Andrew's memorial service

Hello everyone,
Just a quick update, we have decided on a date, time and venue for Andrew's memorial service in the UK which was mentioned in the prior blog post.
Andrew's memorial will be held on Sunday the 27th at 2pm.
It will take place in :
The Parochial Hall
Clough Lea,
Marsden,
Huddersfield
HD7 6DN.
Please share with anyone you feel might wish to come
Thanks

Sadly inevitable post

Hello one and all, this is Noel, Andrew's brother at the keypad. It is with great sadness that I must break the news that Andrew passed away in the early hours of January 5th 2019. He was buried in Aughavale cemetery, Westport, Co.Mayo yesterday, at noon.
Many thanks to everyone who was in contact over the last couple of weeks, your wishes, kind words and heartfelt messages helped greatly to keep us strong throughout this enormously difficult time. 
Andrew had a remarkable circle of such amazing friends, which is no surprise given the remarkable, amazing man he was. I firmly believe that what you put out there you get right back. He held on dearly to the belief that our brother Malcolm was there to greet him, a belief I choose to share. The service and burial were I feel, exactly the sort of occasions Andrew envisaged and certainly all I could have wished for; surrounded by love and loved ones, who could ask for more.
The pouring rain and wind that blew as we carried the coffin were strangely appropriate for the west of Ireland, where there is a belief that rain on the coffin is a good thing, again a belief I choose to share.
There is a service proposed to take place in Yorkshire to celebrate Andrew's life, in the not too distant future, further details of which will I will post in this blog at a later date. Love and thanks to all of you from all of us, Noel and family xx

Further updates, Jan 1 2019

Hello all who may be reading - this is Andrew's niece Heather, taking the liberty of writing somewhat on his behalf at my Dad's request.

This is just to update on Andrew's condition: he is no longer checking his phone as such as of a few days ago, and is very tired and weak now, sleeping most of the time. As a note of hopefully some small reassurance, he is being incredibly well cared for by my Mum and Dad, and is comfortable. We all had a lovely Christmas together, for which we were so thankful, and we remain thankful, happy, and privileged that Andrew has chosen to spend the rest of his days with us.

Andrew has some bafflingly evergreen fairy lights in his room, which are a great comfort to him in their perpetual light; they seem a physical manifestation of all of the love, good wishes, prayers and support offered to him by all who read this blog. We are so grateful to you all, and we thank you so much.

Big update

As some of you know, I decided to stop the treatment for my leukaemia.

On Wednesday evening last week, after two days of very strong chemotherapy, my body pleaded, "No more poison." As soon as I decided to listen to my body, I spent the night tussling with the implications of doing so, including having the courage to tell the medical staff. I did so the next day and, though they tried, gently and respectfully, to dissuade me, my mind was made up. My treatment stopped on the Thursday.

I am now in Ireland, at the home of my brother and sister-in-law, along with their children and my mum. I lack the words to describe how grateful I am to them for taking me in for my final days, let alone how kindly they are treating me.

I don't know how long it'll be before I die: nobody does. I ask each medical professional I meet, and the consensus appears to be weeks or months.

As I deteriorate, I might struggle to reply to all the messages I receive (though I try my best and believe I'm on top of them at the moment). I appreciate all the support and contact I've received: people are very kind.

I'll try to update this more frequently now I'm in Ireland, but no promises: I've found recently that life and death both laugh at plans.

The drugs didn't work

I almost didn't bother with this bit, but decided to do so nonetheless: apologies for the big gap before posting this update.

Thanks to my friend Gary for alerting me to the app for updating the blog. No promises, but I hope, using this, to provide more frequent, though probably shorter, updates.

Talking of updates: I'm very sorry to say that my first chemotherapy treatment was not a success, which means we have to start again.

I'm due to start my next chemotherapy treatment either later this week or early next week. It'll be seven solid days of chemotherapy, which, despite my desire (and everybody else's desire for me) to remain positive, I expect will knock the wind out of my sails and leave me becalmed.

