Goodbye Keanu my multiple myeloma story
In March I went back to the GP who treated me for my urinary tract infections. It was the first time I had been back in the office where I first heard my diagnosis. It was an overwhelmingly emotional moment for me. The doctor asked me how I was coping. When I told her I hadn’t told any of my friends about my condition she said I should. She said people would be shocked at first but then they would be really good about it and supportive. I didn’t agree. I thought they would be shocked, then either overly sympathetic or run for the hills. Anyway I had no intention of finding out. She asked if I was getting out and doing anything “fun”. I said yes, but only in the last couple of weeks and that was the truth. When you are told you are sick, then you become sick. That is what you are and all you are. Suddenly from your hectic life your world stops and you are incapable of doing anything. You can’t go out, you can’t see anyone, and you can’t imagine life as you knew it last week. It became like the ninth month of pregnancy. That time when you are afraid to wander too far from home because “today could be the day” and you didn’t want to be in the supermarket or at the movies when your water broke. Being told you were very sick was like the ninth month of pregnancy all the time. You couldn’t go anywhere because today could be the day you collapsed in the fruit aisle or had a heart attack watching Resident Evil. I wanted to work, but the thought of being red-faced with steroids, anemic, sleepy, or potentially losing consciousness stopped me from even considering it.
In March I went back to the GP who treated me for my urinary tract infections. It was the first time I had been back in the office where I first heard my diagnosis. It was an overwhelmingly emotional moment for me. The doctor asked me how I was coping. When I told her I hadn’t told any of my friends about my condition she said I should. She said people would be shocked at first but then they would be really good about it and supportive. I didn’t agree. I thought they would be shocked, then either overly sympathetic or run for the hills. Anyway I had no intention of finding out. She asked if I was getting out and doing anything “fun”. I said yes, but only in the last couple of weeks and that was the truth. When you are told you are sick, then you become sick. That is what you are and all you are. Suddenly from your hectic life your world stops and you are incapable of doing anything. You can’t go out, you can’t see anyone, and you can’t imagine life as you knew it last week. It became like the ninth month of pregnancy. That time when you are afraid to wander too far from home because “today could be the day” and you didn’t want to be in the supermarket or at the movies when your water broke. Being told you were very sick was like the ninth month of pregnancy all the time. You couldn’t go anywhere because today could be the day you collapsed in the fruit aisle or had a heart attack watching Resident Evil. I wanted to work, but the thought of being red-faced with steroids, anemic, sleepy, or potentially losing consciousness stopped me from even considering it.
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