So you get through the stuff that everyone knows you’re going through – the stuff that means you basically look as if you’ve had a full-body Brazilian, and have to squirrel yourself away from infection for much of the time, popping your bald head out occasionally to reveal a little pair of runny eyes nestled in the middle of a steroidy football face… in other words, the bit people can see and at least in some part understand. And all through that bit, people talk to you about the light at the end of the tunnel, putting this all behind you, coming out the other side. So it’s fair enough for you to expect that there will be some sort of grand finale, when things go back to normal, mentally and physically. Which in a way, there is. There is definitely a huge sense of being over the worst of the treatment – at least there was for me – once the chemo is out of the way. However, there were also quite a few ongoing effects of the various treatments I’d already had, plus the effects of those I still had to have, which I wasn’t quite ready for. And because these are all less apparent from the outside, and because people really, really want you to be ok, this can be quite difficult to deal with. A bit like getting to the end of the tunnel and discovering that the daylight you’ve been chasing is actually the headlight of an oncoming train.

I’m lucky enough (and I genuinely mean this) to be benefiting from pretty much the full works in terms of treatment options. One of the advantages of having my particular ‘brand’ of cancer is the number of therapies that can be effective against it. I’m also lucky enough, I now realise, to be getting off pretty lightly in terms of side-effects. However, I’ve had my fair share and, being a generous type, I’m of course more than happy to share the details. So, none of this is hideously difficult to manage, and of course none of it is guaranteed to affect anyone either, but here are some of the things I wish I’d known to expect, just so they didn’t pop up and threaten to derail me while I was merrily trundling through that tunnel.

Patchy body hair – it’s quite common for hair to grow back more sparsely, apparently. I had a lot of hair before. So in most places, this is a distinct improvement. However I wasn’t necessarily expecting to end up with a pair of tramlines for eyebrows. And as I’m not a 90s rap star, this isn’t such a great look. However luckily enough, I’m quite excited by the idea of semi-permanent make up and a designer eyebrow shape. If I’d known in advance to expect this, I would just have started saving up a bit earlier.

Short and curlies – now this I was expecting. At least, I was expecting to have a cascade of beautiful ringlets instead of my almost-straight-but-not-quite-straight-enough pre-chemo hair. Hmmm. So when people say your hair might come back curly, it turns out what they mean is you might look as if you’ve stuck an enormous Brillo pad on your head, and then spent a few days teasing it out with an Afro comb into a flat-top. Also a good look if you’re a 90s rapper.

Nails – I was warned about nail damage, and although it wasn’t as bad as I was expecting, I didn’t realise it would last quite so long after the end of chemo. So six months on, and still with thin, flakey nails, I finally risked having a full set of acrylics stuck back on. They seem to be clinging on, so clearly I’ve gone all out with the design in celebration.

Land of nod – insomnia seems to be an intermittent reaction to various drugs, and similarly fatigue so far doesn’t seem to relate to any particular aspect of treatment and just sort of comes and goes. Both a bit annoying as they make it difficult to plan certain things, but the main thing is to plan to have a nice lie down if you fancy one, and that’s always an attractive prospect.

Wheeee(ze)! – all sorts of treatment can cause or exacerbate lung conditions, it turns out. This has probably been the worst of the various side-effects for me, but I don’t know many other people who have had the same reaction, so it might not be that common. In any case, after various tests and making the most of the excuse not to do any exercise whatsoever, I’ve now got a lovely set of inhalers, and that seems to be doing the trick.

Feeling swell – after complaining about having a ridiculous number of fat days over the past few months, I bothered to actually track when these were, and discovered that it’s just a reaction to the Herceptin injections that I have on a three-weekly basis. So for two or three days after those, I look and feel like an enormous barbecued sausage about to burst its skin. And then I wake up one morning feeling like Kate Moss. Or at least a bit more like a chipolata.

Going viral – I thought I had lost the ox-like constitution I’d been so proud of, and was quite devastated about this. However it now transpires that not just the chemo drugs, but also some of the ongoing drug therapies can affect the immune system. Good to know that a bit of preventative action might be in order just till the next lot of drugs are out of the way. And by preventative action, I mean a few days away from a germy workplace, and maybe a medicinal brandy.

Jetting off – some (though not all) of my doctors have warned against flying too far whilst on certain drugs. Various increased risks and so forth. This could be interpreted as meaning no oveseas holidays in the near future. It could be. I, however, have chosen to interpret it as a clear instruction to go on a cruise instead.

So, nothing unbearable, and all genuinely a walk in the park compared to some of the previous treatment’s effects, but forewarned is as good as having four arms, apparently (thanks, Dad) and it’s easier to be knocked off balance by something you’re not expecting. Especially when it feels as if everyone else just wants you to hurry up and get on with being normal. Well, I wasn’t normal before, so I don’t think that’s likely to happen any time soon.