A Big Step Made.

I've been umming and ahhing over this blog entry for the past few days because I'm in many ways struggling to find the right words that really portray the emotion that Wednesday brought out in me. You see, a lot has happened since I wrote on Sunday. Since my excursion to Smiths I've since then traveled a lot further, because on Wednesday I was discharged from hospital from my first phase of chemotherapy. I'm home, sitting in my room, typing this blog entry from my desk. It's bloody surreal.

I was in hospital for one month. Normally during a first phase of treatment patients with ALL can stay up to six or seven weeks, completing their chemo then facing a slog of recovery as they await their blood counts to climb back up to a healthy level. Apparently my counts were doing so well I was told staying in hospital was unnecessary and that I would be home that week. This was on Monday, Valentine's Day, perhaps the best day to get the news seeing as Ellise was right there with me. We celebrated with a curry takeaway that evening and it was bloody great, perhaps the best I've ever had. I think it was made all the more sweet by the prospect of leaving the hospital mind you, but that's irrelevant. Oh, and it was free too. That possibly played a part.

SO ANYWAY, Wednesday arrived and home it was. Arriving home with a car full of things amassed over the course of a month and two very excited parents, seeing the house was quite the superb experience. I imagine that would have been obvious, but more so after a long two and a half hour journey in the car. I walked in gingerly (bone marrow biopsy the day previous, I was in a world of pain), mobbed the cats, sat down and didn't move really for quite a while. There I was, home. Started the week thinking I was going to be in hospital for another two weeks. Wednesday comes and I'm watching the Arsenal - Barcelona game on my sofa whilst eating a fat pasta bake. Life can really surprise you.

Christ, this entry has been a bit of a mess. Things are still complicated. I need to get back to Sheffield for Monday to start my second phase. This makes me nervous, starting chemo again for another month. I don't have to be in hospital twenty four/seven, which is great, but a chemo phase is a chemo phase and this time the emphasis on me looking after myself and making sure I don't come up ill is heavy indeed. A new experience perhaps? Chemotherapy on the outside word. Bring it on I say. If I can manage that first phase, which really was the most brutal month ever, I can handle it again. Nervous, yes. Positive? You better believe.

The blog will take a new turn, I suppose. Coping with Luke and living a life. That's if I don't have to be dragged back into a hospital ward again. But I'll still be writing, a bit more coherently next time I hope. This entry has been difficult to write, perhaps my most challenging one yet. Big times and all, but I hope you still enjoyed it. Next time I'll let you know what the second cycle involves and how I'm coping with having basically no hair.

Big love, thanks for reading.

A very happy Ryan.