I’ve had quite the week. A scan on Monday revealed unhappy lymph nodes and that meant a traumatic needle biopsy (complete with internal bleeding) and adrenaline overload. Then the waiting.

Logic said I should be fine and it was most likely a reactive lymphatic system just doing its job. Fear and history said why wouldn’t it be metastasis? I haven’t been all that lucky so far.

And so this week has been a reckoning. Preparing the for worst news, which never felt more than a hair’s breadth away. I don’t currently have words to describe what that’s like, but I know some of you have been there, wrestled that bear and have the scars to prove it.

But my consultant, a true angel and one of the best and kindest men I know, called me this evening to say he’d had the results and they were good. No evidence of cancer. He didn’t want me to suffer in uncertainty a minute longer than I needed to.

I feel so fucking fortunate. For the people who’ve gently propped me up this week when I’ve wanted to give up on all of it, for the consultant who’s probably sick of the sight of me by now but stays resolutely in my corner, for this result. Because it was never a done deal.

Health truly is the only wealth that matters. This much I know.