Getting Ready For Rad

I had my first planning appointment for Radiotherapy. Sam drove me over and Harry came too. The appointment was at 7pm, which was unusual, but left plenty of time, or would have for normal people, we got there in the nick of time. We managed to get lost in some deserted corridors before finally a friendly cleaner told us we were on the wrong level. So off we went Harry in the lead, Sam setting quite a pace and me at the back, my feeble pin legs struggling to keep up. We got there and they were waiting for us. I took my top off and was positioned on the CT scanner and some lines and dots were drawn on me. Then I was fed in and out of the machine a couple of times. When they were happy, three of the dots were turned into tattoos. Sadly dot was the only tattoo going, there was no catalogue or anything. That was that. The idea is that they can use the scan for planning where the beams go, which is then all computer controlled. It felt good that something was happening.

Scan Today....Scan Tomorrow....

Well, I was in the hospital on Friday for a blood test and line redressing.  I also wanted to find out the details for my scan which was meant to be scheduled for today.  Did the blood stuff and that but when they checked their system for my scan appointment, there was nowt, nothing, zilch.

I saw my consultant fill in the request, the nurses there were totally sure the form had been sent through.  So, they rang.

Nurse:  Hi, I'm trying to find out what happened to a scan request for Richard Wildman

Faceless person on other end of phone: Did you send the form through?

Nurse: Yes, definitely

FPOOEOP: Hmmm, are you sure?  If we had the form then he'd be on the system.

Nurse: Which is the reason I'm calling

FPOOEOP: Oh.  We probably lost it then.  Can I help with anything else?

Nurse: Can you add him into the system, for the requested Monday scan?

FPOOEOP: Sure, if you'll just submit a request form through.  At this late date, I can't guarantee we'll have a slot free on Monday

So, I now have a scan lined up for tomorrow.  Strangely, I'm not too nervous about, despite the fact that if it shows the tumour has not shrunk then they are out of ideas, which is not a good place to be.  Ho hum, we'll see.  I was also told that I won't get any results till Wednesday.  That may be a scanxious waiting time though.

Panic and Raffles

I've not written a post for a while again, I know, I'm a very bad person.  I'm finding it hard to get motivated to do things, pretty much anything, including getting out of bed.  I just feel tired, tired and then a bit tired.  It hasn't helped that I've had a cold on the go too, which has left me with that annoying ear thing, where whenever you speak it sounds really loud in your head.  I keep saying, "what?" or "pardon?" to anything said to me, as I can't hear a sausage!

I've also been worrying like some custom built worrying machine.  Has the tumour shrunk at all?  It's had a cycle of the new chemo and I'm in cycle 2, with a scan next Monday.  I keep thinking I'm noticing small symptoms that I had before, which I then use to conclude that the treatment has failed and then panic that I'm out of proper options.  Not a good place to be.  Luckily, I don't stay there too long, but the slightest thing seems to get my mind back there.  I know the chances aren't that high that it will work, but come on, I've never won hardly anything on the lottery and whenever there are raffles, I never get a sniff in.  When I was little I used to go with my ma and pa to the British Legion club, where they would go dancing and have a few drinks and I'd sit and be well behaved drinking coke.  There was always a raffle.  I think in all the years we went, we won twice!  Although, there was a family who seemed to win every other week.  Hmmm, sounds like a fix.  Legion raffle had some pretty good prizes, you know!  Anyway, I reckon I should have earned a bundle of "luck karma" and should now be able to spend it!  I just need to know who manages such things and how to get in touch with them.

Scan Day - When Your World Can Change

I had the heavily awaited scan today.  I got to the place, was given a big old nasty drink to drink and sat waiting a bit.  The waiting room was pretty full and they were an amusing chatty bunch (total surprise, but a nice one!).  So the wait was pretty short.  They all got called and I was left with a very fat man, a man in a wheelchair and a couple of middle years, where the wife was frequently belching and issuing orders to her husband in her Scottish drawl.  Amused me.

I was called in, had to put on one of the hospital gowns, you know, the ones where your arse hangs out the back.  Lovely.

They put me on the scanner and zing, zong, it's job done.  The table you are on gets slid inside and pull out again a couple of times.  A voice tells you when to breathe and when to hold your breath and it takes about 5 minutes.

