is just the way it is.

As the day progressed we got our assigned timings for our studio presentations. Mine was scheduled for 4pm, next-to-last to go. My heart sank. I knew I would not be able to hold out without taking another Diazepam prior to doing the studio presentation. The pain was getting too much. My smile was beginning to wane. I was touched by one very sweet lady who came up to me as I paced the floor. People kept saying "you look so nervous". The truth was of course I was but I was also really badly in pain and pacing the floor was quite comforting. Plus sitting too long made my spinal cord nerve endings jangle. This sweet lady offered to let me practise with her as she had already done her presentation. We went to a side room and I went through my presentation. I even put in some funny stories. She was sweet enough to laugh. She liked the Mary Poppins stories. I will always be grateful to her.

Time passed. Four pm and they were running late so I could hold out no longer. The Diazepam went down with a Diet Coke. Big mistake! When I got into the studio I do remember telling someone that I had to take the Diazepam as my neck and back were hurting too much. I remember someone laughing and saying "Don't fall asleep". I told the ladies in the studio that one of their colleagues had called my bag the "bag of doom" because earlier in the audition process only one person who tried to sell the Kipling bag got through. I had to smile because in my ear I heard someone say "Bag of Doom, action".

I did the presentation. I did not do any stories. I tried to smile remembering the feedback from Birmingham. Before I could blink it was over.

On the journey back to the station I travelled with some of the great people I had met that day. We kissed and hugged goodbye at Euston station. We must have looked like a bunch of friends saying our farewells. Never to see each other again! I swapped my heels for my Birkenstocks. Relief! I travelled home in a drugged stupor. Despite everything, I actually felt happy. I had a great day. I met some great people. I think I also spotted a potential winner who I shall not name to protect the innocent! Although if my prediction is right they had been in the taxi with me in the morning and we had travelled to the studio together and they have lost shed loads of weight! Good luck to you!

A very polite lady from QVC rang last week. I knew what she was going to say.

I'm sorry you did not get through. On camera in the studio your bubbly personality did not shine through.

She was the sweetest woman. I did not tell her I had enough drugs in me to knock out a herd of elephants because it does not really matter. I believe that I was never destined to do it. Plus the final stage is voted for each week by the public. Can you imagine my reaction to that! "Erm don't vote for me... vote for such and such, they are far more ________ (fill in the blank) than me." Or even worse... the poor public watching me on TV, all scratching their heads "Hey George, do we have wide screen TV? This mad woman who appears to have an alien coming out of her stomach is filling the screen. She looks under tall to me." "Is that the one who looks like a sparkly Diarylea triangle in that purple poncho that was on the other day?" "Yeah." I could not be let loose on our poor nation.

There is a really good thing that has happened since. I was watching QVC the other evening and the Slim & Lift knickers now come in a body suit with straps on so that they won't roll down and your back fat does not poke out. Excellent. Now if only they could do some that had an emergency gusset flap for those days out on the M6!