Dianne Lang Blood gives cancer survivor fighting chance
Port Elizabeth blood recipient owes her life, now and in the future, to the kindness of strangers. She tells her story
I WAS walking in a 16th century market place in a little village north of London, called Hitchen, when a woman with a blood drop badge walked past me.
I stopped, turned around and hurried after her. In those minutes it took for me to reach her and tap her on the shoulder, I remembered how unfriendly and private English people are as well as the number of rebuffs I had received from just saying good morning to another.
“Do I know you?” was the usual response to a simple greeting.
This time, I felt compelled to speak to the woman. “I hope you do not mind,” I said. “But I have to speak to you. Is that badge on your lapel because you donate blood?” “Yes, it is,” she responded. “I have never donated blood,” I said.
“I am the one who has received the gift of blood from others. I just wanted to say thank you.”
She took a step back and looked at me for what seemed the longest time.
Her eyes welled up and a single tear started running down her cheek.
“Do you know that I have been donating blood for 20 years and no one has ever thanked me?
“I have often wondered if my blood had ever saved anyone and who those people would be. This is the first time I have met anyone who has thanked me.”
I fumbled in my bag to find a tissue, handing it to her so that she could wipe away her tears.
She took the tissue but did not bother to use it. Instead, she started thanking me for making an ordinary day into a memorable experience.
I had been diagnosed, after being admitted into hospital numerous times, and had blood transfusions, with a rare form of leukaemia which only affects two to three out of every 1 million people.
The 12 units of blood that I had received over the months when no one knew what was depleting my red blood cells, had given the medical profession time to find out what was wrong with me, and had given me life, over and over again.
“This is the nicest form of cancer to have,” the consultant said.
“Just one round of chemotherapy and you will be better.
“There is no cure, but we know how to manage this one.”
It was not one, not even two, but three cycles of chemotherapy and numerous blood transfusions again, only this time it was irradiated blood because I was on chemotherapy.
Still, I only managed to achieve partial remission.
Irradiated blood is required after chemotherapy to reduce graft versus host disease which is a substantial risk, especially after numerous blood transfusions.
I decided to come home to Port Elizabeth where I thought I would get the support that I needed from my family. That first consultant, who said that this was the nicest cancer to have, certainly did not know what it is like to live with a rare disease that no one understands, and that 99% of all haematologists and oncologists will prob- ably never see in their lifetime of medicine.
After many, many months of looking for a cure in the pot of gold on the other side of every rainbow – only to find that the pot of gold was not there – I found a physician, in Bloemfontein, who was prepared to go the extra mile.
With 14 ampules of blood sent to the research laboratory in Pretoria, we had another answer. I had an absent immune system. Because I have no building blocks in my immune system, there is no cure.
I would probably not die from the leukaemia, but from an opportunistic disease as simple as the common cold.
The good news was that there was something that could be done to improve and lengthen my life.
Stabilised human serum, containing the immune system of other people, could be extracted from donated blood and infused into me.
This has to be done every two weeks, because within two weeks the immune system of others will have become depleted again.
For the rest of my life, however long that may or may not be, I am totally reliant on blood donors.
There are no words to convey the gratitude I have for every blood donor.
Thank you for giving me life!