My lift arrives (good old ma-in-law) and we set off and I get a call from the nurse who manages my notes etc and my alarm bells ring.  She says can I come back in for my results at 3.30, rather than just have them on the phone as they shouldn't really do that.  Now, the only other time I have been called in for results was when it was bad news.  I pushed it out of my mind, got home, had a brief snooze and got dropped back.  As I sounded a bit worried my wife joined me (we have been very confident that this scan would be good).

No sooner had I sat down than my consultant said, "I'm afraid it's bad news.  Very bad".

Whoopee!  I thought.  I bet the bloody tumour has not responded and is the same as before.

"I'm sorry to say that the tumour has grown considerably through this last chemo cycle".  

This really shook me.  I was so certain it was shrinking but no, the bastard was getting bigger, much bigger.  It had grown in a new direction and wasn't pressing on anything and so not causing symptoms.  But there was more.  He pointed on the scan a teeny tiny new node, inside my lung.  The cheeky bastard!

So my world changed.  Not more high strength chemo lined up.  The plan to try and cure me is canned and the plan now is to try and manage it (and keep me alive!).  He said there are still some options left but they are not far from having to say, "there's nothing more we can do".  I guess at that point it becomes terminal.  I hate that word.  

Anyway, next treatment will be Friday as an outpatient using some new drugs I haven't encountered before, in the hope of getting a shrinking response.  

Quite a lot of news and even though I am calm, I know there is an emotion storm on the way.

The questions are building up, e.g. will I get to see my kids grow up.  Hmmm, not the best news, but we'll see what we can do with it.  Got to keep fighting this thing, despite it being a good player.

Wheelchairs and Scanxiety

Stupid temperature!  After 24 hours of it behaving, it decided to ping up again, but its back down now and I'm feeling pretty decent appart from the stomach twisting fear of scanxiety.  I've mentioned scanxiety before (sadly, not my own term, but if no one comes along in the next 30 days with proof of original invention of it, then I'll claim it as my own, damn it, and fight till the death to defend it, hurrah!).

Anyway, why am I feeling scanxiety?  Duh!  Cus, I've just been scanned (some people are so slow, really!).  I was woken up at 6, as per usual.  Blood pressure and temperature were taken by one nurse, who then disappeared to be replaced by another who made sure blood was taken, magic liquids from the hospital apothecary were infused into my line and the normal hospital approved dark rituals were performed, the usual sort of thing.  Then I was left alone for a bit.  I dozed off for about 30 minutes and was awoken by the breakfast trolley.  Not literally by the trolley but by the nurse in charge, who was trying to determine if I was awake (and so should be quizzed about breakfast preferences) or alseep (so she could sneak away, one less ingrate to deal with).  I said "hello" and after a short negotiation was handed two weetabix and left to eat them.  Blimey, it's all excitement so far!  I'll try and calm it down a bit.  

To cut a long and not very exciting story short, I fell asleep again (something I'm getting pretty good at) and was awoken by a rather sturdy looking dude hollowing in through my door.

"Can you walk mate", he asked.

"Not amazingly well, but I can", I replied, wondering what I was getting myself in for.

"I've come to take you for a CT scan.  They said to bring the bed, but if you can walk a bit, then we can get a wheel chair", he replied.

I was a bit confused.  Why would I need to walk so we could get a wheel chair, but apparently wheel chairs are like gold dust and some of the other porters have hidden stashes of them for their patients.  So basically, we'd have to walk the route, hunting for wheel chairs.  Now, unknown to most people, the wheelchair is not a social animal and prefers to spend its time alone, roaming the corridors.  They are however, well versed in urban camoflague and can be aggressive if approached head on.  So, we set off.  After walking down the first corridor we had a sighting.  I could feel the excitement of the hunt.  There it was, in its natural environment.  Beautiful and unfettered.  Graceful even.  My porter approached, keeping to the corridor walls, trying not to spook it.  His obvious experience in such matters coming to the fore as said wheelchair was quickly captured and loaded (with me).  We then headed to the CT scan department.  Unusually there was no queue of faintly miserable people, just me (the wheelchair) and a bloke in a bed who was asleep and very very pale.  I was whisped in very quickly.  Normally they have wanted to put contrast into my vein to show up blood vessels etc, but not this time, just bang on the table, in and out of the machine and bosch, thank you very much.  I felt a little used.  Anyway, a porter was rapidly on the scene and I was quickly back in my room.

