Moments later, two burly Russian fellas and a tiny producer girl walk in, draped in hospital protectors. Apparently, this is for Russia’s major news station Russia One. (I keep thinking of The One Show theme.) I believe they were after a positive piece on Dr. Fedorenko, his work, and the international recognition it’s been getting. At least that’s what their questions seemed to be about. “Why Dr. Fedorenko? Why Russia?” and so on…

I think I spent the rest of the day editing my Day Zero video. Just another regular video studio – my hospital room.

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Thursday – Day +02 – Full Isolation Time

Woken up bright and early for some fluid deposits. I barely even notice them anymore, which is nice – the benefits of being on-tap for blood with a chest catheter, I suppose.

Then Dr. Fedorenko pops in – “Good news!!” he beams. The leukocyte numbers have dropped low enough to officially enter full isolation mode.

Now, being told you’re about to be locked in a room without any real comforts shouldn’t bring much joy – it’s a bit reality TV show-esque – but this one did. A proper chance to rest, to let my body properly recover. I might even get round to using some of the gadgets I brought with me… they’ve barely left the bag. Still not sure how I’ve made myself so busy?

---

 

In comes a small nurse I haven’t seen before, armed with all sorts of alcoholic scrubs and scary-looking Russian bottles. I’m shown the vodka bath I’m to have – a handful of cloths for wiping down after a rinse shower. One cloth for the full body, another for the more delicate areas.

(No one wants the reminder of that one time you sprayed deodorant down there.)

Then she brings in some clothes. Woah – no thank you, it’s okay! I tell her the Doctor’s already seen my cupboard full of clean clothes and underwear. But this is met with a storm of finger-wagging and a cacophony of under her breath noises from her stern little Yoda-esque appearance, as she strutted around the room in full fluster mode.

I lift the clothes up to the light and sigh. All white. Badly cut, under-length pants and the boxiest top I’ve ever seen. I fear I’m about to look like a very bad background artist on Tenko, or some oddball in a John Lennon sit-in.

I relent – I’ll do the pants. No harm there. But I’m wearing my own t-shirt and underwear. No more film crews, I hope.

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Meet Wilson

So, since I’m going to be alone in this room, I figured I’d better fashion myself some company. Meet (Castaway-inspired) Wilson, my companion for the week ahead. Some of you on Facebook might already be acquainted with our little miserable friend.

“Wilson didn’t like my successful blood scores this morning. He’s now stuck within these four walls with me. It’s #isolation time!”

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Friday – Day +03 – Minor Wobbles

Didn’t start too brightly today. As fine as the chemotherapy has been, it does leave your internal digestion needing a bit of care. So, annoyingly, there was a bit of a quick hop to the loo this morning. No big deal – but I think it had a bit of a knock-on effect for how I felt the rest of the day.

The good news came from the good Doctor himself – leukocytes more than halved again on yesterday’s score. Normal numbers in the blood are between 4–10. Mine were down to 0.14. So the remainder of my previous immune system really is now hanging by a thread.

Blood pressure check – all good. Or so I thought.

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A Bit Toasty

Around 2pm, my usual check-up nurse arrives. Blood pressure reasonably fine, but I do say that I’m feeling the heat a bit. Sure enough, my temp reads 37.6°.

Quick as a flash, Dr. F returns – I thought he’d already left for the day!

“Okay, your body is a little high – it happens in about 1 in 3 patients and is easily remedied,” he says. “We’ll put you on a course of steroids and antibiotics just to be sure, and we’ll monitor you regularly. But you’ve got nothing to worry about!”

I felt calm anyway – just a bit warm – but his reassurance is always welcome.

Very quickly, in come the drips and I’m hooked up. Ten minutes later, I’m feeling cool and comfortable, with a fan in the room to boot.

They checked in on me pretty much on the hour for the rest of the day, my temp hovering between 36.8 and 37.1°. Dr. Nikolai came in later to say they’d thoroughly reviewed my morning bloodwork and found nothing concerning. The earlier upset stomach probably just triggered things.

The nurses today were absolutely brilliant – always smiling, always on the ball, bringing all the fluids I needed.

---

I uploaded my Day Zero video – just a few thoughts from the day (bit gushy, I’ll admit) – but people have been so lovely about it. Thank you!!

As evening rolled in, still feeling comfortable, I figured I’d make the most of it and aim for a nice early night. Head down around 9pm. Let’s hope for a better start tomorrow.

Today had another minor hiccup on the road to Getting Rid. If it’s not me out gallivanting for a ‘coffee’, I’m raising my temperature just to give you something to read. You didn’t want a boring blog now, did you?

