The most exciting news

I've been slowly getting through some of the more important things that I've done / been to over the past month or so, and have finally reached what might be the most exciting news...

I may have mentioned on this blog that I was going for an interview, but I was a bit coy about what it was, mainly because I didn't want to advertise what a lovely thing it would be because if I then didn't get it it would be very sad.

You'll probably have gathered by now that whatever it was, I got it, because I'm about to tell you what it was! A few people said beforehand that they were certain I'd get it, or have since told me they knew I would, but bear in mind that after a year and a half out through serious illness, my confidence wasn't as high as it might have been. Also, a year and a half out probably means a year and a half less experience studying/working than other candidates...

Having decided that my time at Literary Review was interesting, and that journalism was something that I fancied doing, I realised that I ought to have done a bit more of it, be that at uni or as work experience during holidays, for example. It's possible that, having been ill, I could have returned to Literary Review, but for various reasons I decided against that.

1. It is a very small magazine, and naturally when I got ill somebody else took my place. As it happens (and it was pure coincidence), he's a good friend, but that's irrelevant. What is relevant, though, is that going back would have been a bit more complicated in terms of where I might fit in...
2. Lovely and wonderful as the job and magazine was, literary journalism simply does not pay well enough. That's why most people who do it do it as a hobby, having another source of income.
3. Having been ill, I felt that a new start would be in order. If I had just settled back into my 'old' life, it would almost have felt as though nothing had really happened. New me, new job. Or something.

So where was I? Journalism, right. Not having a huge amount of experience (though 4 months at Literary Review was excellent, particularly for the sub-editing side of things), and being a bit rusty after a year and a half not working (though this blog has hopefully kept up my writing skills), I decided early this year that a journalism course might be a good option to get me back on track. So I looked around, and discovered that a lot of deadlines were approaching very fast indeed.

Rather than rush out several half-hearted applications, I made the eminently sensible decision to put all my eggs in one basket. But which basket? After some research, I decided that the MA at Goldsmiths would be the most suitable course: it's in London (New Cross, in the south-east); it's Journalism rather than Magazine Journalism or Newspaper Journalism or Broadcast Journalism or Web Journalism (and at this stage I want to keep my options open... and believe that these days there is such crossover between the different media that having cross-media skills is very useful); the course has a good mix of the theoretical and practical; it was a bit cheaper than, say, City; it seems to be very successful in terms of student awards and people finding jobs after completing the course; etc.

So I applied, in spite of the 15:1 applicants:places ratio, and to my delight was invited to interview. This was the interview in question (towards the end of March), and I was glad to feel at interview (there was a tour and Q&A session too) that I had made a good choice. The interview was tricky: I found myself having to back up a couple of throwaway lines I made; but it went on for twice as long as expected, because we were having a good debate about state school pupils getting full scholarships to go to independent schools...

Anyway, I got it! I was even in the first batch (if people turn down the offer, they send another batch), which I was absolutely delighted with. I didn't really have any reason to feel confident - I may have an Oxford degree, but my journalistic skills are relatively untested. Getting onto the course meant that someone believes I can be a good journalist, which was something I just didn't know.

Best of all, perhaps, it was the first real thing I had managed to achieve since being ill. After so long of not knowing what the future might hold, and not being able to make any plans, it's wonderful to have something definite lined up. The course starts in September, and takes a year. There are 14 students on the MA (hurrah - a student again! I'll even get a student oystercard), and all in all I'm dead excited.

One of the things the interviewer did say, though, was that I could do with a bit of newspaper experience before doing the course... Fortunately, I'd already organised a week's work experience at the Chichester Observer, which though not a huge thing, is better than nothing. I did it last week, and it was interesting to see how a local newspaper works. I did some rewriting of press releases and sports reports, and wrote a couple of pieces (one based on a couple of phone interviews, and one on research), but it didn't leave me particularly desperate to work for a local paper... What was nice, though, was that they were very impressed by what I did, and wanted me to apply for the trainee reporter position they were interviewing for that week. I declined, but was flattered that they thought I should go for it, particularly since I hadn't been putting in any special effort to get noticed!