Now is the scary bit.  The CT scan will show whether Mr. Tumour-face has shrunk or not.  If he has then things will continue on plan.  On friday will be the final RICE (thank the lord!).  If it has not shrunk, then it will show the little sh*t is immune to chemo, which will be bad bad news, as that is the main weapon they have.  Kind of like saying the enemy are immune the bullets and explosives, Mr President.  That gives the president a bad day.  So, I'm hoping hoping hoping the bast*rd has shrunk, otherwise it goes a bit Pete Tong.  A time for experimenting with mercury and infusions of sycamore root.  Eek!

Achtung! Escape is impossible Englander!

Not so Fritz!  

I'm out!

On Friday, just gone, I was released from hospital on weekend leave, I guess that is like parole.  I was visited by my friend Steve, his girlfriend and their little baby Jack, who I hadn't seen yet.  Being a bloke I just thought, hey, he's my mates baby, cool.  My wife on the otherhand went all gooey!  

"A baby, baby!", she exclaimed.  She then used any excuse or trick to remove said baby from either parents grasp and into her own.  Cooing and ahhing at baby Jack all the time (until he cried, at which point he was handed back).

Basically took it easy on the weekend.  Got looked after and spoilt by my wife, who bought me little treats (yay! go treats!).  

On Sunday evening, I was dropped off at the in-laws, where I would be staying a few days, rather than be sat at home on my own.  

Monday I had to go back into hospital, to have blood taken, get the dressing on my line changed (it had started leaking some blood back and looked horrible) and hopefully to have a CT scan to try to determine what was going on with my arm (and for the docs to have some more pictures to play with.  They like pictures).  

The hospital system really sucks when it comes to getting scans etc done.  It is all done on paper and is a bit random.  They give you a provisional day when you will be done and say they will contact you when they need you and then you hear nothing.  Basically, if the consultant has a more important one to do (in their opinion) then they just bump you down the list.  The best way around that is to make sure that your consultant is harrassing them.  The squeaky wheel definitely gets the grease.  Better still, if your consultant is their mate, then that can prove a winner.  One of my doctors seems to have a bit of power over the CT scan consultant (either she has some dodgy pictures of him or he is just besotted with her), as she seems to be able to make CT scans happen pretty quick.  I was sat in my room, bloods had been done, was expecting a few hours wait when a funny little man with an unusual greasy comb over arrived with a wheel chair.  His name badge identified him as Keith (name changed to protect me from retribution from the greasy haired hospital porters union.  A powerful entity, you don't want to mess with).  He collected my notes and I hobbled into the wheel chair (they don't let you walk, but in my case right then, I was happy to be wheeled).  He zoomed me to the CT scan waiting area (here I am redefining "zoomed" to mean trundle at a very slow speed, with pauses for coughing and regaining of breath).

The CT scan waiting area was a breath of fresh air.  Actually it is pretty rank.  I think the walls were last painted their jolly nicotine yellow many years ago.  Also waiting were 2 other people in wheel chairs.  One who looked like they may have slipped away whilst they were waiting.  They were sat with their head lolling.  Later snores revealed they had somehow managed to fall asleep in such a position.  The wheel chairee next to me either was sniffing or sobbing, but they were so close that I didn't want to turn and look.  

Time passed and wheelie 1 and 2 were taken in and after a few minutes came back out, waiting for their miscellaneous porter to come and return them whence they had came.  This meant it was my turn.

I was wheeled in, then asked to climb onto the bed that feeds through the big doughnut that is the CT scanner.  Sadly the line in my arm was no good for use with the machines automatic dye injector, as "the pressure can cause them to explode" (reassuring!).  This meant that I had to have a new canula put in.  I informed the scanner man, who I knew to be the consultant, that I was pretty short of good veins.  He smiled and said that he is good at putting in canulas and not to worry.  After a few minutes hmmm-ing and arrrr-ing, he agreed that I didn't have many decent veins left.  He suggested trying one on my hand, informing me it'd probably hurt.  He asked like I had a choice, but before giving my consent (or not), he had produced a big old canula needle thing and was jabbing away.  After a few jabs, he had a canula in, but the vein bulged up behind it and it was no good, so that had to go.  He apologised profusely and said he normally gets it first time (I'm getting used to hearing that).  Second time was a charm.  It hurt but it worked.  I was left with a nice spurting of blood up my arm, but that just made me feel manly, so was okay (!!).  Consultant man commented that I was very cheery and upbeat.  How could I be anything else, when I was getting holes jabbed into me?  

