Memorable scenes, this week.
Wednesday officially marked the six month anniversary of my Leukaemia diagnosis. Quite the landmark date, and though many of you may be left secretly disappointed that I'm still strolling around the place looking pretty smug with myself I insist that I have my celebratory moment of reflection here. Six months isn't a long time in the grand scheme of things, but it's quite a slog when you're life gets turned upside down and you're left battling through the days without much certainty as to what the next one may bring. The general outlook of my illness is looking better by the day, but that still doesn't take away from what a stressful and arduous ordeal this has been for me, and to reach six months with my head held high really fills me with optimism for what comes next. I could not be happier.
Of course, I have so many of you to thank for that. Your support has been absolutely incredible. I can't quite emphasise enough how I would not be in such a strong position were it not for you people around me. So cheers!
It hasn't all been plain sailing this week mind you. Delayed intensive has really settled into its innings, and today I went in for round two of Vincristine and Doxorubicin. As always the combination of the two has left me feeling fatigued and broken, but that's not the worse of it unfortunately. For some reason this cycle dictates that my steroid dosage is taken in separate weekly phases, meaning that I'm yanked off of them just as quickly as I get attached to the damn things. Steroid withdrawal is an absolute nightmare. When you're taking a drug which basically orchestrates your hormones, there are copious side affects that result from being suddenly deprived of that injunction. Muscle pains, mood swings and sleep deprivation are the main hitters, and when combined all at once your mood really does develop into something disturbingly tense. Lying in the hospital today was quite an extraordinary experience in that I had random flashes of paranoia for no reason whatsoever, which seemed to just conjure up from something as routine as a nurse putting a flush up or something. Extremely bizarre and not very pleasant, and the sooner I get shot of these steroids the better, believe you me.
Yesterday I could afford to relax amidst all the withdrawal chaos though as it was my sister's birthday. Myself, her and Min (is that grammatically correct?) went for a few quite drinks and a lovely dinner which on a cheeky note was actually my second meal of the evening. Chicken and chorizo with a side order of fatboy chips. Fit for a King, and I gobbled it down with great gusto. It was nice to escape from the house for an evening in the surroundings of a civilised environment, especially following my ridiculous bender in Devon a couple of weekends back. Lisa seemed to enjoy herself too, plus I got her a card with a retarded looking dog on it so all in all I believe the night was a raging success. The next family birthday is my Dad's. The family are planning something big for that one...
I'll leave it there. I'm still nursing my monster shepherd's pie from earlier. I've spoken a lot about dinner this entry, but what can I say? To quote a very dear friend of mine - "I like dinner".
Big love,
Ryan.
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