At this time, my surviving grandparents were my father’s father and my mother’s mother. Illness had taken from us their partners, but time cannot dim the special memories I have of both Mona and Bill.
Sylvie and Bert spent many hours with me during my period of intensive treatment. If I had to state the greatest qualities of the “heads” of the family, it was their contagious and unbreakable senses of humour, and the unqualified love and support they offered us. The part they played in my recovery is indisputable.
Bert kept me occupied in the early stages with lengthy discussions on topics which ranged from football to the Masonic Lodge (which we call the Waterbuffaloes), and Sylvie often let me beat her at a variety of card games, while we awaited the dreaded doctor’s arrival. I miss them both very much.
They are forever in my thoughts.

A real test of family unity came when the doctors asked for volunteers to donate white blood cells. A procedure room was filled with my parents, my sisters Linda and Melissa, and my brothers Gary and Dale. There was also an assortment of family friends, all of whom were eager to do whatever they could to help. The initial blood sample taken to determine compatibility was mild, compared to the potential prize for the person deemed most suitable.
Extracting white blood cells involves several hours spent lying almost stationary, with a needle in a vein in each arm. A tube carries the blood to a filtering machine, from where it is returned to the other arm, minus the white blood cells.

When treatment was given, my white blood cells would fall drastically in number. In fact, they should have approximated zero if all the cancerous cells are to be destroyed. Therefore, until the body had sufficient time to replenish its supply, there was a definite danger of infection. This was the major reason why aIl but the first injection of each of my outpatient CROPs were given to me at home. A hospital is a meeting place and breeding place for germs.
I was safer at home.

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