Hope Springs From Your Siblings Blood!

We had an appointment today with a doctor in Hammersmith hospital. I hassled my consultant that I'd like to see him, based on the fact that he suggest my last chemo when everyone else was out of ideas. My consultant contacted him with my details and I made an appointment for 10.30 today.
I was nervy all night in case my voice was going to disappear forever and slept elevated and anything else I could think of (it was when I was not elevated at all that it happened. So, clutching at straws, but you never know!). Strangely, I woke up feeling pretty good despite a 38.6 temperature.
Things were manic, just as they are most mornings in our house, what with kids to get ready and drop off at appropriate places. Time was ticking and it looked like we would be late and then Harry caught his foot and fell on the step as we were heading to the car (he was okay and more worried about the toy he dropped, I almost filled my pants when I saw him go). We dropped him off, then entrusted ourselves to the mighty SAT-NAV. According to the ETA, we would arrive bang on time for the appointment, so if parking was easy and we were right next to the clinic we'd be a couple of minutes late, so all good so far. We hit some traffic and my heart fell, but there wasn't much and my wifes majestic driving (eek!) got us ahead of schedule without triggering traffic cameras or getting traffic police on our tail, so all good. We got there and to reception bang on time, then were kept sat waiting for half an hour. Typical.
The doctor came out. He was smartly dressed, i.e. shirt and tie, but somehow managed to make it look a tad dishevelled, but hey, I was more interested in what he had to say and whether it was just the same of rubbish.
He went through my story so far and sympathised (I started to think he was going to say, nothing we can do). He then went through the various options normally used. He said because RCHOP, RICE and ESHAP chemo have failed, it is highly unlikely any other regimes would work, so chemo was not really a viable option. He said the radiotherapy was a good idea and that media stinal tumour usually respond very well (much more positive). He said the only other option was a stem cell transplant. This would involve high strength chemo, then adding back in stem cells to rebuild the now battered immune system. He then said that it was highly unlikely that would have an effect. I thought this was where he was going to offer to do it, but just for the sake of doing something and maybe, slim slim chance, might work a bit. I felt my heart start to dislodge it self and get ready to drop, but then there was a "but". I like "buts" in there situations. He then went on to say that in this situation, the option with the best, real chance of eradicating (I liked the use of this word) the tumour was to do stem cell transplant, but not use my cells. So, it go as before, but instead giving me back my immune system, I'd get someone elses (how romantic). The idea being that the new immune system sees the Lymphoma as foreign, something mine hasn't done, and lays into the bleeder. The chances of success are not amazingly high, I think 35% was guesstimated, but that's better than what was on offer (0%).
First step is to find a matching donor. The best and most compatible are siblings, with a 1 in 4 chance of matching (so sisters I'll be asking you soon if you fancy throwing any stem cells my way). If not then they will search for a match in the UK database and I am told it is usuaully easy to get one. The thing with a sibling donor is that there is less chance of nasty things happening at the beginning, which is slightly riskier with a non-sibling donor. So the risks for me are very real but not as bad as the 100% risk otherwise. So I'm excited. There is a new plan and it is progressing. The only danger is that the new little nodules will be left to there own devices, so the hope is they do not become troublesome!