Some SCT memories.

I'm Day +31 today and already the auto SCT is feeling like a bad dream that happened to someone else. I keep saying to Veronica that "It really wasn't that bad" and she then reminds me of something I had forgotten and I realise it was a tough old time. For purely personal reasons I'm just going to ramble and try and remember as much of the procedure as possible (especially during the times I went offline) so that I don't forget about it in the future. This is a "purely for me" post. I wouldn't bother reading it.

The first week, high dose chemo week, was pretty uneventful. Chemo usually started at 0930 and I still had my attention span so I could read, watch a movie or the TV and play Nintendo for long periods of time. The biggest problem was staving of boredom and working out the time as my room had no window and therefore no natural light. I remember the BCNU gave me a blinding hangover-type sensation for about 4 hours and the Melephalan hurt my mouth when it was being administered so I had to suck on ice poles.

The second week started with me getting my stem cells back over a two day period. It was 4 bags of the stuff and, again, was pretty uneventful. The only side effect was that I stank of sweetcorn for at least three days. I could smell it coming off me and I hate sweetcorn so it was pretty unpleasant. This was the week that the mucositis set in; I think it was Day +3. I battled with it for a couple of days but then gave in and went on a morphine drip. My tongue was swollen as well but fortunately for me the mucositis stayed out of my throat and digestive tract so it wasn't as bad as it can be. I was diagnosed as a Grade 4 though as my mouth really was bad.
Day +4 was when my white cell count and neutrophils bottomed out to zero. My marrow was "dead"! Now we waited for counts to come back.

During week three I started eating less (nothing except Calorie MilkShakes) yet developed diarrhoea. I started losing weight rapidly and by the time of discharge had lost just under 20lbs in 11 days. I still don't know why they didn't attempt to stick a feeding tube in me. I guess it was because I had some "spare" fat to lose. It was never seen as a concern although I felt it was a bit much to quickly. I hope it doesn't come back as quick!! On Day + 10 my white counts went to 0.2. I had started recovery. The next day they were 0.6 and the day after 2.2
The SCT had worked, my marrow was doing a Lazarus and I was still alive.

The last 5 days were torture. The morphine was still in and Veronica says I was completely out of it. I had been fighting a line infection for the best part of 14 days and was feverish. When I peaked at 39.8C (103.6F) it was decided to deport me and get the line out. There was nothing too this and I think it took about 40 minutes. I was totally out of it with fever and morphine and can't even ask Veronica how it was as she was banned from my room as it was getting done. I do, however, remember the doctor attempting to fit Venflons into my two arms. She made a right arse of it causing one arm to swell to a circumference of 39cm and the other arm to just hurt like hell.

It was this night I suffered the finally indignity and soiled myself... three times in the one night. In my defence you want to try and run for the toilet when you're high on low level heroin with drips in both arms. First of all you have to decided to get up and then find the plugs for the pumps. Unplug them and then negotiate the stands around the bed and into the bathroom. By the time the "Uh oh!" feeling was in my stomach it was too late. I don't think I was popular with the night shift nurses that night. They had to make my bed up three times!
The next day, still out of it, I was subjected to the humiliation (for me anyway, I'm totally over reacting but it just feels like that now after the event) of a bed bath by a 50+ year old woman. No gorgeous blondes for me! Seemingly she was very nice but I can't really remember it. I think the fact I agreed to it showed Veronica I was totally gone!

Finally the last couple of days were weird. I was weaned of the morphine over a 24 hour period and then I went through what can only be described as two days of a complete black depression that I had never experienced before. The fever had finally gone and I just wanted out of there. Maybe it was the lack of sleep I had over the previous 3 nights but I fell into the black hole big time... I just broke down. I think it was the first time I had actually cried for myself. Usually, if I cry about this whole Hodge thing, it is because I'm thinking about Veronica and the girls and what they'll do if I'm not here. This was a selfish "Why me?" outpouring. Fiona, one of my nurses, thankfully dragged me out of it. Let me spill my guts outs and then gave me some Valium to get me to sleep. It was 0600 in the morning and obviously Veronica wasn't around... thankfully. There are somethings that just shouldn't be seen. I was in a mess.
Then I suddenly got the news I was after... weekend release with a Monday return for full discharge if I coped. My mood brightened and here I am now.

Day +31 and getting stronger.
It's a funny old life.