After that, there'll be an approximately three-week recovery period, after which I'll know if the treatment has been successful. There is a fifty per cent chance, I'm told.

I'm doing my best to take things a day at a time, which is the best advice I received and came from a very wise nurse on my second day in hospital; I sometimes forget, of course, but it's advice that has helped me through thus far and will continue to do so, I hope.

Thanks for all the good wishes, the messages, the gifts, the phone calls and the visits. It has been a tough time, with further tough times ahead, but they'd be a lot tougher without my family and friends supporting me.

Finally, please bear in mind that, especially as I undergo treatment, I'll have good days and bad days, which means I might not reply to you straight away, or even for a few days. It doesn't mean I don't appreciate the support and love I receive: I do, very much, and hope one day to repay, though it's a huge and growing debt.

That difficult second blog post

At last, here's my second blog post, a lot later than I hoped it would be.

In summary: I'm fine; I'm being well looked after; it's going to be a long haul.

Some notes: I'm very grateful to everybody for the good wishes, the cards, the gifts and the visits; I'm sorry I had to cancel some visits when I was feeling tired, but I'm well enough for visitors now; if you are visiting, you'll need the full address, not just the hospital, so please let me know if you don't have it.

My treatment: the overview of my treatment is that I'll be having (at least) two cycles of chemotherapy followed by a bone marrow transplant; I'm currently undergoing the first cycle - I've completed the chemotherapy part (which excited a lot of people in the hospital as the drug was deep purple - not Deep Purple, thankfully - apparently an unusual colour) and am now awaiting my neutrophils to reach a certain level - I keep asking the consultants when this will happen and each of them has a variation on 'it depends', from 'it depends' itself to the slightly more imaginative 'piece of string' and 'crystal ball territory' - once this happens, provided it happens, then I should be able to go home for a week or two before my next cycle begins.

How I'm feeling: I continue to feel fine, so much so that, if I didn't know I was seriously ill, I'd think I was the fittest I'd been for years. Very strange.

A technical note: I've done my best to disable comments on the blog but it might still entice you with a comments box and then decline to publish - sorry about that - if anybody can advise me on how to remove that, I'll be happy to address it.

Finally: I shall try to make more frequent, probably shorter, posts henceforth. No promises.

Friday 26th October 2018

I went to see my GP on Thursday 18th October 2018 as I was feeling under the weather: a sore throat, a cough, occasional breathlessness. I almost cancelled as I felt I had improved but decided to go ahead, even though I felt a little guilty taking an appointment from a genuinely sick person.

The GP examined me and decided I should have a blood test. I was scheduled to have the test the following week, but the receptionist caught me on my way out to say a couple of people hadn't shown for their blood appointments and I could have mine taken there and then, which I did.

I then drove to work as normal and worked as normal.

That evening, at 7.15 p.m. (just at the Archers was finishing), I received a call from Huddersfield Royal Infirmary asking me to go into the hospital as an outpatient that evening at 9.20 for further blood tests. They then rang me again to say they wanted me to stay overnight and to await a call telling me when my bed was ready; at 11.45 p.m. I received that call and took a taxi into the hospital.

I had more blood taken and underwent further tests. As will become a theme, I'm sure, everybody was very helpful and positive throughout the night and into the morning, when I was told that my blood tests showed that I have leukaemia.

I was transferred to Leeds St James's Teaching Hospital on the afternoon of Friday 19th October 2018 and have been here since, in a room of my own, being given many tests and much excellent treatment. I have also been blessed with a great deal of support from friends, family and colleagues, along with many visitors bearing gifts.

I now have a precise diagnosis: Acute Myeloid Leukaemia.

I am due to commence the first part of my treatment, chemotherapy, today. I don't know how I shall react to this, as I am told everybody is different, but I hope to feel well enough to update this blog so those who care to do so can track my progress (and it saves me repeating myself, which I only like to do when it suits me).