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thinking it was the most hilarious joke ever. Before I knew it, my first chemotherapy treatment was over and I couldn’t believe I’d been so worried. Much to my delight, my hair didn’t fall out immediately either. It actually took a number of weeks before that eventually happened.
    I received chemotherapy every week for four weeks. For the first two weeks, I stayed at the hospital. The last couple of weeks I was allowed home during the day, but had to return at night. Going home for the first time felt very strange and I hated having to go back in the evening. I’d constantly begged anyone who’d listen for two weeks to go home, so when they finally said yes I was surprised how strangely frightened I’d become. The hospital was my safety blanket; I felt safe and secure there. The thought of being away from the various doctors and nurses made me rather apprehensive. Contradicting this, I still couldn’t wait to get home and snuggle up in my own bed again.
    With access to the internet at home, I wanted to do a little research on leukaemia for myself. I found that there were many different types, and treatments varied a lot, depending on the type of leukaemia. There are two main types of Acute Leukaemia: Myeloid and Lymphoblastic. I had Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia. There are also three main types of Chronic Leukaemia: Myeloid, Lymphoblastic and Hairy Cell. Chronic Leukaemias are slower growing than Acute. I was soon becoming an expert.
    One day while I was at hospital, I was asked by a very happy-looking doctor, ‘Have you been told the news?’
    I panicked as, even though she was smiling, I was alone and didn’t want to hear more bad news.
    The doctor said, ‘It’s amazing news – your sister Lowri is a perfect match for a bone marrow donor.’
    I was so excited and rang Lowri straight away, even before I told Mum and Dad. Lowri was overjoyed too and we both cried with each other down the phone.
    After my first chemotherapy session, I didn’t feel too bad, but the more chemotherapy I had, the worse I began to feel. I felt sick constantly but was soon given some anti-sickness tablets. Actually, by this time I was on a cocktail of tablets, around forty a day. I didn’t care how many tablets I took, as long as they were helping to cure me. By this point, my arms were black and blue from the numerous intravenous drips, so it was decided I’d have a Hickman line fitted. This made a huge difference.
    After four weeks, I was given a break from the chemotherapy. I was able to stay at home and just returned to the hospital every two or three days for blood tests. I had to take my temperature every four hours and, if it went above 37.5°C, I’d have to return to the hospital immediately. Within a couple of weeks, my body recovered enough and the next stage of my treatment was explained.
    I was to have chemotherapy in some form every single day for another four weeks. This really frightened me as for the first month it was just once a week not daily. The consultant explained that for the first two weeks I could stay at home, and then I would probably need to be admitted. This was because I was likely to feel so unwell and because the risk of getting an infection would increase. This was one of the toughest months of my treatment. Every day I had to travel to hospital except for Saturdays. Mum drove us each morning and Lowri and Dad would come and keep me company during their lunch breaks. Most of the day was spent at hospital, but knowing I’d be able to go home made it more tolerable. I had chemotherapy tablets every day of the week and a lumbar puncture every Monday. These gave me terrible headaches. It turns out I should have lain down for a few hours afterwards, rather than rushing home.
    On Tuesdays and Fridays, I had chemotherapy intravenously, and I had a break from hospital on Saturdays. On Sundays, I was given intramuscular injections in my leg, which