You’re so welcome. 😉 

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Saturday – Day +04

“That’s the third time this morning Wilson has done this. We need to talk… just not now. #isolation”

I’m pleased to say a good 11 hours sleep last night really helped. Feeling good, carrying on from where I left off yesterday.

More checks this morning from the nurses, all good. Another update from Dr Fedorenko about my blood test – no infections and my Leukocytes have halved yet again. Down to just 0.07. It’s believed that this will carry on for the next couple of days, dropping off the scale before the stem cells kick in with their new party piece.

And nothing really more to add today – it’s a day in isolation, but a good one. Again the nurses have been extra attentive, but not quite with the previous frequency as needed before.

Maybe just one more from Wilson today.

I snook this picture of Wilson earlier on and threatened that I’d upload it if he didn’t stop walking in on me. He didn’t listen, so here it is then. #isolation

A Restful Night? Not Quite.

Sadly going inn to such a big day, I didn’t get the sleep I’d hoped for – more persistent bladder emptying thanks to all the fluids!

Woke around 8:30 am, to a torrent of messages I hadn’t kept up with from the previous day. Awww, it was so nice.

So much support and positivity from friends and family – from all those miles away, they were letting me know I was being thought of. What a way to start the day.

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Why I Set Up Let’sGetRid

The whole reason I set up my Let’sGetRid blog was to show people how to do this – without fear.

To help with what to expect in the lead-up to treatment, because unfortunately I was finding that  stick a camera in front of someone, and suddenly everything was very dramatic, making everyone uneasy, especially those hoping to have the treatment.

So hopefully reading this blog? No dramas!
Please trust in my commentary – no dramatic soundbites here!

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The Messages That Got Me

But you know what really set me off?

It was the new well-wishers – those just starting to follow me, about to embark on their own journeys or their own closely interested loved ones too.

My little blog was working!!

People were telling me their fears had completely gone – that seeing my experience, my smiling face, had shown them there really was nothing to fear.

It was their flood of messages that really did me in. With all that was going on today, feeling emotional anyway I was getting increasingly tearier with each one.

From those I’d already gotten to know to those who have never posted before, but wanted to reach out that morning and say so.

Then I opened my Day Zero card from Jen… And that was it – I was a flood of tears.

She’d written the most beautiful message. I could barely speak to her on the phone moments later.

No editorial photos taken here – “I’ve got an image to uphold too!!” 😉

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Blood Pressure Says It All

By this point, it was close to 11 am, and my important 1 pm appointment was approaching.

I made myself comfortable, and then Dr. Fedorenko came in, took my blood pressure, and asked how I was doing. For the first time, my blood pressure was higher than normal. All those messages must have really hit something.

I didn’t tell him how soppy I’d just been – “I’m not crying, you’re crying!”

Then, in walks a nurse and hooks me up to a monitor. My BPM was pushing 120, which wasn’t like me at all. So, time for the comical techniques I’ve talked about before.

In through the nose… out with a ‘Whooosaaaaaah’… Back down to a steady 65 BPM in no time.

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The Big Moment – Stem Cell Transplant

Had my camera set up in the corner of the room to record the process…

Unfortunately for my camera, I was one of four transplants that day.

My camera – set at maximum settings – managed 30 minutes of prep nursing, then died long before the actual procedure. Shame.

Despite that, I just lay there incredibly relaxed, patiently waiting my turn.

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Rattle, Clack, Rumble…

In arrives the entourage –

• Dr. Fedorenko
• His right-hand man, Dr. Nikolai
• A nurse
• Anastasia

More positive Q&A, telling me what to expect, reminding me to report any sensations as they happen, so he could cross-check the ECG live scoreboard.

Then, I was shown my bag of returning stem cells – box fresh, dripping with icy air.

Like the Ambassador at his reception, I give a little nod to proceed. 😉

---

The Transplant Itself

Fortunately, just the one bag – for the one day of collection. More than one day requires more bags to thaw.

My cells were thawed out, syringed into three large vials, then hooked onto my chest catheter, long placed there from the chemotherapy.

Dr. F places his hand on my arm and talks me through the side effects I may experience over the next few minutes.

And we begin.

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The Play-by-Play

Dr. F asks me to commentate as I feel things, so he can cross-check with his scoreboard.

• Right side of my face suddenly feels flushed.
  Not a problem, just my heart rate adjusting to new fluid and temperature of them as they go in. It passes within seconds.
• My throat gets incredibly dry – like an irritable piece of plastic is stuck there.
  Not pleasant, but dissipates just as fast as it came.
• I suddenly get the famous taste of HSCT tomatoes.
  Can’t remember his reply, but I do remember thinking… actually, quite nice!
• Any chest pressure or crushing?
  Nope – nothing at all!

Less than 10 minutes, and it’s all over. Dr. F proudly shows me the now-empty bag.

