'I've become best friends with the woman who saved my life'

Make your donation Donate

Nicky's story

I was wrestling the Christmas decorations down from the loft when I got the call. I can remember hearing the landline ring and telling my daughter, Meltem, who was steadying the ladder, to leave it. ‘They can call back if it’s urgent,’ I said. My mobile rang and we left that too, but the landline went again. ‘I better get it, Mum,’ said Meltem. ‘Someone clearly wants to talk to you.’ She answered it as I was hauling the last of the decorations down. ‘It’s the surgery,’ she said, passing the phone to me.

That morning I’d had a blood test. I’d been feeling strange for months and had finally made an appointment to see the GP. I told her I was feeling lethargic and depressed, which was very unlike me, but I’d put it down to ageing and a spot of empty-nest syndrome, as my youngest daughter Zeynep had just left home to work abroad. Odd things, such as a recurring gum infection, were making me wonder if something else was going on. My GP seemed unconcerned but sent me for blood tests anyway. A few hours later she was telling me to pack an overnight bag and get to hospital. ‘Your results show you’re very anaemic,’ she said. ‘They’ll need to do some more tests. You might be there a while.’

She never used the word cancer. Looking back, I think she knew then but was sugar- coating it for me. We left the decorations.

Three hours later, after more prodding and poking, a consultant told me I had acute myeloid leukaemia, a blood cancer. It seems unbelievable now but I can remember thinking, ‘Well, thank goodness they’ve found something wrong with me, I knew I wasn’t feeling great.’ I had no idea, of course, what was coming down the track.

It was a Wednesday evening and I was told they would start my chemotherapy on the Friday, but I’d need to stay in hospital in the meantime. So while I was being installed on a ward, my poor daughter was handed a leaflet about myeloid leukaemia and drove home to our undecorated tree.

The first round of chemo lasted 10 days, which meant I had to miss Meltem’s 23rd birthday on 21 December. Zeynep left Gran Canaria, where she had just started working as a holiday rep, and flew home to be with us. It has always been just the three of us, ever since they were tiny. I’m a very can-do sort of person and have always just got on with life – whatever it has thrown at us. I couldn’t bear it when my girls suddenly had to look after me. It all just seemed so unfair. I suppose everyone feels like that though.

On Christmas Day, the girls came to the hospital with my dad and Meltem’s boyfriend. They sat around the bed with presents and tried to keep my spirits up but it was dreadful. I was quite poorly by then and I can’t say I was in the festive spirit.

At this point, the aim was to get me into remission, to kill off all the leukaemia cells. They were hopeful that three or four rounds of chemo would do it, but by the second round my consultant came to see me with bad news. He told me they had discovered I was at a high risk of relapse. Even if they got me into remission, he said, there was a strong chance it would come back, and when it did it would probably kill me. My only hope was a stem-cell transplant.

They tested my brother and sister, but neither of them was a match. Then came the wait for a donor while I continued with the chemo. Eventually they found three possible matches. One, who I eventually found out was Annette, was deemed a nine out of 10 match for me, which they said was pretty good going. Thank God she agreed to do it. It’s hard to think about what might have happened if they hadn’t been able to find her, or if she’d said no. In my more sombre moments I sit and think about what could have been. It’s no exaggeration to say I wouldn’t be here now without her.

My stem-cell transplant took place on 20 May 2015, around six months after my initial diagnosis. It was about 7pm by the time the cells got to me at Southampton Hospital. We all cried when they arrived, because in that little bag was my life.

The transplant itself is a bit of an anticlimax. It’s just given intravenously, like a blood transfusion. You certainly don’t feel immediately better, in fact it’s such a slow process you don’t feel any different for some time. I know now that the chances of a stem- cell transplant working are about 50/50. They don’t use the word ‘cured’ for a long time, and there is a high risk that it won’t work, although that diminishes as time goes on. If you make it past the second year, you’re generally considered to have survived it. I’m one of the lucky ones.

