five and counting

Five years ago to this very day I had my stem-cell transplant.

While my family were sunning themselves on an Ibizan beach I was in hospital having the cells harvested two months previously put back into my body.

It heralded the start of possibly the worst six months of my life.  I was so desperately ill.

But it was all worth it as, five years later, I'm still here.  A living, breathing testimony to modern medicine!

Anyway, just this Tuesday I trotted off to hospital for the latest in the never ending cycle of blood tests and consultations.  I'm seen (or currently spoken to!) every three months.  My next consultation, my fifth birthday if you like,  is due next Wednesday.

Until then I have the usual build up of stress.

Now, I know that so far I've been lucky.  I've been told the average "life span" of a SCT is two years before cancer cells start spreading again.  So, I know that the day I'm told mine has stopped working is getting nearer.

well, do ya, punk???

But I don't feel like my time is up just yet.  I've looked after myself so well.  I've eaten a really healthy diet, not so much as touched alcohol and am now regularly exercising on my bike (albeit on my home trainer in the garage).  

So I feel lucky - still.