Through my oxygen mask, I probably pulled some big silly smile, then just thanked them all.

I commented on just how easy that procedure really was. I felt totally at ease the whole way through – even enjoyed the relaxing nature of it all.

And, of course, the knowing that… This just might be the end of a very long, very dark road.

---

A Moment of Reflection

Relief washed over me. No recreational drugs necessary (other than the saline drip I was hooked up to).

I just lay there, feeling content – a beautiful moment to myself, reflecting on our near future. All the things Jen and I have been missing for the last eight years.

---

The First Thumbs-Up

Picked up my phone and sent a thumbs-up picture.

Anastasia had expertly taken photos on my phone during the treatment – good thing too, since my primed camera had died prematurely.

I let that send, then immediately called Jen. “All done!!”

We switched to FaceTime to talk about how it went and how comfortable it all was.

Difficult to recall exactly what we spoke about, but no doubt, it was filled with positive things – and how much we couldn’t wait to see each other again.

---

A New Man Born

After hanging up, I think I just laid there contently, enjoying ten more minutes to myself.

…Oh, and then, of course, the obligatory Facebook announcement.

“New man born.”

---

Time to Party!!

Time passes quickly – and suddenly, it’s time to celebrate!

I get dressed and move myself to the sofa area in the hall, where others are waiting – including my fellow stem-cell quadruplets.

Dr. Fedorenko begins his beautiful fluid-pouring ceremony – the fluid used in the freezing process is poured out onto the floor in a display watching it evaporate as it hits the floor.

Simple – but it’s really beautiful.

He speaks words of meaning and kindness, and we are all given our Iris Pins – the Doctor’s little badge of honour, symbolising the flower of new life.

Then comes his famous big smile and hug.

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A True Hero

I don’t have many heroes in life. But this one – an understated man with a heart of gold – has to be mine. I hope to be able to repay him one day – to show him what he has done for me and my (future) family very soon.

He gives everyone a big wave, wishes us a pleasant evening, and then heads off.

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A Surprise Recognition

There were some new faces in the group today, so I went over to say hello.

I met Vanessa and Tonia from Australia – they congratulated me on my Day Zero, and we got chatting about who we are and how we got here.

Then came: “Ahh, you’re Alex from the Blog – we’ve been told we should meet you!”

How lovely and amazing. Not for glory – but just the knowing that I’m helping someone, somewhere.

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Calling It a Night

We all retire to our rooms – of course, I was feeling a little bushed, and probably had one or two messages waiting for me. …Something like that, anyway. 😉

What a day!!!

WHAT. A. DAY!!

So much to reflect on, so much to soak up. I put my head down for a couple of hours – I don’t think I’ve done that enough really, but I’ve earned this one.

A few final calls, a few notes about my next blog post… And then, instead, I decide to just retire and wallow in the warmth of a new immune system building.

---

Today Has Been Incredible.

Never to be forgotten!

A Quiet Day? Think Again!

I thought that there might be nothing too much to report on today – sat in bed, enjoying a coffee, watching BBC Morning News on the iPad. Sunny day – I was looking forward to this rest day.

Knock, knock!

Nope – Anastasia has other plans.

“Get packing – you’re moving straight to the Isolation room!”

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Moving In

I scoop all my belongings into my suitcase, much like I did for the journey here – only this time, without Jen’s help.

Then… unload.

I figured the restrictions in isolation would be pretty strict.

Not that I was picturing being pushed into a room and hosed down, but still – I had to be careful about what to bring and what stays in the case.

---

The Essentials

• Gadgets? ✅ Can’t imagine doing this without them.
  (Cleaned down, wiped well – all good to go.)
• Clothes? ✅ Plenty of clean ones packed.
  (No hospital gowns with side slits for me thank you!)
• Food & condiments? ✅ Approved – but must be microwaved, not applied cold.

So, I’m in.

Everything’s unpacked, anti-bac’d, and ready for a bit of a stay.

---

Embracing the Quiet

To be honest, I’m actually looking forward to this.

MS is incredibly tiring, especially when other people are constantly spending your precious energy for you, making plans when you’d sooner be at home.

In my isolation room. I get to make use of the fun gadgets I brought – the ones I never seem to have time to play with at home. Old skool Sonic the Hedgehog anyone? 😉

This could even get very therapeutic!

---

Tomorrow – The Big One

Tomorrow is a big day.

Let’s put those stem cells back – and crack the whip!

---

My New Digs

The Chemo Debate

• Have you thought about the side effects?
• They’re not good for you!
• But you’re not terminal?
• It’s not worth it!
• …Won’t someone please think of the children!?!?

