As it happens, this week The Scotsman was serialising a blog called CancerousCapers by a 19 year old lad called Jamie Ross who had recently been diagnosed with hodgkin's lymphona. (I'm not sure what the difference is between the 'non' and the 'non non' version.) You might hve guessed that I'm playing catch up with my Blog (writing it in June) but once I've got past all of the facts and information, I'm hoping that the tone of it will lighten to be of similar quality to that of Jamie's (with less swearing) because he gave me a lot of inspiration back in deepest darkest January.
Anyway, as promised, early this afternoon, I got transferred from the excellent care of Ward 52 in the GI Unit and Dr Shand, to Ward 8 - the Haematology Unit and my new top man would be a top lady, Dr Farquharson. Again, I'm not too sure why it's haematology and not oncology or even just plain cancer. Doesn't matter, that's where it is and they're going to fix me.
Jamie's blog in the paper that day described the worst seven minutes of his life, when he had to get a bone marrow biopsy. You can imagine my feelings then, when on arrival in Ward 8, after choosing my bed (by the window) I was told that the first thing I would get would be a bone marrow biopsy!
I got settled in to my bed (it's worth reminding anybody who is interested that I was still feeling extremely crap, still coughing for Scotland and had absolutely no energy whatsoever) and put all of my cards up on the shelf. I've been an in-patient for a week now so I've received loads already.
Then they expained that a doc would be along shortly to take the biopsy. There - in the ward - with just the curtain round the bed! What if I wanted to scream out in pain? Or cry? Or swear? Tough! Tough luck that is. Not tough me.
So then she arrived. Very petite, Polish, I think and very nice. She explained that I would get a couple of injections, similar to what you get at the dentist, only in my hip rather than my gum. And if I felt any pain, I was just to say and I would get another couple. Brilliant.
So let's get started. Firstly onto my left side, pull doon my jammy troosers a bit and then she put one of those green sheets with a hole over me. Just like you see on ER. It's starting to feel like a major operation now. And then she started boring and pushing and shoving and pulling and twisting into my hip bone. It felt like she was in about six inches but obviously my hip bone isn't that thick. And then, was it my imagination or was that a gurgling sound of stuff getting sucked out? What is bone marrow anyway? Solid or liquid? Or gunk? I've only seen it at the butchers or in a dog's bone.
Finally she had to nip off couple of bits of the bone itself and this was similar to getting the liver biopsy - the anticipation of the 'bite' is worse than the actual 'bite'. But it wasn't sore, just uncomfortable - I think Jamie had over hyped it a bit and it just goes goes to show that sometimes you can have too much information. There was nothing to fear but fear itself.
I think I could have done with a brandy though!
After recovering from that trauma (ok - I know I'm hyping it up a bit now) I got to meet Dr Farquharson for the first time. If anyone ever doubted that there was a cure for cancer, they haven't met Dr Farquharson. It's not that she has a cure - she is the cure. Bright, breezy, touchy, feely, broad accent and confidence in bucket loads. After chatting to her for a wee while, she was off again, as quick as she had arrived. There was a difference in me though. I now knew the plan and from that moment on I never doubted for a moment that she wouldn't get me better.
Other things were happening too. Support from family and friends was rolling in. Overwhelming support that takes your breath away. Messages and cards. Emails from Shona.
John and Liz and Liesl of course, came in to visit that night and there was laughter and jokes.
And it didn't seem quite so dark.
I was still coughing though.
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