Anyway, in just over a week's time, I'm moving to London. I'll be up from Monday 7th, but am not moving into my room in Balham (did I mention that? I've got a room lined up in Balham with a couple of uni friends and a couple of others) until Friday 11th. It's very exciting to be moving back up to London, and is another important step in me getting my life back to something like 'normal', whatever that may mean. I've probably got a job lined up (basic admin etc at a financial PR company) that should pay for my living costs, but I'm yet to finalise details and confirm that. It's not going to be the most challenging job in the world, by any means, but it's only for a few months and there aren't many places looking for someone for such a short time. Also, it'll be interesting to see how a PR company works, they seem very nice, and having been ill it might be quite nice for my first job back not to be too much of a strain!

So, everything's going pretty well at the moment! Famous last words, perhaps... but it's exciting nevertheless. Oh wait, I've got a bone marrow biopsy on Wednesday. Bugger.

My fazher!

Following on remarkably coherently from my last post, I thought I'd encourage you to help my father raise money for the new Cancer Day Unit at St Richard's Hospital... Or, as he put it:

Excuse me emailing you with a begging bowl, but I am raising money for St Richard's Hospital Charitable Trust in recognition of the support they have given my family, and would really welcome your support.

Please take a moment to visit my online fundraising page and make a donation. It's really easy - you can donate by credit or debit card at the following address:

http://www.justgiving.com/andrewnorton

He's walking somewhere nice, and it sounds very pleasant, but it's all for a good cause, so do drop some pennies in if you can.

I don't want this blog to be filled with plea after plea for charitable donations, but both this and Jess's London marathon for the Anthony Nolan Trust (you can still donate at http://www.justgiving.com/jessicaotte if you're interested) are causes pretty close to my heart (well, close to my entire blood system, really), so I wanted to mention them.

"What was that address again?" I hear you cry. Well:
http://www.justgiving.com/andrewnorton

Same same, but different

I had harboured a crazy hope that I might get through the whole of the Maintenance therapy without having to spend any more time as an inpatient, and was doing pretty well on that count, my body managing to deal with any little sniffles I've had since December. However, just before Easter I developed sniffles that were a bit more than 'little', combined with a headache and a strong feeling of lethargy, and I knew my neutrophils were down at about 0.2. There was nothing for it, I decided, but to pop into St Richard's in Chichester to get myself checked out. I rang St George's and they agreed, so my father drove me in...

I still had some vague hopes that they'd just give me some nice drugs and send me home, but I had no such luck. In I went, and spent the next six days as an inpatient - moving between four different wards in total during my stay. I suppose I've managed to avoid being an inpatient in St George's during my Maintenance therapy so far, but that's not quite such an impressive record.

I should explain why I was on four different wards during my stay. It was Good Friday when I went in, so the usual day staff weren't working. I can't remember where it was I went to first, but it was like a lightweight A&E. They then sent me to an Acute Admissions Ward (Petworth Ward), not because my problem was Acute (though my leukaemia was, if you remember), but because it was the best place for me that had a spare bed. The next morning the Haematology lot were ready for me, so I moved to their ward, but as Ford Ward (their home) was being redecorated, they had moved to another ward... After a few days, however, they declared that Ford Ward was ready, so I moved again. Having said that, the rooms were all much of a muchness, though my final room was the only one with en suite bathroom.

There were some interesting differences between St Richard's and St George's. St Richard's were much less strict about confining me to my room when I was neutropaenic, and often left the door open. I could even open the windows! They didn't come and wake me up at 2 o'clock in the morning to do my observations... It did all seem a bit calmer, but that wasn't necessarily a good thing: I missed the more buzzing atmosphere of St George's. Most of all I missed the nurses, though the staff at St Richard's were very friendly.

As for the treatment, they sent me for a chest x-ray, took blood cultures and set me off on a course of antibiotics. As I don't have a line any more, that meant cannulas, which are never much fun, though I didn't have any problems with them this time (I had two, because they only last for a few days before they start getting sore). I also had to have more needles stuck into me when they wanted blood, which wasn't very pleasant, particularly when we discovered that one vein still hasn't really fully recovered from the PICC lines (which I had ages ago). When I went in, I was feeling rubbish but my temperature was actually OK; after a couple of days the temperature went up but I was feeling fine. I'm not sure that makes much scientific sense. But the antibiotics did their job, though my neutrophils were taking a long time to grow. Eventually they sent me home with several doses of G-CSF (growth factor) for me to self-inject into my belly. That did the job, helping me get my neuts up to 12 (wow! Normal is 1.8-8), and by then I was feeling absolutely fine.