Wow – the stories I’d heard from (doctor) people about receiving chemotherapy. I know most have my best interests at heart, but regardless – I have to get rid of my MS!

If they had to break open my kneecaps with a bat to apply it or pull off my toenails – so be it.

But, I’m sat here on my hospital bed, glass of Coke in hand, after a bit of fish for my tea, feeling pretty good, actually.

---

The Reality vs. The Fear

Instead, in my case. It’s been as pleasant as sitting in a Winchester armchair, wearing smoking jacket, having your single malt topped up for the second time.

Okay – swap the scenery for a hospital bed, a drip, and a three-hour wait.

But considering the juxtaposition, you hopefully get the idea.

---

Four Days of Chemo – The Experience

My first dose of chemotherapy came on Thursday. Naturally, I wondered what could happen – no smoke without fire and all that.

But no issues.

Friday was fine – with a touch of added entertainment (questioning old gits, tangled wires – nothing freaky).

Saturday – I got the hang of it.

And today (Sunday) – I actually enjoyed it. Simply knowing it was the last dose, finishing off the job – and, as always, they come with the heavy need to sleep, good sleep.

Dr. Fedorenko has talked about how he’s refined his chemotherapy over time – ensuring it’s effective but not overkill.

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So, What Did It Feel Like?

For me – the complete layman – I’ve just had four days of a lot of chemotherapy fluid, and I feel perfectly comfortable.

• No nausea.
• No sweats.
• No headaches.
• No pain.

As far as I felt – it may as well have been water.

The only things I’ve noticed?

• I’ve needed the loo a lot (so much fluid & saline drips).
• My hands are a very dry.
• Occasionally tingly feet.
• I get sleepy.
• Every now and then, MS tries to make itself more pronounced.

But overall? I’ve been perfectly comfortable.

Testament to the genius of Dr. Fedorenko, his accompanying medication, and the excellent care of his staff.

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Chemo Isn’t One-Size-Fits-All

No doubt, not all chemotherapy experiences are the same. Without a doubt, it’s not always easy and not always painless. But I feel incredibly fortunate to have had such an invasive therapy and still feel lively enough to write about it as I receive it.

For many, chemotherapy brings hope of ridding a potentially terminal illness.

For me, I hope it brings relief.

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What’s Next?

Tomorrow, I imagine there will be many blood tests and checks to see if all has gone well.

I appreciate it’s still early days for me – but the other patients here are still smiling, and I know that I’m going to sleep well tonight.

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Watch My Video!

Please watch my video from this morning’s dose. I talk about my experience with chemotherapy and what it’s really like.

I hope I’ve alleviated people’s concerns about this major part of HSCT.

Day 2 – Chemo – Hit ‘em on the Beaches!

I wake up feeling good – ready to take on another day’s battle with the insubordinate T-cells. After all, the previous chemo infusion may as well have been water for how easy it was to take.

Today, I’m planning to take things a little easier. After making sure I was online and caught up with all the amazing messages I’ve been getting (big love to all!), I decide to let the chemo sink in and allow my body to plot its internal battleground.

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MS Fights Back… Poorly

Getting up to go to the loo, I can tell the chemo has heightened my MS symptoms – it’s like the MS is counterattacking.

“I’m still here!!”

I take myself to the loo a little more carefully than usual – a bit dizzy, but totally fine. No biggie at all – it was a pretty poor attempt. Like throwing a rock at the Chemo Tank.

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Chemo, Wires, and Unexpected Visitors

I get back into bed, crack open the laptop, put on an easy film (Independence Day), and start drifting off. Then suddenly – wha?! I feel tangled in wires – proper spindly little ones. Where?! How?!

I open my eyes, half expecting to see Dr. Fedorenko trying out some new experimental treatment on me. Nope – all good.

Alright, time to drift off again. …And then, next thing I know, a group of elderly men walk in and start pointing at me.

“Who’s this?”
What do you mean who’s this? You’ve just walked into my… Nope. …Open eyes.

What IS going on?!

Ahhh – this must be what Mindy Watt was talking about in the Facebook UK HSCT Group – the chemo hallucinations. She saw little aliens. I get wires and old men. Still bizarre, but easy enough to handle.

“Right, come on, people – I’ve got a body to clean up here, leave me be!”

Just as I drift off again, a wave of panic washes over me – I see water flooding up from my laptop keyboard! A moment of panic, my lifeline to the outside world.

Ha! You’re not having me this time! I open my eyes – dry laptop, all good. And beautifully, just at that moment…

💥 Will Smith punches an alien square in the face.

“Welcome to Earth.”

Poetic timing, Mindy.

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A Little Too Ambitious

After some actual rest, I get a knock on the door from another patient. “Fancy getting out for a walk?” Yeah, why not? I was feeling great after that sleep – bit of fresh air and all that.

