Walking five steps from my hospital bed to the glowing window I’m gentle with myself, careful with each step, and thrilled to stretch my aching body. Pulling the blockout and sheer blinds up sweeps light and colours into my grey beige room. Pink clouds and peach wisps, apricot old person’s hair, meld into the walls and adorn the cityscape. I hold the window ledge in caution. Yet I feel steady, my body thankful to be upright. As I peer around the corner of buildings, a huge balloon glides right in front of me. Two steps to my phone camera. Another balloon with its hanging basket of tourists is silent in its stealth. I could not have asked for a more beautiful welcome to life beyond breast cancer surgery. My eyes roam the nooks and crannies of the view, so much wider and more full than I’d seen the day before. So many more colours. Sunrise every day brings hope of renewal, a fresh start. I could have easily missed this transient beauty if I’d stayed in bed. Yesterday a nurse had told me “Your goal for today is to have a shower.” But I hadn’t achieved that goal. Now I’m certain that I could. Anticipating the joy of a shower, I’m reminded of a clean body after a sweaty walk. The similar joyful feeling of physical fitness matched my few steps in my tiny room. Clean body, clean clothes, sitting up in a chair, cancer cut out, much to be grateful for.