When I was transferred to the cancer ward the next day to begin my first of two sessions of CHOP chemotherapy my consultant warned me that I would meet and befriend many people who weren’t as lucky as me, people whose cancer wasn’t as treatable as mine, people who would probably die. I didn’t know what to expect from the chemo. I had no idea how it was administered or how my body would react. My chemo Nurse took great pains to explain it all but I didn’t take it in. It only took about half an hour for the drugs to be pumped into my body through a needle in my arm and then I waited for something to happen. There was none of the drama that I would have expected and I remember thinking “so this is Chemo. What’s the big deal?” I must have tempted fate because the following morning when I woke up the true horror of the situation became apparent. My body had swelled from the build of fluid and steroids and I was so weak I could barely contemplate the idea of lifting the glass of water on the locker beside me. I had an emergency Pleural tap to help me breathe and threw up every time I tried to move. That day they removed two and a have litres of fluid from my lungs and the dreaded procedure was repeated a couple of days later to remove another two and a half litres. I was in shock and denial and depressed from the steroid withdrawal and fatigue. The day before I had surgery to implant a portocath into my chest I was so distraught I almost threw my dinner at a nurse who served me beans with my dinner. I was hysterical. I hate beans!

Having the port inserted was a simple procedure but I was convinced that I wouldn’t survive general anaesthetic. This was a turning point for me. As I was wheeled down to theatre I made a pact with myself. If I woke up after surgery I was going to survive my diagnosis and all that came with it.

I was discharged two weeks before Christmas and had my second dose of CHOP as an out patient before going home for the holidays. I reluctantly learned how to give myself injections to boost my white blood count and as my weight had plummeted to six and a half stone I was put on a high fat diet. I was given a licence to eat all the junk I wanted for Christmas but couldn’t bear the thought of it. I was on up to thirty pills a day but my appetite did gradually improved and by the time I returned to the hospital in the new year for the first of four courses of UKALL chemotherapy I was new person- bald and ready for anything. Although the new regimen was given over five days and involved seven different chemo drugs, including one given into the spinal fluid, I found it easier than the initial two courses. I was stronger now and like anything else in this world I got used to it. I was used to the hospital setting, used to tubes, needles and drips and used to the daily routine of blood tests and treatments.

The chemo made my blood counts very low and I required numerous blood and platelet transfusions and had to be monitored constantly for infections. I suffered from nausea, nose bleeds, mouth ulcers, fatigue, constipation and kidney infections. Still, I considered myself pretty lucky as I watched other patients vomiting relentlessly and battling life threatening infections.