Two years after my transplant, I felt myself again. I was also ready to contact Annette. Anthony Nolan (the charity that runs the donor register) had allowed us to write to each other (but made sure we never revealed too much about ourselves) over those two years. They don’t connect you properly initially in case something goes wrong. When I hit my two-year mark I asked if I could contact her. All I knew was that she was a woman of a similar age to me and from her letters she seemed lovely. But whoever she was, she was my hero – the woman me and my girls raised a glass to every Christmas Day that followed that awful one in hospital.

I sent Annette a text and she responded within 20 minutes. It turned out her niece lived nearby in Bournemouth and she and her husband Andre were due to visit her a couple of weeks later. We arranged to meet at 6pm in a pub close to our house. Zeynep flew home so that she could be there to meet Annette. We all sat nervously waiting for this woman who had come to mean so much to us.

When she walked in I knew it was her instantly. I got up and hugged her for ages. We chatted for hours non-stop. She showed me photos of her donating; I explained how ill I’d been and showed her pictures of me receiving the cells. It was like we were old friends who hadn’t seen each other for a couple of years. We were just filling each other in on our lives. By the end of that first meeting I knew she’d be part of my life for ever.

Now, we text every day and see each other once a month. I’ve never been prouder than on the day Meltem got married in Cyprus with Annette in prime position, watching her as she walked down the aisle. Aside from Meltem, Annette was the star of the show. After all, it’s thanks to her I could be there. It was the most wonderful, special day. But then, every day seems special now. She gave me that chance and I’ll never forget it.

Annette's story

It’s strange to think now that Nicky and I were both having a rough time of it that Christmas. While Nicky was getting to grips with her illness, hearing the news no one wants to hear, I was pretty weighed down with grief. My dad had died and I was struggling a bit. I was keeping things together for the kids, but I wasn’t really getting out of the house much and deep down I was in a bit of a state. In a funny way, I think I was searching for a miracle just like Nicky, something to give me hope again.

I’d been on the stem-cell register for about 25 years when they called me. When my eldest son Daniel was little, a child at his playschool had leukaemia and all the parents went and gave blood and put themselves on the register. I had completely forgotten about it until Anthony Nolan rang and asked if I would still be interested in donating. ‘There is someone who is very poorly and we think you’re a match for them,’ they said. ‘We’d like you to think about it and if you’re happy to donate, we’ll need you to come down to London and have some bloods done.’

I knew instantly that I wanted to do it. I’d been feeling so low, and here was a chance to do something good, to help another family, so that they didn’t have to lose their loved one as I just had.

They told me it was an adult female and that she was so ill they needed everything to happen quite quickly, but that was all I knew. Andre and the kids were nervous initially, asking if I was sure I wanted to put myself through it, but I was absolutely certain.

Aside from a bit of a reaction on the first day, it all went very smoothly. After a few days of injections to stimulate my bone marrow, I sat from 8am to 5pm with blood being taken out of one arm, which was then spun to remove the stem cells before being put back in the other arm. Then I just had to wait. People kept saying to me, ‘It’s brilliant what you’re doing.’ But I’d hope someone would do the same for me or one of my family members.

It was such a thrill to get those first letters from Nicky, her daughters and friends telling me she was well. I could tell she must be a special woman because she had so many wonderful people in her life. I was so pleased when she said she wanted to meet me.

I don’t think I’ve ever been as nervous as I was walking into the pub that day, but we got on instantly. It was amazing, we were total strangers but had so many things in common. Even now, we can text each other and realise we’re both reading the same book or watching the same TV show. Our mutual love of prosecco didn’t go unnoticed either. As her daughter was getting married, on the day we met they said, ‘We’d like you to come to the hen party.’ And then I was there at the wedding in Cyprus. It was wonderful.

Nicky is family to me, plain and simple. I lost my sister in March, which was really hard, and Nicky has been such a great friend to me through it all. I know she says she’s the lucky one but I consider myself pretty blessed too, to have her in my life. I’m just so glad that I donated and possibly saved a life. Well, I think I did, really, because of how poorly she told me she was.

We’re bonded for ever now, not least because if she ever needed another transplant it would come from me. I’m Nicky’s donor for life.

As told to Eleanor Steafel

To make a donation to this year's Telegraph Christmas Charity Appeal visit telegraph.co.uk/charity