Happy days. Steroid medication for the past 18 months has made two of my thoracic vertebrae bones crumble. This is not black humour.

This is the considered opinion of my medical team and it’s cause for serious celebration on my part.

They caution: this news is not complete formal confirmation and perhaps a detailed spinal MRI will be required to absolutely nail that prognosis.

Maybe I shouldn’t jump up and down with relief – but jumping would be sore and maybe premature. I silently jump up and down in my mind instead.

This news is such a relief – it indicates the crumbling of the bones detected on the CT scan causing my chronic pain isn’t likely to be caused by cancer inside my bones.

Bending and walking are now more of a challenge and a new level of pain is a new constant bedfellow.

And, yes, my physical world continues to shrink. I can’t drive because of brain tumour activity; I remain hugely restricted and vulnerable to Covid-19 as the new variant sweeps Scotland (my double vaccine only offers very reduced protection because of my ongoing chemo treatment); and walking any sort of worthwhile distance is impossible due to my back pain.

But I won’t stop trying to beat the odds. This week, I bought a folding-up wheelchair. It will be used to roll up to the postbox at the top of my road. It will go with us to Lower Largo when we go to the harbour and beach.

I have joked with Laura about getting flags and speakers, stickers and a loud car horn fitted – such is my relief at the steroid diagnosis instead of a cancer activity one.

Terminal remains as my prognosis – but it is not going to happen right now and that means there’s room for a little humour.

A young woman from Edinburgh contacted me this week. She has incurable stage 4 breast cancer. Despite this, she is so praiseworthy of her oncology team who have kept her going since 2017. We agree about the roller-coaster of events, treatments and interventions but we are both upbeat and grateful for what we have – and what time we might still get.

And a former colleague – just about to start treatment for breast cancer – made contact too.

She is scared but her oncologists are confident they can treat her with a good chance of success. This team approaches with confidence, and openness is a most precious and effective thing to have in your tool box.

Let’s all keep talking and sharing and battling and celebrating. The number of success stories is growing.

Ally McLaws is a freelance specialist in writing, business marketing and reputation management. See the full range of services on offer and view all previous back issues of this column at:

www.mclawsconsultancy.com