The rest of the day ticked on.  They came and changed my arm dressing and then time passed and then my doctor came in.  She told me that the tumour had shrunk very very slightly, but they don't normally measure at this stage.  The fact that it is not getting bigger is good but not to worry about shrinkage at this point.  The scan also didn't show any reason why my arm was still swollen.  Scotland yard were still baffled.  She then said that they will take my line out (hooray) and let me go home properly (until Friday).  After more waiting, my line was taken out.  A process I was a bit nervous about, but which took seconds and was pain free (nice change).  I have to report back on friday, to have a different type of line put in (Hickman line).  This cheeky sucker goes in the chest, which sounds a lot more attractive.  Then, assuming all goes to plan, it is my last cycle of RICE.  

So, I've got a few days of normality (kind of), until once more summoned unto the realm of the physician.

Not happy :(

I'm back to work, but not feeling that good. My stomach has still been giving me grief and I've been getting this weird double vision type thing going on after I wake up (continuing until it kind of sorts itself out).

I thought I'd be pretty chilled regarding my first scan, but little things keep happening that are freaking me out a bit. Yesterday my right arm seemed to be swelling up a bit. This was what happened on my left arm and was caused by the blood clot. I neither want another clot or for the swelling to be due to growing lymphoma. No sir!
Its a bit tender and it seems to be a bit swollen around the forearm only. I'll keep an eye on it.

My previous upbeat (at least I think it was pretty upbeat) mood is starting to fade. I'm getting fed up now and just want to feel well. Hit a bit of a low.

Stupid Stomach

It's been a number of weeks since my last treatment but rather than feeling better I've been feeling rubbish. As of today, I feel a bit more energised (read that as: don't just want to sleep (not that there is anything wrong with sleep)).
My stomach has been the biggest offender. Not that it is that big or weirdly shaped or anything (at least I didn't think it was. I feel the need to check it now, due to pure paranoia!). After my anti-biotics were completed, it started hurting quite badly pretty much constantly and my energy dropped right down. Now, a few days later, it seems to be starting to settle.

I've got my CT scan on monday, a blood test on wednesday and will be seeing my consultant for the results on friday. I'm hoping it is smaller than last time but understand that it is not expected to be all gone (dead tissue and scar tissue left behind) due to the type of tumour it is.
If all goes well, a couple of weeks after I will get a PET scan, which will determine if anything left behind is still active (bad) or dead and buried (yay, die tumour scum, die!)

Fingers crossed.

Last Treatment

Yay! Yay! and thrice, yay! My final treatment (a non chemo one at that) was on Friday just gone, so I have finished my primary treatment. Lordy, it's been a long old slog. Now it's scanxiety time. I've got a CT scan on August 18th. They expect, due to the type of cancer I've had, that there will be tissue remaining, i.e. scar tissue, etc. So as long as it hasn't got any bigger, this scan won't be too exciting. Then, a few weeks later I'll be lined up for a PET scan. This scan is a bit more interesting. You drink a drink containing a form of glucose with a radioactive fluorine isotope attached. Sound fun? Basically any living cells, especially naughty cancer ones, will eat the glucose and so drawing in the isotope. What does this mean? Well, it is a way to check whether the blob that remains of the tumour is alive (bad news) or dead (yay! champagne for all!). So the PET scan is the kiddie that I'm waiting for, as it will tell me whether I'm done and normality can start to return or whether it's time for the next batch of treatment (noooo!).

Right now though, I've got a couple of infections and feel absolutely knackered, despite having 11 hours sleep! Apparently I have an e.coli infection and a suspected CDIF infection. Sounds a laugh. I'm got a new load of anti-biotics to take. One has the aftertaste of a chalk coated rabbit turd (not that I've tasted that many chalk coated rabbit turds, but it's what I'd imagine they'd taste like). Worst of all though and this increases my belief that there is a world conspiracy to stop me drinking any beer, is that there is a big warning on the anti-biotic bottle to "NOT DRINK ANY ALCOHOL". Boo! Another 10 days of no beer. So near and yet so far!

Blood clots rock!

