I'll start off by apologising for the title of this post but it is Halloween!
After the first couple of weeks in Birmingham, I still hadn't begun to eat or drink. As can be expected, my parents were naturally very anxious about this and yet my doctors did say that it was perfectly normal and there shouldn't be too much to worry about. I spent every single day lying in bed being given chemotherapy which was mixed in with the occasional blood transfusion! I think in total I had over a dozen transfusions during the time that I spent in the hospital and if you ever have one, you might agree, that it can be an almost surreal experience watching someone else's blood being dripped into you.
However, apologies, as I am getting ahead of myself! To administer the chemotherapy and blood, I had to have multiple cannulas in the backs of my hands and the insides of my elbows. Unfortunately, this was unsustainable as due to the excessive strain that the cannulas were put under, I needed a new one to be inserted into me pretty much every day. Therefore, I needed, what is known as a Hickman Line, put in me as soon as was possible. A Hickman Line is a central venous catheter, which meant that all my chemotherapy could be administered with less pain, straight into my heart. The actual operation was delayed by an entire week due to the amount of other people requiring surgery, but when the day came that I was "put under", it was such a relief. It meant that instead of doctors and nurses sticking holes in me left, right and center, the chemotherapy and access to my bloods became far easier due to the two tubes which lead directly into my chest.
My operation was on the 22nd of October and that night was the first night that I ate, since the 7th. I can still remember being very proud of managing to digest a mouthful of pasta bake and one of those ever reliable Jaffa Cakes. It was a very important day in my treatment, made even more special by the fact that I had finally allowed some of my friends to visit me the next day. This was something that I had been loathe to do, due to fear of them not knowing how to act around me anymore. It was a genuine fear at the time, but a completely irrational one as it turned out.
Thursday 31 October 2013
Monday 28 October 2013
Steroids
The last week hasn't been a huge amount of fun for me, due to the fact that I began one of my five day steroid cycles last Monday. Now, this isn't an uncommon part of my treatment as one of these cycles comes around every 4 weeks or so and yet it still takes some growing accustomed to. Just to clarify, the steroids that I take do not allow you to suddenly grow huge muscles! Instead, they are a very important part of the chemotherapy treatment structure that I follow.
So these steroids come in the form of tiny tablets which I must take twice a day with my meals and they have some pretty weird effects. Now I know that everyone who takes them will react slightly differently to them but generally, the tablets redistribute fats around the body. Unfortunately, they redistribute this primarily to the stomach and face which means that no matter how much or little you eat, there's a very good chance that you're going to look a little chubbier for the period of time that you are on them. However, eating and drinking becomes a bit of a problem for me when I'm on my steroids as they are known to change your taste buds a little. Weirdly enough, the one major taste that is altered when I am taking my steroids, is water. For some reason, my tablets make it taste absolutely vile, to the point where I can't swallow it. Another effect that the steroids have on me is that I struggle to eat any food during the first 4 days of starting to take them. I'm not entirely sure why, but I end up finding it very difficult to stomach a few mouthfuls of anything at all over those few days. This is greatly annoying because come Wednesday and Thursday, I haven't eaten a proper meal in a while and so, feel starving, but can't consume anything without feeling very ill. However, by Friday, it's a different story. The steroids then work in reverse and the effects don't stop when I finish taking them on the Friday evening, as for the whole weekend my appetite is pretty insatiable and then by Monday, I'm back to normal again. As you can imagine this puts quite a strain on my poor parents who feel that they should feed me when I tell them that I'm hungry, only for me not to eat what they then present me with!
The steroids don't just affect me physically, they also change my moods too. My emotions become far more intense, both good and bad feelings. This leads to some really strange scenarios where I go from feeling almost euphoric, to feeling really angry in the blink of an eye and sometimes I, myself, don't even know the reason! The final thing that the steroids change about me, is that they can make me become quite fidgety and restless at times, which makes sitting still quite a challenge, particularly when I'm in school!
I do think that it's worth mentioning that obviously, all types of treatment will affect people in different ways and this is just my account of the effects that my steroids have on me.
