... and breathe.

On Friday, it will be exactly one year since a routine mammogram detected early stage breast cancer and a roller coaster of surgery, radiotherapy and hospital visits began. This week, therefore, I waited with bated breath for the result of my first mammogram since surgery was carried out.

For eight years, I had been happily coasting through my retirement, doing those things which work had previously got in the way of: I had flown in a glider and a hot air balloon; I had sailed in the Atlantic, the Mediterranean and the Adriatic; I had worked as a consultant and run a designer cushion company , all the time feeling that aging was something that happens to other people. Having recovered from the initial shock that I was not immortal, I came to realise that it was not all doom and gloom and that there were some benefits to be had, the foremost of which was to make me take stock and count my blessings. The story behind the Jewish tradition of reciting a hundred blessings each day is that, during the reign of King David, there was terrible plague that took the lives of a hundred people each day. After the rabbis instituted the practice of reciting one hundred blessings each day, it is said that the plague immediately stopped. With this in mind, I felt that it was a good time to do a mental 'stock take' of my blessings.

I have two beautiful daughters who are clever and kind, respected and admired. I am fortunate that, through all my trials and tribulations, my life partner is still at my side, holding my hand in the dark days and laughing with me in the face of adversity. Everyday, I look out on a landscape that, whatever the season, is beautiful beyond belief. I have learned to take pleasure in the small things in life, such as hearing a child's laugh, the satisfaction of growing crooked cucumbers or sitting in the glow of a log fire.

I hope that you will note that, not once have I mentioned possessions or achievement. In the words of Thomas Jefferson, 'It is neither wealth nor splendor; but tranquility and occupation which give you happiness'.

I would agree with Mr Jefferson, in part, as occupation is the key to feeling that you have a value and a place in the world, but although I try to deal with life's pitfalls in a calm and measured way, I still feel that it is important to 'do one thing every day that scares you' (Eleanor Roosevelt). Today, my scary moment came as I tore open the letter from the hospital, but am delighted to say that I can breathe easily, once more. To be 'reported as normal' was all I had hoped for and am pleased to declare that the letter confirmed that to be the case, at least as far as cancer is concerned.

With that in mind, I will finish with the final lines of a great poem by Dylan Thomas':

'Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.'

Now for a glass of red ...