It's more than just a question of time

Friday was never going to be a normal day. Aside from the massive build up I had given it in my mind this trip to the transplant clinic was the first time in over ten years of such appointments that I was ever going to have someone else in the consultation with me. In fact I would have three other people with me because my mum, my wee sister and my uncle all wanted to be there. One of the recommendations when you are diagnosed with a serious illness is that you always take someone along with you so that they can also take in all the information and you therefore have a better chance of remembering it all. I've never done it that way and have always gone in alone.

I think it has always given me the choice as to what information I actually divulge to everyone else.

Anyway, It was weird having the three of them there but I'm glad they were as it gave them all the chance to ask questions.

So the appointment itself.

Well the consultant was very relaxed and his first question was to ask me what I hoped for out of this. I told him that I hoped for a new life out of it all as I wasn't really living one just now. He said that was understandable but before he could help that we would have to go through a process where they make sure I am fit for transplant. Now from the information they already have there are already a few issues relating to my previous treatments that mean I won't be a straightforward case, but nothing that rules me out of transplantation. He explained what some of these were but I don't think you need to know all the tedious details.

The next step for me then is to go down to the transplant ward in Newcastle for a four day period of tests that will check every facet of my health - in other words make sure there aren't any reasons for me not to be able to go through transplant. That will be in the next few months.

I've got used to these consultations over the years and the terminology never bothers me greatly but I wonder how well the family coped with having to listen to the consultant talk about five and ten year survival rates post transplant. I've had to listen to that sort of thing a lot over the years and it, perhaps curiously, never bothers me. I seem to just assume I'll be the one who defies the statistics and lives a perfectly normal life afterwards.