Thursday 24 October 2013
My First Week in Birmingham
When people ask about my two months that I spent in Birmingham Children's Hospital, I often tell them that I don't remember too much of the experience and largely this is true, so please do forgive me if I get my dates a little muddled, but generally I'm pretty sure I've been accurate with my recollection. However, there are some things that I do remember vividly and I haven't felt ready to speak about them until now as I found the challenges that my family and I faced, quite difficult to come to terms with. I found my first couple of months of treatment pretty terrifying due to the fact that the infection which had "triggered" my Leukaemia meant I had to undertake some very intense chemotherapy and antibiotics as soon as possible, which completely shocked my body. This meant that, amongst other things, my body rejected any food or drink outright for almost 3 weeks!
The most immediate and physically altering effect of the chemotherapy was my drastic loss in weight. I lost two stone in a week and a half and went from being, if I say so myself, reasonably athletic, to a skinny, chicken legged shell of the person that I was. I remember I'd just stare at my hands for seemingly hours, as if watching them deteriorate day by day. I'm not entirely sure why I did this, but apparently I was fascinated with them and it really freaked everyone at the hospital out! After a few days of chemotherapy, my teeth and eyes soon became too big for my face and according to Mum and Dad, I began to look like Frodo after he was bitten by Shelob, the giant spider in Lord of the Rings, void of all colour, eyes glazed over and skin stretched thinly over the outline of my face. Not my finest look I've been told!
Other than my physical appearance, which frankly I was too ill to really come to terms with, I had to grow accustomed to some other massive changes in hospital. The worst of which was probably the fact that every 2 hours I had to be woken up to receive more chemotherapy, blood tests or anti-sickness pills (of which there were countless dozens!). I was incredibly lucky in my treatment in that I had amazing support from everyone imaginable. All my friends and teachers sent photos and cards and I cannot overstate just how vital they were, in making me open up my eyes each day. However, the people who I will probably never be able to fully repay and have been incredible over the course of all of my treatment, were my family. My Mum stayed in the same room as me every single day and night, on a fold up bed for the entire experience, while my sister had to persevere through school every day and Dad would take as much time off work as he could to see me and ease the pressure on my poor Mum. She would be by my side every single time I needed to take more medication and would help me choke back my tablets which invariably I coughed straight back up anyway. Due to the lack of fluid in me, my skin became very dry, very quickly and in particular my lips became cracked and swollen, often bleeding for no apparent reason. Every few hours, my Mum would apply some anti-bacterial liquid to them to stop them getting infected and although it stung like nobody's business, it was vastly preferable to the arid condition that they would otherwise have been left in, as I was too weak to apply any of it myself.
By this stage, I had become too weak to walk and required a large amount of assistance to go anywhere, including, obviously, the toilet. Therefore, whenever I needed to go, I had to either wake up my Mum, or call for a nurse to pass me a cardboard, flask shaped container to urinate in, while trying desperately not to pull out the multitude of tubes that had been inserted into my arms, hands and nose. To put it mildly, it was bleak.
On the 19th of October 2012, a week after arriving in Birmingham, I had been scheduled for a Lumbar Puncture and was going to make my way down to surgery. However, as I tried to pull myself out of bed I ended up fainting and apparently toppled headlong into my mother's arms which was really quite lucky for me! I awoke to some mild panic from various nurses and only later did I discover that this panic was brought about due to me falling unconscious with my eyes remaining wide open the entire time, which I suppose was a little traumatic for all. Whenever I try to picture this, I imagine a puppet having all of it's strings cut that were holding it in place. From that moment onward I needed a wheel chair to move anywhere, although predominantly I was bedridden anyway and received the vast majority of treatment in my room. However, the doctors had insisted that I have a scan of my brain so I was wheeled down a very dark corridor to determine if the fainting had been brought on by a blood clot and could therefore, lead to a stroke. I was eased into an MRI scanner and honestly remember nothing else until, before I knew it, I was back in bed after a pretty grim day!
At this point I hadn't seen anything of the outside world for almost two weeks but I can remember lying in my hospital bed at night and having really sudden moments of clarity where I knew exactly where I was. I'd look upwards through the window in the ceiling of the room and see an airplane flying overhead with it's flashing red lights in the night sky and I used to wake up my Mum (who must have been exhausted) and we'd pretend that they were shooting stars together. We'd then lie there talking about anything, discussing the smell of rain or old holidays we had been on, before cancer had infiltrated our family. Afterwards, I'd then fall asleep for a couple of hours, only to forget who I was once more, by the time the next day had come.
