It feels rather strange writing about things that happened nearly a decade ago but in lieu of anything interesting happening in my daily life at the moment I'm going to carry on in the same vein.
It appeared that the treatments I had been given were being effective if the side effects I was feeling were anything to go by. I rapidly became completely bald, my fingernails were in tatters and all the mucous membranes that make up the whole digestive system had gone which meant that food wasn't much fun for me at all. My mouth was terribly ulcerated so I couldn't deal with anything other than soggy cereal or jelly sweets - hardly the basis of a sensible diet. Because of this I was losing weight rapidly so the decision was made to give me supplements to try and boost my weigh again but I couldn't really deal with them because they all taste foul so we then moved on to the insertion of a naso-gastric (NG) tube. It, as the name suggests, goes up your nose and down into your stomach. It's not the most fun you'll ever have getting it inserted but the benefits of it are massive, not least of which is that it allows the disgusting feeds to bypass your tastebuds.
My entire digestive system was in trauma though and absorbing food into my bloodstream wasn't really terribly effective and I was left with what my consultants creatively called torrential diaorrhoea. Nobody wants to know this stuff really I'm sure but it's such an integral part of the story that I can't really leave it out. It was terrible. My body felt like it was getting rid of everything I had eaten in my whole life. What it was actually doing as well though was evacuating all the now dead bone marrow as well.
All my blood counts were in the dangerously low region but the one that was causing most concern was my platelets level. I had to have transfusions of platelets because I had recurring nosebleeds that couldn't stop. Platelets allow the blood to clot so are pretty important in healing and I just didn't have enough of them so I needed an outside supply. I only needed blood transfusions a few times to increase my red blood cell count but I probably had about a dozen platelet transfusions.
Back in the days when I was healthy I used to donate blood regularly and occasionally, when there was a desperate need, I would give platelets too. I hadn't donated in years due to having a tattoo done and I've always wondered how much earlier they could have found my leukaemia if I hadn't got it done and had continued donating blood. I know the white blood cell count was so high that it could have been any time in at least the previous six months to a year. Imagine how different my life would have been if I'd have found out before I moved away to Cardiff.
I'd never have met all the amazing friends I did or had any of the wonderful experiences I had in the year and a bit I lived there. I'd never have found out a lot of what I did about myself in that time either. I thrived there.
The Cancer was always going to show up at one point but I'm glad I was away from home when it did. It gave me space I needed to come to terms with it - I would never have got that at home. Now they all know when I just need to be alone and they're brilliant at recognising it, even my eldest niece and nephews know when Uncle P isn't right and leave him be, but back at diagnosis time they couldn't possibly have been like that. It was too much of a trauma and they wanted to be around me as much as possible. I understand that completely but I wouldn't have coped as well as I think I did if it weren't for the space between us. I plough a lonely furrow when it comes to dealing with a lot of this stuff .
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