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).