I can't imagine how difficult that must have been for her, one moment, I'd be seemingly sane and well within my own head and then the next, about as full of life as one of the machines pumping chemotherapy into me, with their never ending and painfully consistent "bleeps". I spent many nights not knowing whether I was in a dream or actually awake and each time I did wake up, there would be a struggle to differentiate between the real world and some nightmare which might have been brought on by the chemotherapy, as the drugs I was taking are known to cause very vivid, hallucinogenic dreams.
I know I've said this in previous posts but my family have been and continue to be amazing throughout my treatment, but in the first few weeks, they were just astonishing. It must have been a thousand times scarier for them to experience what I went through, compared to what I had to deal with, as I was barely conscious for the majority of it and they had to sit, seemingly helplessly, by my side, watching me. It's only now that I can fully appreciate every single thing they did to help me, in a time when I was so completely reliant on others for my own well being.
The most immediate and physically altering effect of the chemotherapy was my drastic loss in weight. I lost two stone in a week and a half and went from being, if I say so myself, reasonably athletic, to a skinny, chicken legged shell of the person that I was. I remember I'd just stare at my hands for seemingly hours, as if watching them deteriorate day by day. I'm not entirely sure why I did this, but apparently I was fascinated with them and it really freaked everyone at the hospital out! After a few days of chemotherapy, my teeth and eyes soon became too big for my face and according to Mum and Dad, I began to look like Frodo after he was bitten by Shelob, the giant spider in Lord of the Rings, void of all colour, eyes glazed over and skin stretched thinly over the outline of my face. Not my finest look I've been told!
Other than my physical appearance, which frankly I was too ill to really come to terms with, I had to grow accustomed to some other massive changes in hospital. The worst of which was probably the fact that every 2 hours I had to be woken up to receive more chemotherapy, blood tests or anti-sickness pills (of which there were countless dozens!). I was incredibly lucky in my treatment in that I had amazing support from everyone imaginable. All my friends and teachers sent photos and cards and I cannot overstate just how vital they were, in making me open up my eyes each day. However, the people who I will probably never be able to fully repay and have been incredible over the course of all of my treatment, were my family. My Mum stayed in the same room as me every single day and night, on a fold up bed for the entire experience, while my sister had to persevere through school every day and Dad would take as much time off work as he could to see me and ease the pressure on my poor Mum. She would be by my side every single time I needed to take more medication and would help me choke back my tablets which invariably I coughed straight back up anyway. Due to the lack of fluid in me, my skin became very dry, very quickly and in particular my lips became cracked and swollen, often bleeding for no apparent reason. Every few hours, my Mum would apply some anti-bacterial liquid to them to stop them getting infected and although it stung like nobody's business, it was vastly preferable to the arid condition that they would otherwise have been left in, as I was too weak to apply any of it myself.
By this stage, I had become too weak to walk and required a large amount of assistance to go anywhere, including, obviously, the toilet. Therefore, whenever I needed to go, I had to either wake up my Mum, or call for a nurse to pass me a cardboard, flask shaped container to urinate in, while trying desperately not to pull out the multitude of tubes that had been inserted into my arms, hands and nose. To put it mildly, it was bleak.
On the 19th of October 2012, a week after arriving in Birmingham, I had been scheduled for a Lumbar Puncture and was going to make my way down to surgery. However, as I tried to pull myself out of bed I ended up fainting and apparently toppled headlong into my mother's arms which was really quite lucky for me! I awoke to some mild panic from various nurses and only later did I discover that this panic was brought about due to me falling unconscious with my eyes remaining wide open the entire time, which I suppose was a little traumatic for all. Whenever I try to picture this, I imagine a puppet having all of it's strings cut that were holding it in place. From that moment onward I needed a wheel chair to move anywhere, although predominantly I was bedridden anyway and received the vast majority of treatment in my room. However, the doctors had insisted that I have a scan of my brain so I was wheeled down a very dark corridor to determine if the fainting had been brought on by a blood clot and could therefore, lead to a stroke. I was eased into an MRI scanner and honestly remember nothing else until, before I knew it, I was back in bed after a pretty grim day!
At this point I hadn't seen anything of the outside world for almost two weeks but I can remember lying in my hospital bed at night and having really sudden moments of clarity where I knew exactly where I was. I'd look upwards through the window in the ceiling of the room and see an airplane flying overhead with it's flashing red lights in the night sky and I used to wake up my Mum (who must have been exhausted) and we'd pretend that they were shooting stars together. We'd then lie there talking about anything, discussing the smell of rain or old holidays we had been on, before cancer had infiltrated our family. Afterwards, I'd then fall asleep for a couple of hours, only to forget who I was once more, by the time the next day had come.
