One month.

Has it really only been one month since I was diagnosed?

To me it seems like I have been living with this for years, life without it seems to be less a memory and more a hope of what, one day, could be. The month has been an emotional roller coaster that I could not possibly have imagined and that I find difficult to fully describe.

Things are settling now though. A new routine has evolved to adapt to new circumstances. And although much is still the same, a lot has changed.

My daily drive to work has been replaced by just under an hour of meditative breathing. There is scientific research and anecdotal evidence suggesting a highly oxygenated body is far better placed to fight off cancer than one that is not. Whether this applies equally well to treatment as well as prevention I am still not sure but physiological effects aside the mental effects are just as important. Taking the time to meditate on my condition and summon a determined resolve to fight it is a supremely energising experience.

I used to make occasional efforts to meditate and to improve my breathing as an avid diver and snorkeller eager to extend the time spent at the bottom with the fish rather than on the surface splashing around, but I never did it seriously or consistantly. The renewed energy I find from meditating I owe simply to a very good friend. One who, having survived cancer herself, runs a yoga and pain managment retreat on the south coast and who, on visiting London last week, filled me with so much of her inate energy and drive, left me absolutely believing in my ability to beat this thing for the long term. For that visit I am deeply thankful.

A sandwich at my desk or a hastily grabbed hotdog from the 'snack wagon' that services our office has been replaced by a thoroughly healthy salad that is absolutely divine. Not unlike finding time to meditate this too was an occasional indulgence I'd treat myself to in my former life. My previous job would often find me lunching somewhere in the narrow, winding, and often still cobbled roads of London's West End. At the top of Carnaby Street there is a cafe come restaurant called Leon that serves the most amazing food. It's not cheap, but given that the food is organic and fresh the difference between one of their offerings and a prepacked, mass produced sandwich from the "Pret" over the road is a price worth paying.

I used to occasionally indulge myself in what they sold as a "Super Food Salad". It's no exaggeration to say that having one for lunch gets you zinging all afternoon; no coffee required. The recipe can be found in a book released under the Leon name a year or so ago and now I make one of these every single day. Only now its not costing me six quid a pop!

For anyone battling with any form of cancer I can highly recommend it. From what I have read so far on cancer and nutrition, and there is still a lot to wade through, the ingredients in this little beauty are all top hitters in the fight you have on your hands. I'd publish the recipe here but that simply wouldn't be legal. Go out and buy the book. The purchase price is worth that one page alone.

Lunch is also now followed by a good walk, in fresh air.

I have a new chair. Until this month working from home was an occasional flirtation with solitude born out of a periodic requirement to get my head around something without the distractions of an office. These sporadic dalliances were usually carried out with my laptop on the dining room table; or perched on a cheap Ikea stool in our study. An environment more suited to an hour of emailing or processing photographs than a full day of work.

Restlessness is inevitable and it soon became clear once my treatment was delayed that I was going to need something decent to sit on if I didn't want to lose entire days to getting up and making tea simply because I was fidgeting.

A colleague in our New York office - his apartment - was very keen, and quite correct, in stressing the need for a good office chair if you're going to be working from home and I am inclined to agree. I reasoned that if nothing else good came from my diagnosis it would be an opportunity to own a chair I have often coveted but never found the justification to own. It sounds a strange idea, and whilst I am not one to indulge in 21st Century Man's desire to own and consume every 'shiny toy' going, I do enjoy the delights of a damn good design.

If you work from home, cancer sufferer or not, get a good chair. And whilst you're on the hunt for the one that suits you sit, sit for a long time and savour, an Aeron made by Herman Miller. Your partner or bank manager may not thank you. But your back certainly will.

It has then been a month of massive shock and of subtle changes. I have learned a lot about the strength within myself and those around me. I have renewed cause to evaluate my views on life. It has been a month wherein I have experienced incredible sadness and absolute depression but where I have decided the only chance I have of beating this disease in the short and long term is to enjoy every second I have left. Relishing more than ever the simple pleasures of daily life, the family I have around me, and the true friends I have around the world.

I am positive that my treatment will be a success but even so this period of my life is very much the end of an old way and the beginning of something very new.