I blame the daffodils. There were ten of them – a 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.

Fashionistas would say I made a 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 6' 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 5' 3" and a size 18. I looked like a sparkly Dairylea cheese triangle. 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.

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. 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."

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! 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. Upon passing the first audition I was then given my "next steps" folder and a QVC mug. Magic.

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.

In the interim I had planned a holiday to Florida. While I was there 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.

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 I 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. It was quite strange sitting there 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?"

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.

I will not bore you with the things that happen to you when you have chemo, but I choose 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 now have an amazing burn that has scarred me across the left side of my upper body. My poor surgeon 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 a 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.

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. 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. 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 can 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.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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.

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. Now I had planned to tell stories about the usual issues that face all women who have bags that you have to rummage in. 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. If I have to empty my 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 there. 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. 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. 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.

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 I knew that I instantly liked all the people there.

The day continued 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 three 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.

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.

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 the Birmingham audition. Before I could blink it was over.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

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 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?

I could not be let loose on our poor nation.

[UnderGuide Editor's Note: This is an edited and shortened version of The Alternative Guide to Surviving Breast Cancer. Please see the full version for more details.]