I can't imagine how difficult that must have been for her, one moment, I'd be seemingly sane and well within my own head and then the next, about as full of life as one of the machines pumping chemotherapy into me, with their never ending and painfully consistent "bleeps". I spent many nights not knowing whether I was in a dream or actually awake and each time I did wake up, there would be a struggle to differentiate between the real world and some nightmare which might have been brought on by the chemotherapy, as the drugs I was taking are known to cause very vivid, hallucinogenic dreams.
I know I've said this in previous posts but my family have been and continue to be amazing throughout my treatment, but in the first few weeks, they were just astonishing. It must have been a thousand times scarier for them to experience what I went through, compared to what I had to deal with, as I was barely conscious for the majority of it and they had to sit, seemingly helplessly, by my side, watching me. It's only now that I can fully appreciate every single thing they did to help me, in a time when I was so completely reliant on others for my own well being.
Monday 21 October 2013
Movember
Over the last week I've had a few ups and downs. I initially had a massive comedown from the incredible weekend away at FYSOT but have luckily managed to find (on Facebook) all of my new friends from the trip to keep in contact with them. I cannot reiterate enough just how much I'd recommend any young person with cancer, to attend this weekend in the future!
I feel I may owe some people apologies this week, particularly my close friends and family. One of the things that I did discover over the last weekend was that the chance of relapsing, particularly in Leukaemia, is a lot higher than I originally thought. I met young people who had relapsed and who had to endure a bone marrow transplant as well as radiation therapy and it did shock me that this happens to people my age. This week, it has been playing on my mind a lot, so I decided to ask to meet with my consultant today to discuss what was bothering me.
I'm honestly so glad that I did have that conversation. He broke down using facts and figures the likelihood of me relapsing which confirmed my worries that yes there was a 10-20% chance of it happening, however, by treating me like an adult and being upfront, my worries really did reduce significantly. It was quite a scary conversation, but one that was definitely worthwhile and has relieved a lot of angst on my part.
Anyway, the final part of this post is that I want to show massive appreciation for my school, who spent half an hour today educating our Sixth Form on the typical signs of Prostate and Testicular cancer and are now striving to raise money for "Movember" to raise awareness of men's health.
Thursday 17 October 2013
Moving to Birmingham Children's Hospital
After I was diagnosed on the Wednesday, I urgently needed to move to a bigger hospital than Gloucester Royal. I had to be transferred as soon as possible but unfortunately I had had to remain in Gloucester for a blood transfusion before I could be moved. This meant that I was scheduled to leave on Friday evening, during rush hour. Originally, I was going to be moved to the large Bristol Children's Unit but unfortunately all of their beds were full, so instead Gloucester Royal called Oxford and again, there was no room. As a last resort Birmingham was called and before I knew what was happening I was strapped onto a bed with my arms by my side and wheeled into an ambulance.
I remember very little of the journey itself but I do recall being able to open my eyes to just stare at my Mum who kept asking if I was alright. I find it incredible now, but I was so weak I couldn't even answer her, instead I very slowly raised up one thumb of reassurance and tried to smile.
When we eventually arrived in Birmingham Children's Hospital I was taken to the children's ward immediately. Unfortunately, there had been a mix up with my age and the hospital was expecting a very weak 6 year old instead of a 16 year old! Obviously, the bed was too small and so I was taken up the few floors to the Teenage Cancer Trust ward which was designed specifically for young people. However, as I was to be taken upstairs as quickly as possible, the porters who were pushing my bed didn't realise that both of my canulas in the back's of my hand had been pulled out and I was bleeding quite profusely.
I arrived on the Teenage Cancer Trust ward still in a haze, not sure at all of where I was and what was going on. I do remember though, my Dad and sister and of course Mum who had driven up to Birmingham that night sitting with me, trying to encourage me to sit up in my bed and watch an England football match that was on the television.
That was one of the scariest times in my life because I honestly didn't know if I was going to make it through the night. What is important to mention is that every nurse, doctor, porter, ambulance driver and also my family were incredible that night and gave me the best chance of survival. I can't thank these people enough and I know for a fact that without their perseverance, I wouldn't be here today.
