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Protocol
On Tuesday 2nd May, it was time for my first bone marrow biopsy.  I had heard all the stories from other patients about how painful these were, but I was unafraid even before the effects of the Vallium and Pethadene.  As the doctor pushed the end of the syringe, and the drugs flowed into my blood, I remember looking at my wife, holding her hand, and seeing her smile...

Anne was standing talking to Jacqui, when I woke from a restful sleep.  She asked how I was and then went to call the Professor that headed Oncology. In his slow deliberate voice, he explained that I had Acute Promyelocytic Leukaemia (APML), one of the deadliest leukaemia's to have. He explained that its onset was very rapid, but that they knew a lot about it.

Anne and the Professor explained to me what APML was, and how it worked. They explained what they knew of the leukaemia, and what protocols were currently being used to get people into remission.  Finally they told me what they considered to be the best treatment for me.  A new drug called All Trans Retonoic Acid (ATRA) was being trailed.
The Professor asked me if I would consider being one of the participants in the trail. I figured I had nothing to lose.

My protocol was going to be an induction treatment of chemotherapy, and the ATRA pills four times a day.  I was to take the ATRA until I was in remission.  After a short two week break I would have a second treatment of chemotherapy, followed by a third treatment a little later.  All this was designed to get me into remission.  To stay in remission, I would most likely need to have maintenance treatments for the rest of my life.  But that seemed like ages away. Too far off to worry about.

My first concern was beginning the induction treatment, and getting to the other side of what I'd heard would not be pleasant.

Central Lines...
My first hurdle was the insertion of a central line.  The procedure was explained to me beforehand, along with the risks.  I had already made the decision to do whatever it took, so I figured the risks were part of the deal.  In the operating theatre I remained completely aware of what was happening.  I could feel the pushing and pulling as the doctor inserted the tube into the vein and guided it all the way from my shoulder down to just before my heart.  I could hear the conversation going on and the beeping of the machines around me.  While lying on the operating table, I closed my eyes and focused on my breathing.  I blocked out all that was going on around me and concentrated solely on getting in touch with my inner strength.  The room and the noises were slowly replaced by a long stretch of beach, rolling waves and an azure sky...

It wasn't long before I was back in the ward with my wife beside me.  The nurses had connected something different to each tentacle of the central line, including the dreaded cocktail. I watched as each of the chemotherapy solutions dripped slowly from the bags, down into the central line, and into my blood stream.  This was the beginning of an onslaught: the drugs, the pills and an absolute determination to win.  There was no turning back.  The only way from now was through the storm.

...and McDonald's Burgers
It takes about ten days for the effects of the chemotherapy to set in. During the treatment I felt fine.  I was exercising as much as I could, eating like a king, weighing eighty-three kilograms by the end of the ten days.  I had many friends come and visit me during the first week.  All of them were very positive, and the general conversation was happy and encouraging.  I had no shortage of biscuits, chocolates and fruit. 
My wife stuck all the cards I received around the room.  She had cut out a sign which she stuck to the wall behind me.  In big pastel colours it read: PMA.  Positive Mental Attitude!
This was our mantra.  We still, today, use it as a mental booster whenever things get us down.

Alistair came to say hi soon after I was admitted to hospital.  He couldn't believe that this had happened to me. It was then he reminded me of the conversation I had had with him a little over a week earlier... 

John, my manager, came to see me in hospital that first week.  He was shocked, but positive.  I was on contract to the company, so the only obligation they had to me was ten days sick leave.  John sat forward during our conversation and told me that the last thing I needed to worry about was work and money.  My full salary would still be paid to me each month, and my job was still there when I was ready to come back. 

My mother arrived from South Africa later that week.  She spent almost every day visiting me. The nearest Macdonalds was on her way from our house to the hospital, so on each visit I would receive a quarter pounder and chips!

Sometimes, when the things around us seem too heavy to carry, when the walls are closing in and it seems there is no way forward, we are reminded that, in crisis, the human spirit shines.

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