In the days that followed, washing was difficult with the dressing I had on following my second biopsy. I was already in that state of feeling sick, weak, powerless. I hate asking for help or depending on anyone — and suddenly that was exactly my situation.

I no longer remember exactly what triggered it — but at some point I decided to stop working, well before my operation. I think I'd stopped at the beginning of the week I had my second biopsy. I was struggling to concentrate. And I also wanted to redo my bedroom to make it as comfortable as possible for my recovery. I wanted to do it while I still had the energy to move furniture, repaint walls.

I remember Sophie saying to me: 'You're not seriously going to work right up to your operation?' That remark made me realise it probably wasn't a good idea. My body and my mind needed to be calm before undergoing such a major operation. Work had been a very good distraction — but it was also exhausting me.

So I stopped. And I felt good about it. I stopped without guilt. For once, I was putting my own well-being first.

I spent that time redoing the bedroom. Repainting the walls, tidying, surrounding myself with memories, rearranging the furniture, several trips to IKEA which somehow felt completely normal and completely surreal at the same time. We'd also made a little reading corner with a chair facing the apple tree in the garden — it became the cats' favourite spot, because they could sleep there while keeping an eye on us through the bedroom window.

We even bought a small bed tray so I could eat comfortably in bed. We didn't know what my physical capabilities would be post-op. But we wanted everything to be as comfortable as possible. We finished the room before the operation. We were pleased with it — very pleased, actually.

The day before my operation, I went to have lunch with Clara, one of my best friends. It was good. Before we ate, she said a prayer for my operation to go well. That touched me enormously and moved me. Clara is religious but she never prayed for me out loud in front of me before. I didn’t say anything but thank you. I kept my tears inside me.

After, I went to find Marc so we could go and have a coffee and walk around a lake where I used to run when I was younger, before I met him.

I told myself: if something goes wrong tomorrow, at least we'll have had this moment together — to walk, talk, and have a good drink.

I barely slept. I had to get up early, no food or liquid allowed. Not even a tiny sip of coffee which was much needed.

I had to shower with betadine to get rid of all possible bacteria. They gave me a bottle of Betadine and I was asked to empty it. I struggled to empty the bottle. I had to wash myself around 5 times and the bottle was still not empty. I am skinny and not tall so it was really a hard ask. And the smell of the betadine was terrible… I took my shower at home but with the betadine it already smelled like hospital.

Thomas, my brother-in-law arrived on time.

My parents were at Noémie's to look after Lila, my niece. My brother-in-law Thomas kindly offered to take me to the hospital. Marc wanted to come too. We all went together. I was barely awake in the car. We talked about other things on the way there — anything but my cancer, my surgery.

We arrived very early at the hospital. Hardly anyone in the car park.

I didn't want to keep Thomas waiting, so I told Marc he could say goodbye here. I dreaded the goodbye. Marc, my husband, had supported me enormously and had shown very little of his pain. I could feel it was hard for him — especially being so far from his own country, without his own people around him.

I said goodbye to Marc and Thomas. We hugged, and I wanted to leave quickly so I wouldn't dissolve in tears in front of them.

I'd given Marc my jewellery for him to keep during my surgery.

I had a 7am appointment at the hospital to detect the sentinel lymph node.

The service hadn't opened yet. I was the first. I went to the waiting room. There was a TV on for distraction. Sometimes animal documentaries, sometimes they explained certain medical exams in a reassuring way. On a loop. 

I had no phone signal in the hospital so I'd been looking at my photos, and it made me want to cry. I saw all my memories and I knew that after the surgery, the person I see on the picture as myself won’t be the same anymore.

I received a video of Lila, my little niece, that my sister had sent — to tell me to be brave. She was adorable. She was looking at herself in the camera reflection and dancing while my sister had to ask her to say something kind. It moved me deeply. I started to cry a little. I held back my tears from then on. Because I was afraid. Afraid that the operation would go badly and I'd never wake up.