Step 1

I first thought I was writing this blog in order never to forget these insane days. I needn't have worried. The body remembers. The memory of the pain stays (or should I say ”stains”?). It's like a letter inside of me which I carry from now on, and when opened, it tells this story:

The alarm clock rings at 6 a.m on Tuesday 29th. I have to be at the hospital at 7.30 for the blood tests and chemo. My whole family is downstairs in the kitchen, sipping coffee, even my brother who's usually such a sleepyhead that acid rain or torrential downpour couldn't wake him up at these hours.

My father and I leave for the hospital. I feel calm. After the blood tests, we are asked to go upstairs. Floor 8 is where all the action happens.

The morning starts with some bad news. The doctor tells me the PET scan reveals that the cancer has spread below the diaphragm. This means that one more test needs to be taken to see if it has gone any further. Oh, and what a test it is! The queen of the tests! The real deal! The bone marrow biopsy! Fuck.

They give me a tranquilizer which obviously doesn't have the desirable effect. Bone marrow biopsy has such a horrible ring to it, that only knocking me in the head with a baseball bat could make me calm. The whole medical team keep marching in by twos (and twos), and in the end I find myself surrounded by eight different doctors and nurses. Some of them are there for the mere psychological support, in other words, to hold my hand (and my legs) and to wipe my eyes. It takes such a long time for the operation to be carried out, that in the end, I don't know if I'm crying for the pain or for the frustration.

When it's over, the nurse brings me cookies and asks if we can still be friends.

The chemo starts at 3 p.m. I'm ready. After the experience I've had in the morning, nothing, and I mean, NOTHING, could be worse.

I'm given seven different pills for the nausea, and four bags of chemo IV. The treatment takes three hours and is painless, apart from the last bag, which causes some swelling and tingling in my left hand and arm.

The evening goes smoothly. I'm waiting for the chemo to kick in, but all I get is some slight stomach pain. They give me more tablets for the nausea and I feel great. I tell this to the nurse and she warns me not to congratulate myself too soon since the effects of chemo could start the next day or even couple of days later. Bah, nurses, working for Job's mail delivery service.

I'm home now, finishing this entry. I'll try and add a couple of pictures later.