Unfortunately for us, Starbucks haven’t popped up on every corner here yet (small mercies), so we only had one option in mind – a place half an hour away. Now, my walking isn’t great – it’s definitely not half-an-hour good. An intelligent thought here would have been, “Maybe we should rethink this?” But no – we powered on.

“We’ll get a cab back.”

We arrive (very comfy chairs!!), have a good chat, eat some food, and drink – being mindful of our chemo-sensitive stomachs.

Then – bad planning. Our cab wasn’t available.

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MS: The Invisible Disease – The MS Strikes Back

**Caution urged.**

The walk back was cold.

Luckily, I had a big jumper keeping my upper body warm, but it’s my legs that really suffer in the cold. They go full Tin Man. Combine that with reduced sensation below the waist and, well – not fun.

On the way back, we bumped into Anastasia, who was walking home from the office.
“You haven’t seen us, right? 😉“

By the time I got back to my room at 9 pm – I was very, f*cking tired. (Apologies, but called for!)

To make matters worse, my lack of sensation below the waist meant I had made a small unknown (but contained) mess of my underwear. No energy, cold, no muscle control, no feeling – sh*t happens. Energy-wise, I was running on fumes. Somehow, I got myself into the shower, cleaned myself down, got into bed clothes, and tried to relax.

Hoping the exertion didn’t have lasting effects. Borrowing tomorrow’s energy comes at a very high premium.

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And Then…

Lying in bed, needing to settle from the shock of it all, I try to calm myself to sleep.

“Woosah!” +  “Ching ching!” (Imaginary finger cymbals)

**Double caution – Careful now!** 

Less than half an hour into getting some rest… I feel an intense pressure in my gut. Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever felt anything like it. It all happened too fast to be painful.

That was the chemo diarrhoea I’d heard about. I’ve been poorly before …But that was something else.

There’s only so much loo roll can do, so back in the shower. Once I’m out and dressed by this point, it was around 2am. I won’t swear again, but I was very tired. And a little worried about day three of chemo. After all – the drug builds up. The nurses were wonderful and checked to make sure I was comfortable again. Just a shame I then had the most broken sleep I’ve had in a long time.

Half asleep, conscious of every bodily movement, needing to pee every half hour, finding that I was frequently having many little wee slippages too.

This is what happens when a dysfunctional nervous system is at its most disobedient.

I’ll leave the details there.

But many MS sufferers will know exactly what it’s like – when your body is at its lowest, it just won’t look after you.

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Dr. Fedorenko’s Response

I spoke to Dr. Fedorenko this morning about my night. He was far from phased – which was reassuring.

Also because I knew this was more down to overexertion on my part, rather than the chemo itself – it just added to it.

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So Much for ‘No Fear’!

There’s me, wanting to show how little there is to fear about this treatment… And I go and wreck it all for a ‘coffee’ out.

I could have kept the information to the smooth, but I wouldn’t be doing a service if I didn’t share this – even if it wasn’t my proudest moment.

But all is absolutely good again.

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Final Thoughts

This blog exists to give fellow MS sufferers an honest, day-to-day understanding of what to expect here in Moscow.

Yes, MS isn’t pretty – but this is the reality I’ve lived with for eight years. And as always – I’ve made this blog fun and colourful, because that’s what I do. 😉

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Day 3 – Chemo – Getting to the Bunker

Today is a selfish day. Yesterday, I felt great – until I went out.

Today, I’m keeping it low-key – and now that my body has settled, chemo round three has been smooth.

No aliens.
No wires.
No old men.

Just a little more tired – but no nausea, no headaches, and no regrets.

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Day 13 – Perspective

Now day 13 into my treatment, I’ve had steroids, stem cell stimulants, tubing, drips, collection, chemotherapy – and I never would have imagined I could feel this comfortable!

Honestly? An ingrown toenail would have been more dramatic.

There I was, thinking I’d have to put on a brave face for coming to Russia – but the team here has made me so relaxed, I don’t know what any of the fear could have been for?

Many people receive chemotherapy for so many reasons – but for me, it brings relief. I’m very fortunate.

My day 13 has been as good as any other. Just don’t give MS a chance to spoil your day – I wish it hadn’t tried to spoil mine.

After all that thought and expressive writing… time for some sleep.

Anniversary from Afar

First things first – I want to wish a happy fourth wedding anniversary to my beautiful wife, Jen. Thousands of miles apart and unable to spend the day together, unfortunately. But she still made sure I had a card to open. She’s the best!

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A Well-Earned Rest (Sort Of)

After a successful stem cell extraction on Tuesday – delivering a solid 3 million troopers – I was rewarded with a day of rest before diving into four days of chemotherapy.

