There are times when I think I am used to the weaknesses that come with my post-transplant body. There are times when I know I am not used to my post transplant body. My post transplant body requires endless amounts of TLC and as I am discovering, drugs. Lots of drugs. Not the sort of drugs that have me reaching for the Domperidone and send to me my bed at 10.36 in the morning. I am talking drugs that seemingly have absolutely no connection to myeloma. I am talking drugs that require me to visit a pharmacy that is not located by the lift of the ground floor of the Macmillan Cancer Centre. A pharmacy where I actually have to queue with the normal people.
I am over my little trip to Accident and Emergency. If I am brutally honest with myself, I got over said incident slightly later than I pretended I did. At least I am over that interruption into my uber important life. The benefits of my transplant do outweigh the negatives, but that does not mean that the negatives do not have been wanted to unleash mass violence, if I was physically capable of such a thing, at the world. A cold for me is not a cold for normal people. I cannot plough on through, I am sent to my bed by my body and there I have to stay until my new medications have worked their magic. My post transplant body means a cold becomes an infection and that results in a visit by Mr Asthma intent on taking my breath away and knocking me right off my feet.
I know I have to get used to it, get used to the likelihood that every few months, I will be reminded quite strongly, that I have myeloma. Penicillin reminds me of myeloma. The frustration, oh my gosh, the frustration.
And so, to restrict the frequency of these outbursts and the need of antibiotic tablets large you feel like you are swallowing a hole Werther’s Orginal, my drugs drawer now contains a whole host of asthma related paraphernalia, including one of those things I have to blow into everybody morning and night. I am plotting a graph.
In addition to my breathing difficulties, there is also a sticker permanently placed on one of my butt cheeks. This medication, known as HRT, is normally reserved for women of a certain age who hopefully have used their extensive years wisely and to the full. The plan of HRT is that it will eventually stop me sweating profusely in the middle of meetings or when other people are trying to eat in my presence. It will also, I am told, prevent some of my morning aches and strengthen my useless post transplant bladder. So far, it makes me feel more nauseous than I am normally.
I am now well known at with my GP.
All this medication is designed to keep me healthier for longer, but it also imposing a responsibility that I did not ask for. It is on top of the 9 pills I have to take daily for myeloma. It is on top of the side effects I have from myeloma. It just want to be left alone. I also really want somebody to tell me where I am supposed to house all this stuff.
At least it is all free. My bonus meds.