When Catriona first knew she had inflammatory breast cancer, we were both in shock. We cried but vowed to go through it together. Then the reality hit. This is the worst kind. The survival rate was low, at best 50% in 5 years. She was advised to have surgery, radiotherapy and chemotherapy. We researched it all. Many experts had different views.

One piece of French research looked at the usefulness of all three of these as against no surgery and just the other two. The survival differences were slight. She decided to have radiotherapy and chemotherapy. After the chemotherapy, the radiographer/ Ultrasound scanner doctor said “that funny area we found has gone”. After this she decided against surgery. The surgeon said she was a silly girl. Her oncology doctor was very kind and said “yes I’ve known people survive 20 years just with radiotherapy”. But we also said we must do everything we could to support her treatment. So she had vitamins, she took Essiac tea. She saw healers, she had homoeopathy, she used herbs She looked at how effective it was to use Tamoxafen and decided not to use it. She didn’t even go back for check ups. She forgot about it. She didn’t want to be reminded that she had cancer. She still had both breasts. We went swimming at St. Ives in Cornwall the next year and she rejoiced in her wholeness.

She had five glorious, disease free years. Some saw it as denial, she saw it as her way of dealing with cancer. For the rest of her life the breast first affected was as healthy as before the cancer came. During this time she wrote and published her first story “Palmyra Jones”, she was to go on and write for the rest of her life.

Catriona had taken her own control of the process and for better or worse these were her decisions. But they were decisions based on understanding, of knowledge of the consequences of her actions, of research into things she felt would help her and which she was comfortable with. My role was to help in researching the things which would keep her healthy. Catriona was the Golden Centre, because she was the golden girl and we wanted to keep that centre alive.

Then the disease was found in her bone marrow. She nearly died, with not enough platelets to fill a test tube. But she fought back. She had more chemo. and we used more supplements, we did fresh juices, we did coffee enemas. She had intensive vitamin therapy. In three months she was back as bright as ever. She published her collection of poetry, “The Mare’s Tale” which sold well.

More research. We found things about the latest treatments and pestered her oncologist about them. The nurses said she had difficult veins for chemo and they wanted her to have a tube into her heart. She said no. She didn’t want to be reminded about this episode when she was better again. They continued to find veins and she continued to joke about it.

She had nearly three more good years and to the end was convinced that she would recover. Last time we went to Scotland, a year before she died, she ran up the steps of Drummond Castle and left me panting behind her. She never moaned, she joked with the staff at the unit she attended for treatment until the end. The disease went to her brain but she didn’t know. She lived three more weeks and asked me to arrange a woodland burial -just in case! She died peacefully at home in her own bed with her family around her. Read Catriona’s Obituary.