Though it did begin with me being woken up to have the line removed from my neck – not that I’m complaining! Funny thing is, after just a day, I’d kind of stopped noticing it was even there.

In came a nurse, speaking in pretty Russian words that somehow made the whole neck de-tubing experience as pleasant as it could reasonably be. She offered to show me the plastic tubing she’d removed… but sometimes ignorance is bliss. I politely declined.

Then, I was swiftly moved into another room and told to lie flat on the bed. No faffing about here, she was talking as she went, all in Russian. She covered my neck and started prodding around for the best way in.

For someone so efficient and direct, I was surprised she struggled to find a good spot – so instead, she chose a lower vein below my collarbone. Honestly, I much prefer that. It hides below my t-shirt, and I’ve got full neck movement again.

No more sleeping flat Tutankhamun-esque.

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A Birthday Worth Celebrating

Yesterday was Linda’s stem cell birthday – Congratulations!! I’m so pleased for her and her lovely fiancé, Christian. Good times ahead.

We chatted, ate cake – and then I hit the wall (figuratively speaking – I’m no thug). It was only around 6 pm, but thinking about it, this was probably my first day without steroids this week. I should have expected this crash at some point.

I headed back, put on a film, and just slept. Sparko.

Next thing I know, it’s 11 pm. Wow – where did that time go?! Clearly, I needed the sleep more than I thought. I squeezed in a couple of phone calls, then wondered how easy it would be to get back to sleep again.

[Like a bolt to the head – out!]

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And So It Begins…

Knock, knock!

In walks the clatter of my Chemotherapy breakfast. It’s 9:30 am – I’ve slept almost comatose for 15 hours. And to think I stopped taking sleeping pills a couple of nights ago!

Still feeling snug in my surroundings, I roll over slightly and show off my new chemo line.

“How are you?” they ask.
Blood pressure – all good.

Let’s proceed!

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Day 1 – Chemotherapy

Bring out the big guns – the MS won’t know what’s hit it!!

Three hours came and went very smoothly. Other than the occasional loo break. Walking a drip stand toward the toilet and back… is probably an image I’d have preferred to save for my geriatric days.

I’ve put together a little video blog.
The chemotherapy. … and that noise. (It’s on the video.)

I’ve since realised that cutting out steroids might explain why I’m feeling so shattered (slow, sleepy brain over here).

So, depending on your perspective, it’s been a day of action.

If you’re an MS-dwelling, good-for-nothing T-cell, you’ve just had the first taste of the Pain Train that’s about to arrive!!

Or a fella chilling, slowly getting sleepier and sleepier, letting the good stuff do its job.

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Thank You

Thank you for all your fantastic messages today. With everything doing it’s job, I’m really starting to feel tired – so I’ll try to get back to everyone as soon as I can.

Thank you – I really am feeling the love, and it means the world to me. xxx

With a little knock on the door this morning, in came Dr. Fedorenko, wheeling a little trolley behind him. Either his knock-out sleeping pills are still working well, or he’s a little early.

Yup – about an hour earlier than I expected (or remembered), in he walks with his wheels of steel. He lines up the machine and raises my bed height for a better view of what’s about to happen. No time for a shower – I’m getting my tube lines wired up from my neck while Anastasia makes sure I’m comfortable for my Lennon-esque bed sit-in. She makes me a coffee and hands me every possible gadget and cable I could need.

A few squirts of alcohol rub later, the machine spools up – pretty little lines of crimson making their way through the tubes, like one of those fun drinking straws. A nurse hangs a long bottle over the side of the bed.

“Five hours,” she says.

Suddenly, the strong coffee may have been a mistake.

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The Collection Begins

After a few pleasantries, okays, thumbs-ups, smiles – they leave me to my devices. I lie back, thinking just how amazingly relaxed I feel. Leading up to this trip had been non-stop – fundraising, working, meeting people, getting ready. Just laying here is exactly what I’ve needed for a long time.

Bliss.

Even though the machine took my blood twice around to be filtered, I didn’t feel a thing. I just lay there, kept up with messages, listened to a little music… all I needed was some oils and lemongrass, and I could have easily been elsewhere.

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Five Hours Later

Dr. Fedorenko came back in, inspected the bag of cells, and said confidently that it looked a good colour and consistency.

Job’s a good’un.

Now, for that shower I’d been hankering for.

“Give us a little time, and we’ll have the numbers for you,” he says.

Once I was showered up, a couple of the lads from the ward asked how it went. Having no previous experience with this kind of thing before, I told them:

“Yup, good. Comfortable. No dramas – and none of the bone pain I’d heard about!”

“What? You only managed one bag of cells?”

Sods.

