I've had my high dose chemo (Melphalan) and beyond some temporary nausea and a headache I'm feeling fresh and optimistic. I'm occupying myself by reading, catching up with very old friends, watching this and that, and even checking work emails (mostly deleting them). My goal is to keep occupied and make the time pass.
Today I get my stem cells back, and before long I can expect to feel a bit rough. Today is day 0, and I should be out around day 15.
On Friday I got to go home eventually, but even that didn't go as planned. Rosie had been up in the night vomiting, so by the time I got home we all donned masks had a few cautious cuddles and sent the kids off to the grandparents for the weekend. We couldn't take the risk of me catching something just 2 weeks before my stem cell transplant. Fortunately they were back on Sunday, but on Monday night it was Amy's turn to be sick all night. I was consigned to either my room or another floor and it was organised for the girls to go back to the grandparents for a few days. Not ideal for family cuddles.
Meanwhile the hospital called announcing that they would like me to come in the next day to start my stem cell transplant. This was a shock to say the least, I'd been expecting to go back around the 10th December. Many questions were going through our heads:
Have I picked up something from the girls?
Is it safe if I have?
And how will they know if I don't have symptoms?
Is 5 days recovery between treatments enough?
I asked for some time so I could consult with my doctor. He wasn't available. As you can see, I accepted. Better to get this over and done with and be home for Christmas.
If I'm honest, whilst I was worried about the medical implications, it was being suddenly dragged away from my family, especially the girls, so unexpectedly which was the most difficult. The girls duly went off again, and we sneaked in a family cuddle and shed a few tears.
Moving into a sterile room involved some preparation. I would be allowed to take in a very limited number of things: tablet and phone were okay, a brand new notepad (I write everything down), underwear which had been ironed (I spent half the evening ironing: I never iron anything), water. I could also bring some food, which would be outside and brought to me on request. On arrival they even let me bring a book in, and I could leave some cash with them if I wanted something from the shop. And coffee, they would be able to bring me coffee!
The last piece of preparation was shaving. It all had to go. I'd already done my head and face, so I imagined with clippers I'd be done in 20 minutes. Ha! An hour later I was done and experiencing the novelty of smooth legs and armpits. Now I know the real reason why cyclists shave their legs: it's not about avoiding infection after crashes or aerodynamics, it's because silky smooth legs are irresistible!
Leaving Katie was hard, but she had to get home in the light since the car had started overheating (not the best for a 400km road trip). I had my catheter installed, an X-ray to check its position and then it was time to head in. Instead I hid in a dark waiting room and cried. A call to Katie gave me the courage to walk to the transplant unit, ring the bell and get started.
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