To look at me, you'd never guess I'm officially disabled. My hair is back, and so is my weight. It has been three-and-a-half years since I was diagnosed with breast cancer and joined the ranks of those covered by the Disability Discrimination Act.
I've got another two years to go taking a daily Tamoxifen tablet, and then I hope to hear the words every cancer patient aims for: all clear. But even then, I'll still be considered disabled and the cancer could recur. Diagnosis is a line in the sand that I've crossed and there's no going back.
Anyone who's had bad news about cancer, or about any life-threatening condition, will understand the shock, denial and fear it provokes. Facing the possibility of early mortality is tough. Facing the prospect of living with an obvious deformity is also tough. That's why I was relieved and grateful, on my diagnosis day, to be told I was a good candidate for reconstruction.
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I was referred to the Canniesburn Plastic Surgery Unit in Glasgow to see a breast reconstruction specialist, Eva Weiler-Mithoff. She examined me to find spare fat and skin from which to make a new breast. In her soft part-Scottish, part-German accent she even managed to make me laugh, saying, "I think I can make a B-cup out of that."
I was astonished that I could have what's called "immediate reconstruction", meaning my new breast would be built straight after the mastectomy using my own body tissues, and I would wake up from surgery still having two breasts.
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Later, I could have the reconstructed breast tattooed with a surprisingly life-like nipple.
In a complex operation, with cancer surgeons and plastic surgeons working side by side, the cancer and lymph nodes were removed and a large muscle was almost fully cut out from my back and moved to my chest to make me a new breast, with the muscle's blood supply intact.
It took two months of daily exercises to get my arm upright, and I still can't raise it fully. When I get tense, the muscle in my breast starts to cramp. Even so, I'm glad I had this reconstruction. There's no doubt in my mind that it helped me get through the cancer treatments and still helps me to face each day with something close to the confidence of a person who is "normal".
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My return to work at BBC Scotland coincided with the move to new facilities at Pacific Quay. One of the first things I did was to approach the commissioning editor Ewan Angus with the idea of making a programme about reconstruction.
Cancer treatment is a difficult subject for television. It requires a lengthy production period and offers no certain outcome or happy ending. But I felt there was a positive story to be told about patients having reconstruction in the west of Scotland.
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To his enduring credit, Ewan Angus agreed. My New Breast is the result. In the programme, we follow the progress of three Scottish women who have their breasts - and lives - rebuilt after cancer diagnosis.
About one in 10 women who need mastectomy in the UK have reconstruction, but the figure is closer to one in three for patients within the remit of the Canniesburn Plastic Surgery Unit. This is largely down to the combined efforts of Weiler-Mithoff at Canniesburn and Philippa Whitford, the senior breast consultant at Crosshouse Hospital near Kilmarnock, who have been promoting the emotional and psychological benefits of reconstruction for a decade. In that time the number of reconstructions in the west of Scotland has risen to more than 300 a year.
The women who allowed us into their lives, and into the operating theatres to witness their reconstructions, deserve endless thanks. For them, and for me, reconstruction is not about vanity - it's about feeling normal. When your life is turned upside down by serious illness, normal is very good indeed.
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The women in the programme are candid and inspiring. They took part to help reassure others that a lot can be done about breast cancer. With one in nine women likely to face this terrifying diagnosis in the future, encouragement is vital.
My New Breast, Monday Sept 14 at 9pm on BBC Two Scotland