Fortunately, Dr. Feders was quick on hand with a big smile and a hug, announcing…

THREE MILLION CELLS COLLECTED!!!

Nailed it!!!!! 🙂

2.9 from the other lads. Ahem. 😉

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Ending the Day Right

Just as I was considering settling in for the evening, there was a knock at the door.

“You ready yet?”

Haha – I guess the lad had a great idea but forgot to tell anyone else. Ten minutes later, we’re both sat in a restaurant, clinking a good Russian beer to end a good day.

Na Zdorovie! 🍻

Jen heads home

So, Jen went home last night. There was little point in her staying, really – I’m just being dosed up with steroids. Soon, I’ll be on chemo, then in isolation, when visiting should be avoided anyway. If Jen went home to keep things running back there, time would no doubt fly far quicker for her. It made sense. She’ll be back in no time for the last week.

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Technical support

As the lift doors in front of Jen closed, I started feeling a little teary. I don’t normally – but the thought of not seeing her for weeks while undergoing a major procedure did get to me a bit.

Not long after, I got a little text saying she’d gotten home okay and that the cats sound like they’ve been well looked after. Then, a little FaceTime call from Jen – she doesn’t normally like the whole video thing, so I thought, aww, nice – she wants to see my little face before bed!

Silly me.

Turns out the TV was playing up, and she needed to know what buttons to press. Charming! Naturally, we got BBC Casualty playing once she stopped pressing the buttons I told her not to. 😉

“Awww, I really am going to miss you.”

I know my place. 😉

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The line goes in

Got woken up by a big smile from Dr. Fedorenko at 9:30 am as he walked into my room. His sleeping tablets are just the best – I’ve been sleeping through everything and actually waking up feeling refreshed. Sleep like that, I just don’t get anymore. Something I really hope returns post-treatment.

Dr. F reminded me of my day ahead – Hickman Line / Neck Catheter placement in the morning, followed by another steroid drip. This time, taking the new neck line for a spin.

Naturally, the line wasn’t something I was looking forward to – a long pipe down the jugular for easy fluid taking and going in. But if it saves multiple jabs, so be it. I’ve had a swab shoved far up my nose – I can do this!

Actually, the placement wasn’t bad at all. Done under local anaesthetic, I felt the odd pinch, but little more, and it was finished within minutes. Followed by an X-ray to confirm the job was a good one.

I’ve had it in all day, and honestly, it’s no more annoying than a slight crick in the neck. Less movement than usual, as expected, but you quickly get used to it.

I’ll let you know how the sleeping goes.

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Stem cell collection time!

And finally – tonight is the last of my G-CSF shots to get my stem cells moving, ready for extraction tomorrow! My new neck line will really come into its own.

Exciting times. Can I get them all collected in one day?

Wow – day three and the last of the steroids. Corr, my neurologist would be having a hissy fit if he knew – he never gave me anything of the sort, no matter how much I pleaded.

How do I feel? Actually, not too different! A little extra jittery, needing to go to the loo more (and urgently), but overall, comfortable. Twice an evening, I’ve been given late shots of G-CSF – a drug that tells my stem cells to leave my bone marrow and enter my bloodstream – and I still don’t feel any different.

No bone pain, which I’d heard about, but I’m laid out on my bed, writing and editing on my laptop, perfectly happy.

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A Slower Pace

Life, work, and fundraising were just so manic before leaving for Russia. Now, just sitting here, relaxing, I couldn’t be happier.

It actually feels a little holiday-esque – I’m so well looked after, everyone is so friendly, and there is sooo much food. (I’ll talk about food soon!).

Yesterday was much of the same – steroids and jabs – which meant I had a few nice hours out of the hospital with Jen before she left for home today. We grabbed something to eat, chatted, and slowly walked back.

Then, as we approached the hospital, this happened…

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A Moment of Kindness

(Taken from Jen’s Facebook post:)

“On our walk back from the restaurant, we were stopped by an elderly gentleman outside the hospital. At first, he walked by, looking at Alex struggling to walk… then he turned around and came back to us. He stopped Alex, and with no English spoken, took his hand and started gesturing to Alex’s legs, his stick, and then upwards. It was clear, from the tears in his eyes, that he was wishing good things for Alex… Lovely that, from a city that has seemed so intimidating, we were wished well by a total stranger… Now, you wouldn’t get that in London!”

It was a really lovely moment – just a shame we couldn’t understand him fully.

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Jen Heads Home

So, Jen has left to go back home for a few weeks.

I don’t do tears… but once she left, I couldn’t help it this time. There’s no one better.

I’m pleased Jen’s going home – time will fly by much quicker for her, and I’ll be home before she knows it.

