Ok, so this isn’t an official medical recommendation. But, for someone who has a rather unhealthy obsession with hundreds and thousands and Green and Black’s vanilla white chocolate, it’s nice to know that the sweet stuff does have its uses!

As you’ve probably guessed, I did pass the ‘fat’ test. But, in the words of my plastic surgeon, it is ‘tight’. That means, a week on Friday, I will be having a mastectomy (right boob off), axillary clearance (lymph nodes out) and immediate reconstruction (boob job) with, you guessed it, my tummy fat (a DIEP flap). I have always wanted to know what a flat stomach would look like. Now, for six weeks at least (post-op), I’ll know.

Today was an odd day to say the least. I did, however, learn two interesting things. Firstly, wear good knickers at all times because you never know when you are going to be asked to flash them. Secondly, don’t let anyone book your appointments the wrong way round – even if they say it won’t matter.

I started the day with the cancer surgeon, who revealed that the second biopsy confirmed the presence of even more cancer. At first he said: ‘I think it’s benign.’ Then he checked the notes and said: ‘ah, actually it’s more cancer.’ Interesting fact though, it doesn’t matter how many tumours you have in your boob, the treatment is based on attacking the largest one! So, no change then – just more cancer (nice).

The trouble is, because I hadn’t yet had the results of the ‘fat’ test, it was very hard to discuss the planned surgery. So, a completely hypothetical ‘what-happens-if-I-am-not-fat-enough-this-afternoon?’ discussion followed. One implant-measuring session and one consent form later and talk turned to surgery dates. ‘If we can’t use your fat, we can squeeze you in this week,’ the surgeon added. I am ashamed to admit, my immediate panic was more due to the fact I have conference calls, meetings, presentations and dinners planned for next week – not the fact I’d be starting to kick those cancer cells even earlier!

Thankfully, after spending lunch counting all the people that would be affected by this date change, I was relieved to discover that my commitment to cake eating had paid off. The most amusing part of all of this is that apparently tummy fat never forgets its origins. So, if I don’t cut back on the white chocolate and Cadbury’s Heroes after surgery, my right boob will make a rather ‘large’ statement. Almost worth trying just to see if it’s true.

Nothing if not obedient, I now have exactly 10 days to bake like Mary Berry before I am sentenced to six weeks of no exercise. I can’t even lift a supermarket shopping bag (he was quite specific, so that must mean other shopping is just fine). Every cloud… If only there was a way of bypassing the thighs and just channelling those calories into the abdomen.

One small aside before I finish. I have a first contender for Cancer Room 101 – people who moan in waiting rooms. There should be a big sign that says: ‘rejoice when there are long queues. It means the people caring for you are taking time to look after you and other people.’ Loud huffing and audible sighing is not cool. Next time, when you’re waiting and that clock is ticking, smile and say thank you for the dedication of the care team working tirelessly to fix you.

So let’s all raise a glass to flour, water, sugar and butter (preferably mixed and baked). It’s only taken a decade in the kitchen to realise just how important a mixing bowl and a wooden spoon are when your life is on the line!