AT THE EDGE OF THE MINEFIELD

In at last! After waiting all day for a call from the bed manager, finally got here last night at 8pm. Luisa drove us down. The car filled with bags. Seem to have brought everything but the kitchen sink, including: duvet, rug, pillow, radio, barley water and peppermint tea... Hard leave the house, knowing what I am headed for. At least this time I am not leaving Lilly behind. We drive down Lordship Lane, shiny with Christmas lights. That's the last of those I will see this year.

I am on Davidson ward. Temporarily. Sharing a room with another woman who is also waiting for a transplant. She has already been here a few weeks. Her partner is a huge square man with a shiny bald head and a thick neck. His t shirt stretches tight over his wide torso. He is covered from head to foot with red and blue swirling tattoos. He has a big smile. Luigi and Lu help me to unpack. Lu has made me banana and poppy seed cake. I sit on the bed and eat a huge slice. Soon my appetite will diminish and my taste buds will disappear for months.

My support systems slip away into the night. I put on star print pyjamas and climb under my duvet with a new "air force blue" cover. My neighbour watches some terrible murder documentary. Even if I don't look I can still hear the vivid gory details. Ghastly TV. Nurse Issie comes by and re- dresses my Hickman line. Then she takes some blood. 4 tubes. Dark red, like cranberry juice. The bungs are cleaned with antiseptic wipes. As the smell hits my nostrils it all seems so horribly familiar. I sigh inwardly. Here we go again. The clinical routine. Months of it. Least I sleep well.

Today is officially known as Day minus 7. This is first day of chemo. I have 5 days of it. Followed by total body irradiation on day minus 1 and on day zero I get the transplant. It feels weird. My immune system being poisoned and zapped to bits, and then two new baby immune systems being pumped into me. I liken it to an oil change in a car. Get rid of all the dirty old slumpy stuff, and pour in clean shiny oil. If all goes according to plan, that should eventually get the engine working again. Now of course I am feeling well and it seems crazy that I am voluntarily about to undertake a procedure that is going to make me really ill. Who in their right mind would do that!

I am told the chemo is similar to the FlaGida that I had in the summer. Don't know how soon I will feel the effects. But it starts this afternoon. The registrar came round early this morning giving me the final consent form to sign. My folliculitus (spelt wrong, but official name and better sounding than boil-on-the-bum) has cleared up. I have ulcers on my tongue. A combination of stress and too much chocolate. I can't remember if I already said, but bone marrow results show I am still in remission. So ready for the off. I feel like I am standing on the edge of a minefield. It's very foggy up ahead and I have no idea what I am going to encounter. All I know is that I am going to be ducking and diving for a good few months while I negotiate this tricky landscape.

I look forward to getting into my own room soon as. This one has NO VIEW, only the white corrugated walls of a five story portacabin, which is literally six foot away. No natural light at all. If I could open the windows, I could touch it. However, so far everyone seems very friendly. Today they are 3 nurses down, so they are busy-billy-wizz-style. Hope that doesn't compromise on care when it's needed. A small but important note, is that tea is served in real mugs, not white polystyrene cups like at Guys. What a relief.

It's 1.15. I am waiting for Luigi to arrive. Followed by chemo. Thanks for all the messages that have been tumbling in over this week. I so appreciate all the support. It is an essential part of my armor for the months ahead. Also, old St Mary's friends, who are you? would love to know and thanks for the messages. Sister of Roz, Brina? Yes I do remember you!

Back soon, chemoed-up. Love to all tch xx