T - 1. Think I done had me some Roadkill Gumbo thar Jim-Bob.

This is getting a bit arse about face as I'm still writing about yesterday when soooo much has happened in the meantime. As I think I've already blathered somewhere along the line, one of the aspects of the drug therapy I'm doing is that it applies a pharmaceutical sledge hammer to the cheesy puffs of my memory, so if it's not in the blog quick, it's off under the sofa  where all the other self indulgent guff lives among the dust bunnies and brain farts. Is the writing a giveaway? - I am four hours into a six hour stint of the nasty but things are proving much more manageable.

I eventually managed to pass a chunk of the day  (17/02) off the infuser pump and had no more chemo until 8pm by which time I was feeling pretty recovered and chipper. It looked like the evening might also pass without chemo as the batch of BulSulfan that had been prepared  for me had exceeded its 48 or 72 hour usage window and had to be binned. Fortunately for me someone was able to smooth on down to the pharmacy and conjour up a new batch - huzzah.

I had a visit yesterday afternoon from a chap that I've chatting to on Facebook for some time and with whom I originally made contact via the MDS UK Patient Support Group on  same. I'll leave putting in his name and any other identifying details until he has seen this and confirmed that I'm not stomping on his personal privacy. It was lovely to put a face to a name and chat properly, we found a couple of very distinct and intriguing coincidences in our past lives that may have been contributing factors to MDS developing. Again watch this space I'll add more if given the nod.

What was most encouraging for me was to see the glow of health and the vitality that fills this guy given that he is now somewhere around  T+3 years. This is especially impressive when you realise how far he had to come - at one point before treatment he was trying to conduct a normal life with an Hb count of between 6 and 7 and eventually required no less than 3 transplants before one 'took'.

It's something that I find personally very inspiring  and  if ever I drift into a solo pity party, it's very easy to extract mysef from it simply by acknowledging that my little jaunt (sorry but I refuse to use the word journey - I think that people who use the word journey need the soles of their feet beating with tigers....journey my arse) has been an absolute piece of piss in comparison. Well that and listening to these;

Young Gods by Little Angels.
Hello World by The Tremeloes
Sylvia by Focus
Pata Pata by Miriam Makeba
Brandy by Looking Glass
Wonderboy by Tenacious D

A small and motley selection and the last nail in the coffin of my musical credibility - but you can't help which songs give you the goosies. I've also discovered I have a mile wide soft spot for seventies soft rock a la Looking Glass, Henry Gross, Raspberries and  The Fortunes - one hit wonders that make my scalp prickle with pleasure.

As to the title of this entry, well I said I was going to be honest about what people in the queue can expect and last night my bottom decided it needed to be front and centre for an hour or so. So I ended up sitting on the lav tryingto  play genius level sudoko's on my Blackberry. I'm sorry chaps and chapesses but unless you are Intestinal Ninjas you are going to get a runny botty and not the fun kind .

Get over your typical British reserve regarding poo and let the nursing staff know ASAP, you'll need to give two batches of samples from two separate BMs and once they test clear of  MMPRV (or whatever they're after) you'll get dioralyes and all that good stuff to slam down the sluice gates.

Hokay, a bit of house keeping and odds and sods of info; Nurse Mai confirmed that my blood levels are starting to show measurable drop off now which means that he chemo is deffo doing it's stuff and that I will need to wear a facemask if I leave this ward for Xrays or having the Hickman fitted. Sis Mel has succesfully donated the good stuff, she's sending me a couple of pics that I'll put up tmw.  - Last bag of nasty has been done, Aciclovir  is up next, just had my neck dressing changed, clean t-shirt and jim jams ready for what I hope will be T-day tomorrow early afternoon.

There is one last thing I would like to share with you before I quit for the night. Earlier today I suffered what has been the most serious setback to my jaunt so far and feel it only fair to give you fair warning lest it damage you as it did me. It's back, -  it's only shitting back! that  haemorragically annoying 'Starburst' advert. It has a stupid, beardy, gonk-faced kid dancer who gurns dementedly at himself whilst doing his 'funny' break dancing routine in the one way glass at his office, 'blissfully unaware' that on the other side of the glass is a meeting room and all the 'suits' are party to his little display. After he has finished his 'zany' little act he opens the door where, - to his fake surprise the suits all shake their heads at him in a mock reproving manner with half smiles and he does his best 'Aw shucks' with a shit eating grin.

At the least, -  this imbecile needs firing -  at the absolute least. What they should have done was to fall on him like a pack off blizzard starved timber wolves and tear his stupid gonk head off his silly bendy body before shredding it.

Or light sabres. My blood pressure was still high at obs two hours later - I really hate that ad.