Hello there, before I get things going I think we should all stop and appreciate the pun that forms the title of this blog. I am saying ‘hello’ because I have been absent from my blog of late and I am saying ‘Allo’ because I am writing to tell you all about the allogenic transplant I am about to have. Get it? If you were not a fan of a 1980s sitcom, maybe you will not have understood it immediately, but as I have now explained it to you, a pause for you to guffaw is warranted.
Right then, here it goes.
Tomorrow, two years minus one day after my first stem cell transplant and 1063 days after I was diagnosed with the glory that is Multiple Myeloma, I will start treatment for my donor transplant. One could argue that I started treatment last July for this transplant, or, that all the other treatments I have had until this point have led to this transplant, but in the interest of not over exaggerating the sitution, tomorrow the SCT treatment really starts a proper.
It has taken an age to get here, and yet, once again, it all feels like it is coming at me too thick and too fast. I have spent the last few weeks wishing I had more time to enjoy myself post April’s auto, wishing I did not have to waste my limited time and energy sorting negative things out like money and my gas bill. I also feel under prepared in almost every sense possible. The impatient part of me however, which I should add, is My Ruler, just wants to get it out of the way. I have heard all the things that could happen and could go wrong, that I just want to see what is going to happen and what is going to go wrong. I want to be able to tell somebody if I’ll be free in a month’s time. I would really like to know how much energy I will have in October for the London Film Festival. I want to see if I really have wasted my last few weeks of freedom fretting over my future instead of seeing my friends and visiting my nearest multiplex. I want to see if I am strong and if I will be lucky enough to to experience weight loss. Most of all, I want to see if the transplant is going to work.
I really want it to work.
I will not know the answer to any of these questions until the treatment starts. It’s not only me who does not know, the Medically Trained People don’t know either.
Last week, I was informed on two occasions that I am currently in remission. I didn’t believe it. On the second occasion, I was told that I was in complete remission and I was the healthiest I have been since all this started. It made the dire biopsy I had the previous week and discovering that I did not secure the lid on my 24 hour urine sample all worth it. It was news that once upon a time, would face me screaming from the roof tops. For now, it is news that bodes well going forward, only because I am exactly where the seven cycles of treatment and autograft intended me to be. It is exactly where I wanted to be.
At the very least, it proves that my body is ready to fight the next fight, even if my mind is lagging behind.
Some people may question the point of Transplant Number 2 when I have already achieved remission. If the last 1062 days have taught me anything, My Myeloma is a stubborn little bugger and any remission I have without the transplant will not last long. I remember June 2014 well. It’s a fact of my life. No transplant, no chance of freedom.
I’m backed into a corner with my treatment. My only true option is the transplant and I know this. Despite this, a question that has been plaguing me over the last few weeks, is that even if I do manage to get a long remission with Transplant Number 2, has the damage already been done? Myeloma came along and dropped a massive bomb into my life and there are times when I feel like I am frantically grabbing at the remaining pieces and failing to retrieve them. What sort of life will I awake to in 5-6 months time? An uncertain one. I have not been able to fully celebrate my current medical position because I have bogged myself down, with sleepless nights with these questions about my future. People tell me to focus on my health and worry about the later, well, later. That is easier said than done, especially when it is me who is staring into an abyss. Sure, my health is the most important thing, but what is health without the means to have a life?
I know that I’ll think about the above more than once as I go forward, I may even take it out on others. I also know that tomorrow when I wake up, my job is going to be getting through the transplant. My job is going to be getting myself out of bed everyday to get to the hospital for treatment. My job is going to be looking after my body, monitoring it and doing everything I can to ensure Big Sister’s cells do what we all want them to do.
I first heard of this procedure on 20 August 2012. At the time, I was told that there was a high chance of dying from it, there was a small chance that it would cure me and it was a rare procedure to undertake. I disregarded it. It scared me, it still does. I have had many a conversation about it since and all I know now is that I am ready to take the risk. I would be ready even if the risks were as high as first told. The prospect of being able to have a few years (conservative estimate) without treatment makes my mouth water. I’m blowing bubbles with my metaphorical saliva, I’m that ready for it.
I have to face it, my life is not what it once was, but that is a fact that will not change by not having the transplant. In all probability, my life would be worse. Like I said, that damage has been done. Taking a risk with Transplant Number 2, the cost of doing, knowing how physically and mentally difficult it is going to be for me and those around me, has to be worth it. It has to be worth it.
I’m in this for the long haul.
So, tomorrow morning, I will go to St Bart’s where they will put a tube in my arm that will stay for much longer than I would like. I will have the first of five doses of chemotherapy and one week from today, I will have a bone marrow transplant.
It’s the end of this blog, but, what it is the beginning of, time will only tell.