Athena Makes a Plan

Athena is a fount of wisdom, helped, no doubt by her owl. She has now inspired the team to come up with something new.

This time round we have in fact managed to break the cycle of chemo followed by infection. After the last chemo session I was given some extra doses of filgrastim, which boosts the immune system, and also a course of antibiotics to keep pseudomonas at bay. That seems to have worked. My cough persists and I still get tired and out of breath very easily, but I have no raging infection. I seem indeed to have landed on a safe shore. The challenge now is to actually reach home. There is a new plan to do so.

Scans show that I have responded well to this year's chemo and the team now want to finish off the lymphoma and draw a line under the treatment. The new plan has an impressive name: an 'autologous transplant'. It involves transplanting stem cells, but they will be my own stem cells. Hence 'autologous', (as was explained to me) because 'autos' is Greek for 'self'.

The process begins with a series of tests over the next few weeks to check that I am capable of handling what is to come. If it is all systems go, I will be put on a clever machine which takes some of my blood and spins it to isolate the stem cells which are then checked for quality and quantity and subsequently frozen.

About ten days after that I will go in to the Marsden once more for a week of intensive chemotherapy. This will be no holds barred, using more powerful drugs than I have had so far - hence the system check beforehand. The intention is to eliminate any vestiges of the lymphoma, but the drugs will inevitably also eliminate the white blood cells which make up my immune system and a good number of red ones as well. This is where the stem cells come in. When the chemo is finished, they will re-inject them into me, and because they are my own there is no risk of rejection. Being stem cells, they will grow a new set of blood cells, and I will end up with a brand new immune system. That will take about three weeks, during which time I will be kept in isolation because I will have no natural protection at all against any infection until the stem cells have done their job. If it all works, I should be out by Christmas.

I am feeling very positive about this, as it promises to be the final step. Getting a new immune system sounds like a good idea as well. My existing one is not out of the top drawer and has been knocked about a lot over the past few months. The new head of hair I grew last year was definitely an improvement on the old one which had fallen out, so maybe the new immune system will also be an enhanced model. We shall see.

However, even if the treatment is a success, Christmas this year will be tinged with melancholy, brought on by an irreplaceable loss. Le Colombier is to close down for good at the end of the year. The landlord of their site in Dovehouse Street wants it back. I spoke to the owner and suggested a petition, but he said he has tried everything and now has to bow to the inevitable. He feels he is too old to start again. And so it is that we will have one less classic French restaurant in London. They are getting fewer, as, I am told, they are even in France itself. I, and many others, will mourn its passing.

Adieu, mon ami, oiseau de la paix et de la jouissance gastronomique. Tu seras toujours dans mon coeur.