One of the questions Julie asked me was about a previous blogpost, in which I talked about people tilting their head to one side, taking my hand, apologising for something that isn't their fault. She asked if there was anything anyone had sad that actually comforted me, and the truth is that no, there is nothing that can be said to make me feel better about the situation. If I tell you I'm feeling shitty, and you want to give me a hug, then I'll take it, but then we move on and carry on with our lives, because continuous sympathy turns into pity, which is something I categorically do not want or need. Pity can feel patronising. Honestly, I have been so lucky. I was born into a family who have always loved and supported me, even when I tested them to their limits. I was able to get into excellent schools; a fact I did not appreciate until I had left - both Hallfield and Handsworth helped shape the person I became. I have made truly magnificent friends in places I hadn't imagined - I will not name people because I'm bound to forget someone, but if we met at school, or BSS, or in hospital, in town, in the Birmingham coffee scene, and I'm sure I'm missing things out but my point is, however we met, if we are friends, if we were and we fell out, whatever, I don't care, because for some time, you enriched my life, and I love you. Some of you, I will never see again in person, and if that's the case, you should know I harbour no grudges, and we are fine, I promise. If we don't speak because I upset you, I am sorry, and I really hope you can forgive me.

I have been to some awesome places, too. The German markets in Köln, Bavaria on my German exchange, all sorts of bits of France (Paris! Disneyland!), Majorca, Iceland. That week of ice in February 2007 was magical, and I am so grateful I went, or I never would have been in the Blue Lagoon, ridden an Icelandic horse, seen a geyser erupt, or eaten my lunch from the top of a mountain overlooking a glacier. Speaking of food, I've been able to eat some wonderful things; I've had meals at Le Gavroche and The Waterside Inn, authentic sausages from the German markets, cakes from real French pâtissiers, really good champagne, mackerel that I caught myself...things that so many people who'll live a lot longer than me will never have.

Even after I got sick, I still considered myself one of the fortunate ones. Chemotherapy was relatively kind to me - I was never sick or had any mouth problems while one it. We found matches for me when I needed them - first Christine, then the German, then the liver girl. Sure, she's causing problems for me now, but at least I have a "now" at all. Without them, my funeral would have been a long time ago; they gave me at least six more years. And in those six years, I have grown so much, and I like the person I have become, and the impression of the person I leave behind will be a positive one, I think. I hope. I have learned to appreciate all the beautiful things in my life; people, experiences, memories, possessions. I am more generous, more thoughtful and more aware of life in general, and the lives of others, than I think I ever was before any of this. Part of this has come from losing so many comrades along the way; we were treated together, but we also laughed, loved and lived together, and I learned so much from those whose funerals I've attended, and the astounding resilience of their families.

It is my family who will need the comfort. Again, I am lucky; I at least don't have to deal with the sadness. I will not feel the loss. They will. I know they will pull together and be strong and carry on because that is what we do, and there is no other choice. But it will be hard, and that is when the sympathy cards and consoling hugs can be doled out. But until then, can we concentrate on the fact that I have the incredibly good fortune to be alive right now, and make the most of every moment?