It’s in the bones. Part one

 It’s a been a few weeks since my last blog. After three sessions of chemo I’ve been home recovering and trying to build up for the next stage of my treatment. Essentially I have a very aggressive form of acute myeloid leukaemia and although I am currently in remission I will relapse, probably within two years and further treatment will be far less efficacious. So my only reasonable option is a bone marrow stem cell transplant and I will be admitted to the QE hospital in Birmingham on Sunday 3rd April to begin this process.

I can’t say I’m not concerned. There are risks associated with the treatment including rejection but, more likely, infection. I will spend the first week at the QE being treated with chemo and anti rejection drugs followed by the intravenous administration of bone marrow stem cells. The day this happens is known as day zero and is followed by 100 days when I will be extremely vulnerable. So much so that I will need to be in fairly strict isolation to protect a blank sheet immune system. At some point I understand I will also have to have my childhood vaccinations again although that will exclude the MMR jab. I just want to remind recalcitrant parents that if you choose not to give your child the MMR jab then you are not only undermining herd immunity you are also signing a potential death warrant for people like myself. So dump the mad conspiracy theories and do the right thing for your children and those around them.

In terms of an outcome successful stem cell transplants can result in ten to fifteen years of relatively normal life . There is collateral damage to the body and I’m told I could suffer in later life from thyroid issues or other physical health challenges. The key, though, is another ten to fifteen years. Who knows what can happen with medical treatments in the future so it’s best just to take things one day at a time.I’m certainly lucky that I will be returning home in the midst of summer so if it’s a good one I will at least be able to meet family outside in the garden so recuperation and isolation will not be as onerous as a winter isolation, locked indoors might be.

I have been asked why I haven’t blogged recently but very little has happened. The line in my arm which is used for delivering drugs into my system or withdrawing blood from it has been removed and replaced with a line in my chest. The chest line is annoyingly inconvenient because it makes it impossible to shower. I used y to wrap clingfilm around my arm to keep the line dry but that is no longer an option. I’m now reduced to standing in front of the bathroom sink and indulging in a soapy flannel operation. Takes me back to the seventies when showers were simply not as ubiquitous as now. Combination boilers hadn’t really established themselves either so it was a cold flannel every school morning and a bath at the weekend. There’s something about baths that I really hate; I think in a previous life or previous nine lives I might have been a cat.

I’ve been asked if a potentially terminal illness has changed my attitude to life in general. I think I’m more appreciative of what I have and I tend not to worry about what might happen in the future, focussing more on the day in hand. The reality is we’re all on borrowed time and it’s possible that Putin might get up one morning with a nagging back problem or find his luxury yacht has been impounded and decide to nuke the world so why worry.