I remember very little of the journey itself but I do recall being able to open my eyes to just stare at my Mum who kept asking if I was alright. I find it incredible now, but I was so weak I couldn't even answer her, instead I very slowly raised up one thumb of reassurance and tried to smile.
When we eventually arrived in Birmingham Children's Hospital I was taken to the children's ward immediately. Unfortunately, there had been a mix up with my age and the hospital was expecting a very weak 6 year old instead of a 16 year old! Obviously, the bed was too small and so I was taken up the few floors to the Teenage Cancer Trust ward which was designed specifically for young people. However, as I was to be taken upstairs as quickly as possible, the porters who were pushing my bed didn't realise that both of my canulas in the back's of my hand had been pulled out and I was bleeding quite profusely.
I arrived on the Teenage Cancer Trust ward still in a haze, not sure at all of where I was and what was going on. I do remember though, my Dad and sister and of course Mum who had driven up to Birmingham that night sitting with me, trying to encourage me to sit up in my bed and watch an England football match that was on the television.
That was one of the scariest times in my life because I honestly didn't know if I was going to make it through the night. What is important to mention is that every nurse, doctor, porter, ambulance driver and also my family were incredible that night and gave me the best chance of survival. I can't thank these people enough and I know for a fact that without their perseverance, I wouldn't be here today.
Monday 14 October 2013
FYSOT Weekend
This weekend I was lucky enough to attend a fantastic event which is organised by the Teenage Cancer Trust which is called, brace yourselves, Find Your Sense Of Tumour. I was incredibly nervous about going as I knew very few people who would also be there, but I signed up for it and I'm so glad that I did.
The event is for young people aged between 14-25 and is held at Nottingham Center Parcs. I don't know the definitive number of people who attended but I can safely say that it was more than a few hundred across all of Great Britain. The weekend was split up fairly evenly into approximately one hour long lectures and free time, which could include using any of the facilities at the disposal of other guests. We listened to a variety of guest speakers who were all incredibly inspirational in their own right and some of the bravest people I've had the fortune to meet and these included: Stephen Sutton, Joe Twyman, Giles Long and Dame Ellen MacArthur. Of all the guest speakers, it was Stephen Sutton who spoke so incredibly passionately about how vital it is to live in the moment, that moved me the most and I'd highly recommend visiting his Facebook page which you will find at the bottom of today's blog.
There were also afternoon workshops which were specific to different cancers. I attended the Leukaemia one and was so impressed with the honesty of both the questions raised by other cancer sufferers, but also the amount of empathy that you could see in the faces of the Doctors answering the questions. There were some topics of discussion that I found very hard to deal with, such as the possibility of infertility and memory loss and yet everything was tackled head on and I came away from the experience feeling both impressed and better educated for it.
However, it wasn't just the lecturers who have inspired and motivated me. I met a lot of teenagers who had endured some very, very difficult times and they were all such down to earth people. The weekend highlighted to me the resilience and psychological strength that teenagers possess and I came away with the will to become an even more appreciative person of what I do have.
I heard many fantastic people say some truly great things over the entire weekend but the one quote that did stand out for me was that "You are only as strong as the people around you." This short statement could epitomise how I have felt about all of my treatment so far. I would not be anywhere near as healthy, happy and strong as I am today without the vast support from my friends, family and school. I know that many people aren't as lucky as I am and I've met people who have had to go through some ghastly experiences without the backing that I have had. However, this has only made me more thankful to everyone that does wish me well and it has made me determined to help those who need it.
The event is for young people aged between 14-25 and is held at Nottingham Center Parcs. I don't know the definitive number of people who attended but I can safely say that it was more than a few hundred across all of Great Britain. The weekend was split up fairly evenly into approximately one hour long lectures and free time, which could include using any of the facilities at the disposal of other guests. We listened to a variety of guest speakers who were all incredibly inspirational in their own right and some of the bravest people I've had the fortune to meet and these included: Stephen Sutton, Joe Twyman, Giles Long and Dame Ellen MacArthur. Of all the guest speakers, it was Stephen Sutton who spoke so incredibly passionately about how vital it is to live in the moment, that moved me the most and I'd highly recommend visiting his Facebook page which you will find at the bottom of today's blog.
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| Stephen Sutton and I |
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| Dame Ellen MacArthur and I |
However, it wasn't just the lecturers who have inspired and motivated me. I met a lot of teenagers who had endured some very, very difficult times and they were all such down to earth people. The weekend highlighted to me the resilience and psychological strength that teenagers possess and I came away with the will to become an even more appreciative person of what I do have.