I've got a blood clot in my neck and tonight I celebrate!
No, I'm not completely insane (I have a certificate that says so). If you've been following the blog, it will make sense, if not, then recently I was told that one of two things had happened. Either: My Lymphoma had stopped responding to treatment (bad, very bad) or I have a blood clot (not great, but better than option one). I had a CT scan today. I got to the hospital in Ascot and couldn't find anywhere to park. I was driving round for 30 minutes trying to park and then had to take a chance and wedge my car on some double yellows and hope I got lucky as my scan appointment was getting real close. I ran/hobbled/wobbled to the reception area, filled out a form (you always have to fill out a form of some kind) and within minutes was called in. I got to wear one of the backwards hospital gowns, but only needed to take my top off. I went in, laid down on the magical sliding table, got a needle stuck in my hand (they always have to stick a needle in at some point in hospital). I was pulled in and out of the machine a couple of times and then released back into the wild. Then I got to play the waiting game. Luckily my car was unclamped, which I took as a positive portent of good news (hey, I was clinging onto anything positive looking). I got home, my fence was nearly done and I shot off to get a late late late lunch. Part way through I got a call from my consultant buddy (he's now my buddy, as he gave me good news. I'm pretty fickle).
He said, "...the scan showed two things..."
At this point I held my breath and my mind completed his sentence for him with "1. the Lymphoma has grown and 2. you're a goner!", (not really helping brain!)
He continued, "Firstly, the Lymphoma has reduced in size to 7cm by 2.7cm and secondly, a blood clot is visible in your neck". Okay, so he didn't say it exactly like that. Once I had the first point, I dived in to ask how his alotment was going. Hey, blood clot news can wait!
Anyway, I am a happy boy. Yes, I have a blood clot, but the alternative was not even slightly welcome. Perhaps that is standard hospital policy, when there is some bad news, e.g. a blood clot, perhaps they scare you with a possible worse alternative first, so you're happy with the news! A concept from NLP known as reframing in fact. Even though I know the concept, it still works!

A scanner darkly...

If the title of this post has made you think this post is in anyway about the 1977, Philip K. Dick novel, then I must disappoint you. I was just looking for a title that featured the word scanner or scan and seemed cool. Sorry!

So, I've had the weekend to worry and ponder and it hasn't been too bad. It was father's day yesterday, so I was getting cards and presents and food etc, so that was cool. Today, there is a bloke in finishing off our fence (it was hidden behind an awful bush which we had removed). That's cool, as the fencer bloke is a good laugh and pretty laid back, but my next door neighbour is whinging and complaining about every aspect of it. It was because of her complainig about the fence (which we couldn't see) that we arranged to have it replaced. Now, she stands outside, watching the fencer every step of the way and then stops him and complains about some aspect of it and how e is doing it wrong or intruding on her property, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, etc, and then some more. I have to come out and calm him down as he was ready to pull her head off (he is a big bloke). So, there's that, which is nice and calming. Also, just had the nurse come in to give me my blood thinning injection (got to love those injections). She is lovely though.
There is also another bloke who is doing some tiling work in our bathroom. He is just doing his thing, but I can't help but wonder if the neighbour is going to find some way to complain about that. I guess she just needs to get creative.

I'm off for my CT scan in an hour. We got a new car the other day. We weren't going to. We were going to be sensible. But, the way the world seems to work, sensible can only be taken so far and then it's necessary to have a bit of silly. So, we went for it and got a new car (well, it's not new new, it is used, but it's new to us). We got an Audi TT, so I can whizz along to my scan and back, stereo on full, shouting as I go. So, however it goes, I'll be feeling pretty good!

Vanquishing the chest monster

Yesterday was chemo day 5. That's over halfway through, hurrah! Prior to receiving those pretty coloured poisons, known as chemo, I got to see some more details of the scan I had the previous Friday. The measurements have been done and I got to see the before and after pics.
So, the before picture showed the right side of my chest filled with a nasty big blob, aka the chest monster. If left to its own devices, I reckon it would have emerged alien style, a few months later and gone on to consume all before it. Luckily, it was discovered before then and after 4 chemo sessions it has shrunk down. The original beastie measured 10cm by 12cm. Explains why it was making me try and cough my lungs out and why my face and neck were trying to swell up. Now, the current measurements are 9cm by 3cm. So, it is still 9cm long, as it runs from my throat area down into the chest area, but it is only 3 cm wide. On the scan it is hard to see, which is cool. The doc said they have a system of rating the response to chemo. The top rating is exceptional, which is what the doc said applied to my chest monster, henceforth known as the weenie chest squatter (eviction notice being filed).
Chemo 5 went ok. The only difference to the others was that I was dozing off towards the end and was really tired for the rest of the day, or rather, when I got home I went to bed and slept till late evening.

