Fast forward the best part of a month from the last post, and my biopsy had been fully analysed and my diagnosis confirmed: Ewing Sarcoma. Things happened in such a blur that I forget what exactly happened, but the impending chemotherapy prompted an emergency haircut, and I was rushed to Southampton General, for the first time feeling genuinely ill as a direct result of the cancer.
- Me on arrival at SGH. Possibly at Clic Sargent. Feeling like absolute shit.
- Here I was either recovering from the surgery or awaiting the surgery that would put the central line in, which was the tube that served as a direct line into my chest, through which they could deliver chemo and other stuff.
- One of the machines that would become the bane of my life.
- Hair hadn’t fallen out yet, but pretty sure I was having my first chemo session at this point.