I heard many fantastic people say some truly great things over the entire weekend but the one quote that did stand out for me was that "You are only as strong as the people around you." This short statement could epitomise how I have felt about all of my treatment so far. I would not be anywhere near as healthy, happy and strong as I am today without the vast support from my friends, family and school. I know that many people aren't as lucky as I am and I've met people who have had to go through some ghastly experiences without the backing that I have had. However, this has only made me more thankful to everyone that does wish me well and it has made me determined to help those who need it.
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| The South West Group |
Stephen Sutton's Facebook page: https://www.facebook.com/StephensStory?ref=ts&fref=ts
Thursday 10 October 2013
A Year Today - My Diagnosis
It was a year ago today that I was diagnosed with Leukaemia and it would be impossible to try and give details on everything that has happened in that time. However, I'd like to try and describe the events leading up to my diagnosis and the emotions that immediately followed.
It didn't take long for me to realise that something my health wasn't quite right and in fact the first obvious physical changes happened over night! I'd been feeling under the weather for a few days and so after visiting the GP on the Saturday, I was given some antibiotics with a follow up appointment scheduled for the next week. Unfortunately, I had a bad reaction to these antibiotics (later I found out that my Grandpa is also allergic to them) and a fist sized lump appeared in the upper right hand side of my neck. I had woken up in the early hours of the morning with my eyes literally sealed shut with that grimy sleep gunk and this lump in my neck! Instead of waking my parents like most people probably would have, I stumbled downstairs where I pulled open my eye lids and checked out my symptoms online on the NHS website. Most signs seemed to point to glandular fever or a blood infection and Leukaemia was the very last potential prognosis on the page so I didn't give it too much thought.
It was only at 5:00am that I decided to wake up my parents who kept calm and told me all the things that I needed to hear to prevent me from panicking too much, reassuring me that we'd visit the GP again the next day to get some new tablets. That Monday my mum took me to the GP and as the lump was still quite prominent in my neck they took a few blood tests and sent us home with the advice to take Paracetemol. I decided to get an early night and then at 9:30pm our GP called and said it was vitally important that we get to Stroud hospital as soon as possible.
What happened next is still a bit of a blur and I only remember disjointed segments of the next few days. That night I was taken to Stroud and then very quickly to Gloucester hospital where I was put on the children's ward. I have almost no recollection of what happened from Monday night to the next Wednesday but I will never forget the moment I was told that I had cancer.
My Mum had stayed by my side almost continuously throughout my time at Gloucester hospital and so when I regained some sort of consciousness she was there sat next to my bed. Apparently the doctors had been in and out the whole time I was there but I honestly couldn't recognise or remember any of them up until that point. I think there were four doctors in total who came into the room and there was no hesitating when they spoke to me, they treated me like an adult and I have huge respect for them for that alone. They said "I'm sure that you were aware of the possibility that you have Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia" and the strangest thought went through my head which I can now look back and laugh on, which was "Isn't Leukaemia cancer?" Of course I knew that Leukaemia was cancer but it was as if a part of my mind was actively denying it, to the rational side of me. I know it's very cliché to say that after hearing shocking news you hear "white noise" but genuinely I didn't hear another word of what came out any of the Doctor's mouths. I sat on that bed, propped up against the pillows and was completely unmoving, utterly still.
It was at that point that I requested that everyone leave the room, interrupting the Doctor mid-sentence. I lay back trying to compose myself, too weak even to get up to walk to the window and then I called my friend who was in a lesson as it was still only 10:30am. I remember being so furious with him and that's when I began to get hysterical due to him not picking up his phone!! How ridiculous is that?! When he did pick up, I told him straight away through heaving sobs, but made him swear not to tell anyone as I hadn't even told my sister yet and if she found out through anyone but me I could never forgive myself. However, I didn't feel that she could be told through a phone call, so my friend had to keep it a secret for the rest of the day which, when I reflect on now, I see was an incredible ask of him, but at the time I hadn't given it too much thought.
Obviously back then, I had no idea how much my life would change as I believed that cancer just didn't happen to people my age. In my mind it was only people in books and films who were diagnosed with it and even then, purely for the use of a convenient ending to tragedies.
