After we had picked ourselves up and the initial shock of my breast cancer diagnosis had gone, it was time to get active and prepare for surgeries, chemo and radiotherapy.
I had this 'I can do this' attitude and decided that treatment wasn't going to get me down.
But it was everything that came with it that did. I was 33, had three children under the age of 5 and it had come at a time when we had finally thought we were 'back to normal as a couple'.
But no, that didn't happen, the big C happened. We both felt like we should have sex, to keep things as normal as possible and to stay close. My husband was great and reassured me that I looked beautiful and even without hair and new scars (and an exhausted body). We did it but not very often. But to be honest I didn't really feel like it. I felt like I was going through he motions but satisfying my husbands needs felt like it was important - more important than thinking about my own needs.
My mind was full of the 'what if's' - fear was running through my veins. I felt horrible without hair and the obvious scars left by the cancer. But to my husband it was about more than just satisfying his own needs; it was a way for the two of us to keep life normal and of not letting cancer win.
And for that reason alone it was important that we did have sex. Cancer didn't win. I've seen my girls start school and I'm four years on from the initial diagnosis. Sex was much more than the physical act. By having sex we quietly said FUCK YOU CANCER and I know I've been pretty lucky.