If someone had told me twelve months ago what the year ahead would contain, I’m not sure I would have believed them.

There have been mountains, incredible places, frightening scans, hospital rooms, treatment, tears, laughter, love and moments when I genuinely wondered how much more I could take.

And yet, here I am.

The year began with adventure still very much part of my life. I travelled, walked in beautiful places and headed into the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco with Mount Toubkal in my sights.

We all didn’t reach the summit. A storm rolled in, thunder and lightning surrounded the mountain, and some of us made the difficult decision to turn back. At the time it felt disappointing, but looking back, perhaps that mountain taught me something important.

Sometimes strength isn’t about reaching the summit. Sometimes it’s knowing when to turn around.

Then life changed again.

After everything melanoma had already thrown at me, scans revealed that the cancer had returned — for the fourth time.

This time it was Stage IV melanoma in my small intestine and bowel.

There are few words that prepare you for hearing that cancer is back. However many times you’ve sat in that consultation room, however much you think you’ve become accustomed to scans and results, the fear never completely disappears.

Then came treatment.

I started the powerful combination immunotherapy ipilimumab and nivolumab — IPI-NIVO. With it came hope, but also some brutal side effects. Severe colitis stopped treatment after two infusions, steroids became part of life, and later came adrenal insufficiency and the reality that some consequences of treatment may stay with me for a long time.

But then came one of those extraordinary moments that makes everything else fade into the background.

The early scan showed “no measurable disease.”

The deposits in my small bowel had resolved.

After hearing that my cancer was inoperable only months earlier, those words were almost impossible to take in.

Treatment continued with single-agent nivolumab, while I learned to live with a body that doesn’t always behave as it once did. Fatigue, medication, hospital appointments and the limitations caused by adrenal insufficiency have forced me to rethink what I can do.

Emotionally, the last twelve months have been every bit as challenging as they have been physically.

There have been dark days. Scanxiety. Fear of what the next result might show. Frustration when my body won’t let me do what my mind still wants to do.

But there have also been wonderful days.

Beautiful places. Mountains. Walks. Travel to places such as Vienna, Prague and Paris in between immunotherapy treatments. Family. Friends. Love. My grandchildren. And those simple moments that suddenly become incredibly precious when you’ve spent years living from one scan to the next.

Cancer has taught me that life isn’t measured simply by how many years we have.

It’s measured by what we do with them.

I don’t know what the next twelve months will bring. None of us do.

But after four encounters with melanoma, major surgery, immunotherapy, mountains climbed and mountains not climbed, I’ve learned one thing.

I’m still here.

I’m still making memories.

I’m still raising awareness.

And I’m still living.

One Life… LOVE IT… LIVE IT.

If someone had told me twelve months ago what the year ahead would contain, I’m not sure I would have believed them.

There have been mountains, incredible places, frightening scans, hospital rooms, treatment, tears, laughter, love and moments when I genuinely wondered how much more I could take.

And yet, here I am.

The year began with adventure still very much part of my life. I travelled, walked in beautiful places and headed into the High Atlas Mountains of Morocco with Mount Toubkal in my sights.

We all didn’t reach the summit. A storm rolled in, thunder and lightning surrounded the mountain, and some of us made the difficult decision to turn back. At the time it felt disappointing, but looking back, perhaps that mountain taught me something important.

Sometimes strength isn’t about reaching the summit. Sometimes it’s knowing when to turn around.

Then life changed again.

After everything melanoma had already thrown at me, scans revealed that the cancer had returned — for the fourth time.

This time it was Stage IV melanoma in my small intestine and bowel.

There are few words that prepare you for hearing that cancer is back. However many times you’ve sat in that consultation room, however much you think you’ve become accustomed to scans and results, the fear never completely disappears.

Then came treatment.

I started the powerful combination immunotherapy ipilimumab and nivolumab — IPI-NIVO. With it came hope, but also some brutal side effects. Severe colitis stopped treatment after two infusions, steroids became part of life, and later came adrenal insufficiency and the reality that some consequences of treatment may stay with me for a long time.

But then came one of those extraordinary moments that makes everything else fade into the background.

The early scan showed “no measurable disease.”

The deposits in my small bowel had resolved.

After hearing that my cancer was inoperable only months earlier, those words were almost impossible to take in.

Treatment continued with single-agent nivolumab, while I learned to live with a body that doesn’t always behave as it once did. Fatigue, medication, hospital appointments and the limitations caused by adrenal insufficiency have forced me to rethink what I can do.

Emotionally, the last twelve months have been every bit as challenging as they have been physically.

There have been dark days. Scanxiety. Fear of what the next result might show. Frustration when my body won’t let me do what my mind still wants to do.

But there have also been wonderful days.

Beautiful places. Mountains. Walks. Travel to places such as Vienna, Prague and Paris in between immunotherapy treatments. Family. Friends. Love. My grandchildren. And those simple moments that suddenly become incredibly precious when you’ve spent years living from one scan to the next.

Cancer has taught me that life isn’t measured simply by how many years we have.

It’s measured by what we do with them.

I don’t know what the next twelve months will bring. None of us do.

But after four encounters with melanoma, major surgery, immunotherapy, mountains climbed and mountains not climbed, I’ve learned one thing.

I’m still here.

I’m still making memories.

I’m still raising awareness.

And I’m still living.

One Life… LOVE IT… LIVE IT.