Unfortunately, it did mean I missed two great events I had been looking forward to. Fortunately I'm pretty used to plans going awry these days, so it wasn't as disappointing as it might have been. The first was the Easter Retreat at Downside, which was apparently lovely as always, and the second was my trip to Italy, which would have been my first foreign trip since before I got ill. I had planned to spend a few days with Freddie and a few days with Mariacristina, but my low counts meant that I didn't want to risk flying.

Now the Maintenance therapy is running again: I'm back on the chemo tablets, though at 50% dosage. Having got away with not having a bone marrow biopsy for ages (that's the one that REALLY REALLY hurts), I now have one planned for Wednesday: my consultant sadly realised that I should really be having them every three months.

Oh well.

Charlie Allen RIP

Just over a week ago I attended a memorial service for Charlie Allen, who died recently of cancer. He was 20, and though I didn't have much chance to get to know him, we had a lot of common, and had bumped into each other at the Marsden in Sutton. Our families (particularly parents) had been friends of years; unfortunately his father died a few years before my mother did. Then Charlie got cancer, and so did I: my father was lodging with his mother for some time recently, and they obviously had quite a lot to talk about...

I think Charlie and I would have had a lot to talk about, too. He was a keen actor (and was part of the National Youth Theatre, who are now setting up a bursary in his name), and was studing Philosophy at Cambridge. He also had a strong faith. Admittedly, he was also a keen rower (he coxed the British Under-19 team in the European Championships a couple of years ago), but nobody's perfect. From the wonderful words spoken about him at the service, I really do wish I had had more chance to get to know him. I remember telling his mother, "it would be great to have a beer with Charlie and chat about life", but sadly we never got the chance.

The music at the service was lovely (Mozart on the organ; hymns were 'O Lord, my God', 'Dear Lord and Father of mankind' and 'I vow to thee, my country'), and the Minster in Warminster was full. His elder brother read a poem called 'The Fighter' - I've been trying to locate it but unfortunately didn't quite hear the poet's name. On the back of the service booklet there were some very fitting words by Wordsworth:

I loved the Boy with the utmost love
Of which my soul is capable
And he is taken from me -
Yet in the agony of my spirit
In surrendering such a treasure
I feel a thousand times richer
Than if I had never possessed it.

All in all it was a beautiful service for a great person, who definitely made the most of his too-short time with us. I was very glad I went (with my father), but I must admit it was in some ways tough. Apart from feeling very sad at his death, I also couldn't help but feel some guilt: "survivor's guilt" as I believe it's called. I know it's not logical, and that life doesn't work that way, but there were moments when I thought, "why has he died and I haven't?" There is no answer to that, as it's a nonsensical question, but it's how I felt. I suppose that being in that situation kept reminding me how easily such a service could have been for me - and that led on to mixed feelings: being grateful for the life I continue to lead, but also gutted that Charlie was in that position "instead of me" (even though I know he wasn't). So it was tricky...

Rest in Peace, Charlie.

A marathon for bone marrow!

My lovely friend Jessica Otte is running the London Marathon (this Sunday) for the Anthony Nolan Trust, and you can sponsor her at http://www.justgiving.com/jessicaotte - there are at least three very good reasons to do this:

1. The Anthony Nolan Trust (which I have mentioned before, albeit a long time ago) is a wonderful cause - it always needs more people on its bone marrow register and deserves all the support it can get. I haven't needed an unrelated bone marrow yet, but it's always a possibility, and many lives have been saved by the Anthony Nolan Trust.

2. The London Marathon is very long and very hard - I walked about seven miles the other day and was exhausted... The marathon is, of course 26 miles, and it's run. That's seriously tough.

3. Jess is a lovely girl: everyone should sponsor her!

So don't hesitate, get over to http://www.justgiving.com/jessicaotte and pledge some money! Jess is targeting £1500, and every penny will count.

PS I intend to post lots more over the next day or two, having not done so for ages... I have lots to talk about. But first of all, sponsor Jess.