It’s approaching 5 years since we lost Geoff to Acute Lymphoblastic Leukaemia, another 4 years on top of that since he was diagnosed. It was a Monday morning in September 2017 when Geoff was chairing an ITV News at Ten meeting but within hours, was in Lewisham hospital having two pints of blood infused into him, as 90 percent of his white blood cells were cancerous. It took a few days for him to be officially diagnosed and I remember the quiet mostly. As we held on to each other, in disbelief.
In the early hours of the Friday morning we were moved to Kings. This tiny room with its wonderful nurses was to be the beginning of his journey of recovery. We had all the optimism then. And so we should. The signs were good.
But jeez…. It was hot. Stifling at times, even in the first throes of Autumn.
Apart from not being able to breathe due to the shock – that many of those who have experienced blood cancer will tell you goes on for some months – apart from that, there was no air. When immune systems are that low even an open window is a threat. Added to that the old hospital rooms that account for most in this country don’t have adequate windows. And so a slither of air on the good days came through. Everyone that entered the room with Geoff had to wear masks (pre covid) wear aprons, wash hands religiously.
Fast forward to 2018 and in the months after Geoff’s transplant the weather started to warm again. It was so hot.
By then Geoff’s team had come together and by that I mean family and friends. Geoff had set about beating Leukaemia. We had set about taking the best care of him. We got a fan.
Our little black box came back and forth with Geoff and I on our multiple trips in and out of hospital over the years that followed. It needed to be very subtle. Silent almost. There’s enough beeping and slamming and call bells to contend with in hospital. Sleep is difficult as it is, for patients. It did its job. Our fan.
In fact it’s one of the sounds I still remember so strongly. Leaving his hospital room to go home at 2am, having eventually helped him to doze off, with all the steroids pulsing through him – the hum, of the quiet fan.
Finding new treatments through clinical trials supported by charities like Cure Leukaemia will mean that more patients may be able to receive their treatments at home and not have to be in hospital so much during challenging warm spells.
I enjoy the sun again. These years on. It’s taken me a while, but I can smile with the sun on my face and appreciate the warmth.
But when temperatures rise in the summer, let alone during a heatwave, I can never stop thinking of the people in those hospital rooms, on the wards with infection control, newly diagnosed, dealing with so much life change and fear. Finding it hard to breathe anyway. And being so, hot