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A Personal Journey of Resilience and Empathy
For the past six years, I’ve been contemplating whether to share the story of what happened to me since November 2009. Many who face similar challenges tend to keep it to themselves, avoiding even mentioning the “C” word. But I’ve always been open about it—sometimes even sarcastic—to cope with the weight of it all, though deep down, the emotions run deep. So, I’ve decided to pen these chapters.
I’ve come to realize that sharing my journey might help others who are navigating the same path at various stages of this illness. Reflecting on my experiences not only aids in my healing but might also offer comfort or insight to those directly or indirectly affected. It’s astounding how many lives are touched by this, and perhaps my story can shed some light in the darkness.
Now, this isn’t a guide or a guaranteed roadmap through Acute Myeloid Leukaemia, but rather a candid recounting of my memories—as I didn’t think to take notes at the time (I’m sure you understand why!). I hope that by sharing honestly, I might provide some perspective or solace to someone out there.
I want to express my deepest gratitude to my family and the hospital staff for their unwavering support. They’ve stood by me day after day and continue to be my pillars of strength. I recognize that my journey has impacted them profoundly, and they’ll never truly know how thankful I am for their love and resilience.
My intention is to chronicle what happened, chapter by chapter, avoiding excessive jargon despite all that I’ve learned. To read these entries, please select the posts categorized under AML. I’ll strive to keep each chapter engaging and concise—I have almost three years to cover, but I don’t intend for this to become a drawn-out saga. If you have questions or suggestions for improvement, please don’t hesitate to reach out. All constructive feedback is welcome. I’ll continue updating and refining the chapters, especially as I recall moments from times when I wasn’t fully conscious.
Embarking on this reflective journey is both daunting and cathartic, but if it can make even a small difference in someone else’s life, it’s worth it. Life often takes unexpected turns, and sometimes sharing our stories helps us find meaning amidst the chaos.
Serge De Bock
Serge,
We have never met, somehow became connected via the web a long time ago. I just noticed your blog for the first time (caught your latest post in Facebook). First of all best wishes to you and your family. Your situation is a struggle to say the least.
Our daughter Kate was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma a number of years ago. It was a hellish two years for Kate and my wife Lynn. Kate was in her early 20s when she was diagnosed. Fortunately for us it was caught early and she experienced a full recovery. We wondered if she would be able to have children and two years after her last treatment she was able to conceive. So now we also have a wonderful Baby Sadie to go visit.
Try to maintain a positive spirit….as the alternative of simply falling apart or giving up …. if you will pardon the expression sucks and certainly does nothing to resolve the situation….but alas it will happen from time to time, as I’m sure you know. If anything a more positive spirit seems to have positive consequences which is cool. Nothing about your situation is pleasant, other than possibly the warm support of friends that will often surprise you.
Our best wishes to you and your family,
Michael Bremer
Thank you very much Michael. Your comment touches me and confirms I have to keep it up and see the positive out of this experience. I am glad all turned positively for your daughter and please accept my regards to you and your family! Let’s keep in touch 🙂
Serge
After the discussion the other night I thought I’d have a quick read to see how much your blog needs editing, but it turns out your blogging is quite impeccable; perhaps, like me, you missed your calling as a sub-editor 😉
I read through a few chapters and they made for a highly interesting read (and yes, yes, I know I shouldn’t have time for reading with all the work queueing up at the moment). Although it’s been a while since I heard the medial jargon, it reminded me greatly of the AML process my late mother-in-law went through. Having already suffered melanoma and then breast cancer, she not only had her body attacked by AML, by a variety of spin-off conditions, and by the myriad of intensive therapies and treatments she undertook, but she also had her spirit decimated, which left her deflated, endlessly sad and something of a shell.
I’m not sure what your magic ingredient is, but it amaze me how much life you exude in the flesh. It literally seems to pour out of your pores. You’re more alive that a dormitory full of college girls, and your continuous stream of energy is reminiscent of a perpetual motion machine. While we all have strange journeys through this life, I know that, in the end, we’re all climbing the same mountain, and you have my utter respect for the ardor with which you’re climbing the mountain.
Peace out ’til next week.
Hi Serge,
Keep up your good spirit. Your expressed appreciation of those who support you physically and emotionally will indeed be blessed knowing the value of their contribution to your overall wellbeing. .
We met the last time you were in KL You know of my 15 years of support for my wife, a Breast C survivor that I now miss. It had been a challenge but knowing I cared meant a lot and so it also lighten my burden.God somehow will give us the stengtht to go that extra mile for all in the family.
My wishes that you have a good year ahead filled wih love and contentment and God’s blessings as always. Amen . .
Thank you very much my friend and hopefully we’ll meet again soon… Next time I go to KL I let you know (you saw me last time I came), please shout when in Europe :-)…