When you're given the diagnosis of a life-shortening illness you are stunned - well we certainly were. I'd found the knowledge, about three years ago, that I would forever have to take a synthetic form of thyroxine bad enough - having cancer put that little hiccup into perspective. A few tears and then a firm resolve to get on with life, that seemed the best solution. Let's face it, we're all in terminal decline. It's a fact of life.
It wasn't depression but I did notice one psychological change during those first few weeks after the diagnosis. I found it difficult to hear or watch reports about famine or war, or to watch nasty violent thrillers with violence and murder at their centre. Instead I lived off a diet of Catherine Cookson dramas plus antique and house location programmes.
But somewhere along the line I've become normal again. I said to the girls when they were stunned at my news: you'll get used to it in time. And we all have. Certainly the flow of unremitting bad news stories served up by the news channels is no longer so objectionable.