Remember the viral campaign, written about so eloquently here by breast cancer survivor and friend Nicola, that challenged women to 'Hold a Coke Between Your Boobs' and post a selfie of it? For breast cancer, of course. Except, had you had a mastectomy, then, sorry, you couldn't take part.
When people learn that I've spent the last six years plus existing on a miniscule amount of sleep, they are shocked, because I always seem so energetic apparently (they should see me at 3am!)
Wake up to the blaring noise of an alarm clock; jump out of bed and rush to the shower; eat something quick and convenient in the car; speed through the traffic and drive aggressively in order to arrive at work on time.
We spend eight hours a day sitting at our desks. Studies have shown that long periods of inactivity can make us feel tired and apathetic. But physical activity can increase the hormone epinephrine, which gets blood pumping faster.
We in the medical profession have spilt a lot of ink and bile in our outrage over the government's half-baked plans to create a '7 day NHS'. We've been upset that a chronically overstretched work force is about to be stretched even further to satisfy a manifesto sound bite, and we've been upset by our final transition from professional worker to consumer commodity. But we've missed the bigger picture. We are just unwilling pawns in a bigger game.
We all lost our heart desires on this path. We all lost the connection to our inner self. We listened to our mind, the leader in our life... We all created an ego to fight and succeed in the world. We got carried away. We became obsessed by the struggle of life, by the voice of our mind and sadly let go of all the treasures inside... and most importantly of the peace inside.
Like most I quickly realised that the less I ate, the less I could eat in order to maintain my fat loss. And by the time I was down to only eating 600 kcals and exercising 3 hours a day I knew I couldn't work, much less live like that and gave up - like most!
If I sound like I'm bitter about it, I am. I'm angry, sad, frustrated and I'm pissed off that I have to make these decisions. I'm pissed off that I can't wear nice lingerie because my new boobs don't fit into any bras. I'm pissed off because I don't have nipples and I'm currently having tattoos done every month, which hurts. I'm pissed off because I have scars that won't go away.
I've learned to accept my straight up straight down figure. Yes, I'd quite like to have bigger boobs, but only in the same way I'd like to have a mansion with a tennis court. My mum is skinny. My nan is really skinny. Inevitably, I'm always going to be a bit on the skinny side.
I never expected to become a cancer patient, not least in my teens. Then again, I don't think anyone does. But somehow, like the approximately 2,300 annual others, in 2011 I found myself well and truly within this category.
The concept of womb transplantation is not new, originally put forward in the 1960s as a possible cure for infertility. The success of IVF treatment in the 1970s, however, saw the idea of womb transplantation disappear, and the field move in the direction of life-saving surgery, such as lung, heart and kidney transplantation.
In today's world, anyone can set up a health and fitness blog. But the vast majority of people that do are untrained and unqualified, so the information they are putting out there may not be true. Quite the contrary - it may, in fact, be sabotaging your health and fitness goals.
Hunt is setting himself against the most essential element of our health organisation: its people. They are on the edge, and they deserve nothing but respect.
People put my bad behaviour down to the fact that I was a new mum and being a new mum can make you a bit bonkers. But the truth is, being a germaphobe is something I struggle with daily. For example, I will never, ever let you take a sip from my water bottle (as if!) and if you offer me your hand to shake, there's a good chance I won't take it.
I write this post over a week after we completed The Big Bad Ride, a 460-mile endurance cycle from Edinburgh to London in aid of Harrison's Fund, a small charity working hard to find a cure for Duchenne muscular dystrophy, a fatal disease which affects my two young sons, Theo and Oskar.
It was nine years ago today that I said goodbye to him for that last time, after making a difficult decision to get on my scheduled flight from Osaka back to Manchester. I did that knowing that I would never see him again. The knowledge of how lucky he was to have her and her care for him is my comfort. And that's all I need.