Editors note: Welcome to almost there. Today Tamlin begins to look up and see more than months and months of treatment. Today Tamlin gets the news that she can leave the hospital.
With the help of a brigade of doctors and an artillery of nurses as well as cocktails of disgusting medication; we started to rebuild my immune system, bit by bit, cell by cell.
It’s hard to be happy when you’re stuck in what feels like a prison cell. The days were long and cruel, but we managed. Most of the time it was hard to be positive. If I went online, I could see all these joyous things other people were doing and if I looked outside my window I could see the exact same thing plus the reflection of my encasing room.
When I got the news that I was nearing the end, it was like if there was a god, he cared. I can’t remember being as happy as I was on those last two days in BMT.
When the nurses disconnected me from my “friend”, (the IV machine that supplied my pain killers, the new, untarnished, bone marrow, my nutrients; the very same IV pole that came to the toilet with me), it was like I was being released from jail for a crime I did not commit. I had such immense happiness that I danced, if you can call it that. I just danced. I remember those days quite well.
I was starting to feel more human and less tubes and wires. It was in those last two days when I realised that I was going to live, it was those last two days that made me realise how lucky I really was; I had unconditional support from not only my family and medical staff but everyone around me; from strangers in antique shops to those I knew and didn’t know from school, I was downright cared about.
Editors note: I am so excited about tomorrow's entry. Tomorrow Tamlin goes home. She feels wrapped up in love and in hope. Tomorrow Tamlin is also sharing her space with other children and teens from Lady Cilento Children's Hospital's oncology unit in a massive photo collage of each child before treatment, during treatment and after treatment.