Subject: Me, Me, Me

The following is an email I sent to some of the Support Network in preparation for today and beyond. In some of this, I will repeat things that I have written previously, but in my current, highly rational state, I think this is a good indication of where I am, and what I need to come. Why send a private email you ask? Well, firstly it saves energy, and secondly, I hope to dispel an ideas that my medical plan is the same as having a wort removed… Mind you, until you have pooped your pants and hallucinated green goblins bursting out your stomach because you are in so much pain, it’s all relative isn’t it? 

Please note, some of the names have been removed because this really is, all about me.

From: Emma Jane Bones

To: Friends

Sent: In the early hours of 29 March 2015

Dear All,

Hello. As I have had the last minute go ahead from the powers that be, I thought it was time for me to send an email outlining just what the hell is going to happen. 

Fear not dear friends, it is not an emotional email, just one layered with practical points about how my year is going to roll from now on. If some of that sounds emotional or distressing, it was not my intention. BLANK, The Counsellor suggested me levelling expectations. I think this is levelling expectations.

I know that this may seem self indulgent, but the transplant clock is a ticking. Plus, although it will not be emotional for you, it is an emotional subject for me, so it is easier for me to write it down rather than to say it. Secondly, I hope it’ll save me from telling people the same thing over and over again, forgetting who I have said it to, and thus bore you into silence.

Before I get going, I would like to thank those of you who have organised and/or participated in recent activities. To everybody else who I have not been able to see, I thank you for still continuing to care. It’s all very much appreciated. More generally, I had hoped I would have been freer from this for longer, but that was not the plan, so I thank you for still being around.

I am going to try to keep this brief, but who am I kidding, I can never be that brief. 

The Plan

1 April
I will go to UCH on Wednesday morning, when all being well, I will be given the high dose chemo. I will initially be staying in ambulatory care, also known as the hotel, with my mother. 

Thursday is known as ‘Day 0’ in the biz and this is the day I have the transplant. 

3 April onwards
I will be in Ambi Care until the poop starts or my temperature hits 38, or I show any other type of illness. There is no real way of knowing how long this will take, last time I was out for 5 days, but that means nothing.

Once I am sick, I will move into the tower on the 13th or 16th floor.  They say expect to be in for 3-4 weeks, but last time I was in for 10 days… I know which option I would prefer. 

My hair will go FYI. My feelings towards this are surprising. I did not anticipate this much dread, but the dread is there. I’ll be shaving it off after I have had the chemotherapy, maybe on Friday. If anybody fancies doing this for me, let me know? I have George’s clippers.

On Discharge
Once I am well enough to go home, I will be heading back to BLANK until I am well enough to reasonably look after myself. I say ‘look after myself’, what I actually mean is able to return to the flat and only rely on BLANK for a few things instead of everything.

During the time between transplants, I doubt I will be able to do that much. Afternoon trips to the Picturehouse might be doable. Definitely/maybe no alcohol. As with everything else, we will just have to see.

For those of you with birthdays during this time, I will endeavour to attend, but do not hold it against me if I do not. 

June/July
I will go to St Bart’s for the second transplant. Initially I will be an outpatient, there is a chance I will remain one for the whole procedure, the odds they gave me for this are 50/50. 

Don’t let this outpatient nonsense fool you. Whilst the risk of a particular negative result is no longer 40%, it is still high. Those figures are not based on the first few weeks after the cells are introduced, it is based on the months (and I mean months) after and whether my body decides to completely reject my sister’s cells. If this happens, it happens, but fingers crossed it will not. Best to say that now, so you have realistic expectations. It may not be an operation, but it’s a serious thing. 

I have been told that the best case scenario post number 2 will be rashes and gut problems, with a side of fatigue. I’m hoping to go back to being a size 16. Anecdotally, the fatigue is something I have not yet experienced. I am afraid of this the most. I am afraid of only having the energy to lie in bed for months on end and become bitter. I do not want to become bitter.

I’ll hammer this point home, the recovery is going to be long. Real long.  The guidance says no international travel for two years, but I think this must be wrong. 

Hospital Visits for Transplant 1

Whilst I am in the hotel, I will be accompanied by my mum or sister. On Wednesday, I imagine I’ll be too tired when it is all done and I’ll just want my bed, so no visitors that day unless you want to watch me suck ice cubes during the day. 

Thereafter, I will be able to receive and I will need visitors.

As I’ll need my mother a great deal throughout the year, I have said she does not need to be around too much whilst I am in hospital. This will mean that I will need visitors, because being stuck in a room for 10 days (or more) is extremely isolating. 

Here is the problem, I may well not have the brain capacity to schedule your visits. At the start, I’ll be better at it, but when the pooing and vomiting starts, I’ll probably find texting back stressful. I’m not sure how to resolve this issue, other than just ask you to come and hope I’ll be free. Or you can organise it amongst yourselves. Not practical I know, but I’m just anticipating the worst case scenario.

There are no visiting hours, although the mornings are when the doctors do their rounds and when the cleaners come. You probably do not want to see them.

It sounds obvious, but if you feel unwell, do not come. I will have no immune system. Don’t buy me anything.

In between visits, feel free to keep in contact, I’ll be tired and might not always reply right away, but text messages are always fun.

You

After my release, I will be suffering from fatigue. It’s a word you will get bored of. The fatigue, as I said earlier, will get worse after the second transplant. I am not exaggerating when I say that getting over the last transplant’s fatigue was the hardest thing I have ever done. It makes it quite difficult to trust my emotions.


As such, it would be prudent for me to say that there will be times when I become depressed. I hope not many, but it will happen and that will make me question pretty everything and everyone. In turn, this may make me appear like an irrational and mean bitch. All I can say to this is please bear with me, and try not to give up on me. I have an aromatherapy stick this time for relaxation, and you never know, it might just be what I need to keep it all together. If it is not, I will  apologise to you in advance.

Not being able to get out of bed, for long periods of time, it is easy to feel forgotten and lonely. So, I’ll need one sided friendships for a while. Colin will need a break sometimes too and I may need people to cook for me and other things. All this will require me learning to ask for help, or you could just be forceful. That will be tough on you, because I will become quite dull.

My life will probably be quite myeloma obsessed. Let me reassure you now, this will not be because I like to be the centre of attention or talk about myself. I am always more than happy and willing to talk about anything else. You just have to start that anything, for, I will not know of anything else unless you want me to tell you what is happening on my Facebook feed.

Realistically, I will not be as well as I am now, until the new year. I might be pleasantly surprised, but the odds for that, are not in my favour.

Other

Last time I had a transplant, I sent text updates for major transplant developments. If you wish to receive these again, do let me know.

So, all that is left to say is thank you. I cannot emphasise this enough, but you are all appreciated. I know I have upset people in the past for not showing or saying this enough, but, most the time I think I have. I’m quite forgetful don’t you know.

Emma 

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One thought on “Subject: Me, Me, Me

  1. Pam says:

    And, no sooner did I say I would be waiting for your next post, than this one appeared. I wish I would be able to do something for you to make these immediate days better. This post is so honest and straightforward and trust me when I say this, even though it is about you, the honest way you are laying this out is a selfless gift to those who care about you. I would say that it is emotional for every person that cares about you. That being said, you take care Emma. I am sure that there is a lot of love around you and that you are up to this. Sending you love, and only good and positive thoughts for your strength,healing and peace of mind.

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