Spending the night at her hotel, the construction and cars doing burnouts outside through the night were so noisy – she’ll be pleased to be back in her own bed.

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Sleeping in the Hospital

Like my night at the hotel, I’ve been struggling to sleep at times in the hospital too – but not because of any noise (it’s actually lovely and peaceful here). Maybe it’s the thoughts about the treatment?, what comes next?, or just the fact that I’m in a strange place?

That evening Dr. Fedorenko suggested a sleeping pill. I popped it down when I was ready, Hmmm just as I thought to myself that it wasn’t working.., then… [gone]!

Slept right through to 9:30 am – when normally, I’d be woken by the light at 6 am.

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That Apprehension…

I actually have none – none at all.

Everything here is done at a lovely pace, and talking to others who are a week or two ahead of me, they don’t look ill considering they’ve had a large blast of chemotherapy. They have smiles on their faces and seem to be taking it all in their stride.

Dr. Fedorenko has spoken before about how he’s refined his treatment over the years – and honestly, as far as chemo goes, he’s nailed it. I haven’t heard of a single person here saying they’ve needed to vomit.

As I’ve said before – I’m totally sure I made the right choice coming to Russia.

I couldn’t be more relaxed, fed, and well looked after.

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Big Day Tomorrow

Tonight will be my last two jabs of the stem cell stimulants – let’s hope they’ve done their job.

Then, tomorrow – I get a catheter placed in my neck line. It’s for easy drug administration but, more importantly, to filter my blood for those stem cell troopers.

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Video Time!

I run a little-known YouTube channel called The Palm Off – something I do at weekends to keep busy while indoors. Naturally, my viewers are probably wondering where I’ve gone!

They’ve been so supportive since I told them about my MS, so I’ve made this video update to tell my story and keep them in the loop.

Enjoy!

Doctor Fedorenko stopped by my room first thing.

Fresh out of the shower – that’s twice now he’s caught me in my undercrackers! (He does knock!!! …I let him in.) He does the right thing and suggests he can come back, but there’s little point. He tells me about my day ahead – a steroid drip around 11 am and two further injections to stimulate my stem cells at 11 pm and 3 am. Not looking forward to being woken up for that.

So, I’ve had a lovely day. Jen came around 11 am, we watched some Netflix, and just enjoyed each other’s company. Towards the end of the day, fellow patient Kamil from Poland, who I’ve gotten to know here, came in for a chat. Since we’re allowed to leave the hospital grounds, he suggested the three of us go out for a meal. Sadly, Jen was feeling rather tired and went back to the hotel, so just the two of us went to the local recommended spot.

It turns out he’s my stem cell twin too. We both arrived on the same day and are scheduled to receive all our treatment simultaneously. Interestingly, we both work in similar creative fields, we’re both 36, and we’re very like-minded. He’s a great lad, and we’re going to keep each other company through all this. For someone who’s never been to an English-speaking country, his English is incredible.

Worried about getting around Moscow? …Don’t be!!

Before coming out here, I was a bit worried – foreign country, don’t know the roads, the people, or how much caution we might need. But this is another thing the hospital has brilliantly thought about. They provide a hospital driver to collect and drop off patients, plus contact details for a couple of trusted local taxi drivers.

We’ve been using one guy called Andrew, and he has been truly amazing – a real game-changer for our stay! He arrives quickly, is super friendly, speaks brilliant English, and is very reasonably priced.

Originally, I was nervous about Jen making her way around Moscow using random taxis, so my mum came to Russia too – of course, to support us both, but also for a bit of safety in numbers. Unfortunately, my mum took rather unwell during her stay and really needed to head back home. If things had been different, she might have had to stay, but because Andrew has made our travel situation so problem-free, my mum was able to head home without worry.

For anyone coming to Moscow – honestly, you don’t need to worry. Thanks, Andrew!!

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Partay!

The other day, I mentioned that Dr. Fedorenko threw a little party to celebrate a stem cell birthday – also known as ‘Day Zero’, the first day of the rest of their lives, without MS, and hopefully the beginning of healing.

I’ve included the video below of the ceremony that afternoon. I believe only Dr. F does this – he doesn’t have to, but he knows exactly how much this day means to us soon-to-be MS-free patients. What I’ve really learned in my short time here is that he truly cares – and I don’t say that lightly!

The ceremony consists of a short speech about the treatment, followed by a small gift – an iris flower pin, symbolising belief in the future. Then comes the tradition of pouring the fluid used to freeze the patient’s stem cells onto the floor. It may be simple, but it was incredibly humbling – and I was proud to be there for another person’s Day Zero. Another birth, if you will.

This day, it was stem cell twins Sandy and Berit – congratulations to you both! Wishing you good luck in your recoveries and many years of enjoying life MS-free.

xxx