So after our recent reacquaintance, Baxter and I have decided to spend a little more time together.
I know what you are going to say; I’m letting the emotion of past experiences taint my vision, that we split up for a reason and my rose-tinted view is simply a false and unrealistc base for a relationship.
But you are wrong.
My consultant told me as much on Tuesday when he suggested Baxter and I go all out and move in together!
We’ve been offered a cosy little pad in south Manchester, with en-suite facilities, flat screen TV and get this, a double door entry system!
Air conditioning is state of the art with the environment hermatically contained to keep clean air in and germs out.
And the best part, is that its all free! (well, paid for by the good taxpayers of the United Kingdom; thanks y’all!)
Food, drink, 24/7 staffing and drugs (lots and lots of drugs) – all inclusive.
We move in on the 21st of May so Jenn and the kids have a couple of weeks to acclimatise to the new dynamic in our family.
Its not cheating in the conventional sense; and after 9 years of being married, the hope is that it’ll freshen up our perspective on our more traditional relationship.
Ok, I’ll ‘fess up. (serious voice now)
I don’t know how this will play out although deep down I am wholly pragmatic about the pending chem-fest.
After last year, I know I can handle 4 weeks of feeling terrible as long as I can hold onto some hope of a positive result i.e. a decent remission on the other side.
I know its the right, but a very risky, thing to do
Leaping in feet first was always going to be on the cards; its in my nature as I’m sure you all know.
My consultant actually wanted Baxter and I to co-habit much sooner than the 21st, such is his desire to see our relationship succeed, but he couldn’t wangle a room.
It spoke volumes (as far as I was concerned) about how badly I need the services that Baxter offers, given the recently observed uptick in my numbers.
(to further complicate proceedings, if my paraprotein heads north at an accelerated rate in the next 12 days, the procedure might be halted anyway to beat it down again)
I just want it to work and the only way to find that out is by cracking on with the transplant.
So, my decent run of living a near-normal life is coming to a close.
Hair will soon be gone, what fitness I managed to muster will also ebb away and I’ll have to maintain my interaction with family and friends through a glass window or computer screen (really will be a case of “if I don’t see you through t’week, I’ll see you through t’window!”)
So strange to finally be at this point. I wanted so badly to be in a position to transplant but now the time has arrived, I’m once again having to face an unknown situation.
A cumulation of so many things I dislike.
Confinement. Inactivity. Hickman line. Chemicals.
Looking like someone with cancer!
Despite the constant reminders, I still don’t see myself as being a victim of this disease. But when all kicks in, as it did last year, I wont be able to look in a mirror without having it thrust into my line of vision.
The external is temporary; such a shame the same cannot be said of the internal.
So here we go.
I’ve got 12 days to enjoy then game face on.
And I’ll keep looking for that donor too. You are out there somewhere you elusive SOAB.
You will be found so when the time comes, I can have a proper good go at kicking myeloma in the nuts.
Transplant number 1 is just the aperitif.