Today I woke up feeling pretty tired, but after I had my meds and the steroids had chance to kick in, I was feeling alright and was up and about. The weather outside is lovely and I'm hoping to fire up the BBQ later, assuming the energy levels hold up. Yay! First bar-bee of the year!

Scan time

This week I've felt a bit rubbish. I got a chest infection and my temperature shot up. I went to the docs and got some anti-biotics, which started to do the trick. The plan is for us to nip away this weekend and I don't want another bank holiday spent in hospital, so I checked in with the clinic and they told me to come in for a blood test. Anyway, wind back a bit, it's been a bit of a busy day, involving visiting 2 hospitals, getting a scan, a blood test and a shot.
I had a scan scheduled for today. The idea was that I'd then have the results in for my next chemo appointment (a week on friday). The hospital rang me on monday to say they detected elevated blood levels that indicated a possible infection. I had just been to the doctors and got some antibiotics, so I knew what they were talking about. During the week, I'd still felt rough and my temperature had jumped around a bit, so the plan was that I'd give a blood sample at the hospital I was getting the scan at, prior to having the scan and then go to my usual hospital after the scan and get the results, to see if I would be okay for the weekend.
I got to the hospital in good time (thanks to Mr. SatNav), gave a blood sample. The blood was taken by one of the nurses who usually takes it at my local hospital, which was a bit strange, but apparently they go around all the hospitals doing their blood thang.
I got to the scan appointment early, but they were running late. I got brought a big old jug full of a frothy looking clear liquid, which I had to drink over an hour. I had had a scan previously, during diagnosis, so knew what to expect. The main difference was that the drink I got at the hospital during diagnosis (private appointment, thanks to medical insurance) was mixed with squash and tasted good, whereas the NHS version tasted like aniseed and was foul. It took the hour to get through the foul stuff this time. Yack. Not nice. Next time, I'll take my own squash along!
Anway, after an hour they came and took me through to get changed. You get to wear one of those "open at the arse" backward fitting hospital gown efforts. I'm pretty sure they are only for comedy value, to keep the spirits of the nurses up. With my "outfit" on, I was led through to the scanner. It looks like a big, humming doughnut, with a flat bed at the end, that passes through the hole. I layed on the bed and someone came to stick another needle in my arm. They didn't do too great a job of it and sprayed my gown with a touch of the old claret. Anyway, you lie down and they leg it out the room and the doughnut tells you to "breath in and hold your breath". You're then fed through the hole slowly, getting told you can breathe normally, just before you have to anyway. Then they feed in some contrasting dye stuff through the needle in your arm and its time to go through the 'nut again. Finally, they get you to hold your arms above your head and its repeat the drill. Then, that's it. Needle is taken out and you're out of there.
I drove over to the clinic and after waiting a few minutes got to see my consultant, which was cool, as I'd not seen him for a while. He went through my bloods and told me that the infection markers had come down but that I was neutrapenic, which means that the neutraphils in my blood were below 0.2 (where normal is about 3). The neutraphils are the little dudes that make up the majority of your white blood cells and are responsible for fighting infection. So, obviously, when there arn't many around, you're pretty open to infection and more worryingly that can lead to sepsis, which can be fatal. Whilst I was there he was able to show me the scan results. He said they're not officially released but hey, I was happy to see. He showed me the original one, with the chest monster sat there. There were parts that measured 13cm across! It still freaks me out to think about it. Then, he showed the current scan and there was not much left of that big mutha. There are still abnormal cells but no big mass! I was well chuffed. He was very pleased and said I was showing an excellent response and was on track. All good. He was then able to check my lungs and sinuses for infection, which was a bonus. There was a very small amount remaining in the lung but not a lot and the sinuses looked clear now too, which was cool. So, with the antibiotics, he thought I'd be okay to go away, but just to make sure, I was given an injection of GCSF (this stuff stimulates the bone marrow to make white blood cells).
So, all is good. I feel much better today and my blood count should be building up. I just need to check my temperature regularly.