I realise that this blog is very open but it is an honest recount of my feelings now and in the past and will hopefully be of use to anyone that may be experiencing something similar, or may want to understand how people feel about being diagnosed. I cannot reiterate enough just how much I encourage people to ask me questions if they have any at all, no matter how "odd" or "insensitive". Please do not hesitate to get in contact.
I'll be attempting to post a couple of times a week and I look forward to any response I may get.
It didn't take long for me to realise that something my health wasn't quite right and in fact the first obvious physical changes happened over night! I'd been feeling under the weather for a few days and so after visiting the GP on the Saturday, I was given some antibiotics with a follow up appointment scheduled for the next week. Unfortunately, I had a bad reaction to these antibiotics (later I found out that my Grandpa is also allergic to them) and a fist sized lump appeared in the upper right hand side of my neck. I had woken up in the early hours of the morning with my eyes literally sealed shut with that grimy sleep gunk and this lump in my neck! Instead of waking my parents like most people probably would have, I stumbled downstairs where I pulled open my eye lids and checked out my symptoms online on the NHS website. Most signs seemed to point to glandular fever or a blood infection and Leukaemia was the very last potential prognosis on the page so I didn't give it too much thought.
It was only at 5:00am that I decided to wake up my parents who kept calm and told me all the things that I needed to hear to prevent me from panicking too much, reassuring me that we'd visit the GP again the next day to get some new tablets. That Monday my mum took me to the GP and as the lump was still quite prominent in my neck they took a few blood tests and sent us home with the advice to take Paracetemol. I decided to get an early night and then at 9:30pm our GP called and said it was vitally important that we get to Stroud hospital as soon as possible.
What happened next is still a bit of a blur and I only remember disjointed segments of the next few days. That night I was taken to Stroud and then very quickly to Gloucester hospital where I was put on the children's ward. I have almost no recollection of what happened from Monday night to the next Wednesday but I will never forget the moment I was told that I had cancer.
My Mum had stayed by my side almost continuously throughout my time at Gloucester hospital and so when I regained some sort of consciousness she was there sat next to my bed. Apparently the doctors had been in and out the whole time I was there but I honestly couldn't recognise or remember any of them up until that point. I think there were four doctors in total who came into the room and there was no hesitating when they spoke to me, they treated me like an adult and I have huge respect for them for that alone. They said "I'm sure that you were aware of the possibility that you have Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia" and the strangest thought went through my head which I can now look back and laugh on, which was "Isn't Leukaemia cancer?" Of course I knew that Leukaemia was cancer but it was as if a part of my mind was actively denying it, to the rational side of me. I know it's very cliché to say that after hearing shocking news you hear "white noise" but genuinely I didn't hear another word of what came out any of the Doctor's mouths. I sat on that bed, propped up against the pillows and was completely unmoving, utterly still.
It was at that point that I requested that everyone leave the room, interrupting the Doctor mid-sentence. I lay back trying to compose myself, too weak even to get up to walk to the window and then I called my friend who was in a lesson as it was still only 10:30am. I remember being so furious with him and that's when I began to get hysterical due to him not picking up his phone!! How ridiculous is that?! When he did pick up, I told him straight away through heaving sobs, but made him swear not to tell anyone as I hadn't even told my sister yet and if she found out through anyone but me I could never forgive myself. However, I didn't feel that she could be told through a phone call, so my friend had to keep it a secret for the rest of the day which, when I reflect on now, I see was an incredible ask of him, but at the time I hadn't given it too much thought.
Obviously back then, I had no idea how much my life would change as I believed that cancer just didn't happen to people my age. In my mind it was only people in books and films who were diagnosed with it and even then, purely for the use of a convenient ending to tragedies.
I realise that this blog is very open but it is an honest recount of my feelings now and in the past and will hopefully be of use to anyone that may be experiencing something similar, or may want to understand how people feel about being diagnosed. I cannot reiterate enough just how much I encourage people to ask me questions if they have any at all, no matter how "odd" or "insensitive". Please do not hesitate to get in contact.
I'll be attempting to post a couple of times a week and I look forward to any response I may get.
Tuesday 8 October 2013
Introduction to this Blog
In two days time, an entire year will have passed since I was diagnosed with Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia in Gloucester hospital. The aim of this blog will be to help other people understand some of the experiences that teenagers with cancer might have to face and how they react to them. Roughly 5 teenagers every day are diagnosed with cancer and this statistic is only increasing, therefore this blog is also for young people who have been recently diagnosed and want to ask any questions to someone who has undergone the worst of his treatment.
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