The feeling was special.
I wondered whether the man was a mind reader or my prayers
had been answered. I knew that I could get through the new treatment. The hardest
part was over, and I savoured success.
A bone marrow transplant was discussed in a closed meeting
between the medical team, my parents, and Linda. I didn't realise
the importance of this occasion, but I am glad that I was not
there. The decision that had to be made would have enormous
implications for my fight, but it was only a preliminary talk.
The procedure involved the destroying of all of my marrow,
and replacing it with Linda's, which had been shown to be
sufficiently compatible. The concept seemed to have merit, but
there were a number of problems.
Firstly, the operation had to be performed in London, England;
or Seattle in the U.S.A. In these centres they had trialled this
type of transplant; it had not been attempted in Australia.
This would mean a costly and traumatic trip because Marsden Hospital in London seemed to be the doctor's preference. It sounded exciting to me, until I
was told of the appalling success rate.
The chances of a cure resulting, that is that remission would
persist indefinitely, were only one in sixteen. That means that
there was a fIfteen in sixteen chance that even after having the
operation, the leukaemia would return. And because it was such
a new type of treatment, there was a 40 per cent chance that
rejection would occur and I would die.
