I wish none of this was happening to me, but it is.
How do I talk seriously to my girlfriend about dying much younger than I should?
Readers of previous posts will know how important having children is to me, so do we go for IVF knowing full well that by the time they are ten I could be dead?
What sort of impact would it have on their lives?
What does Poppy do then? Getting any life insurance will be virtually impossible so do I bother?
What about buying a house - will Poppy be able to downsize if I die earlier than expected?
Should I ditch saving for a pension?
What about holidays? We both love to travel but I won't be able to go abroad for at least another year or so.
I wish we didn't have to address these questions, but we do.
This cruel and indiscriminate disease impacts not only on my life but also on others - especially Poppy's- and the depth of how much I hate and resent that fact is difficult to express.
Being told you will die much younger than you normally would is hard to come to terms with. "Anyone could get hit by a bus tomorrow, you don't know what's around the corner." That's what everyone keeps saying, but for me the 'could', in this metaphorical incident, has been replaced with a 'will - at some point'.
Also, why does everyone seem to think there are so many bad bus drivers out there?
I wish I didn't, but sometimes I think the best outcome would be if I died in the next couple of weeks.
I did say that when I started this blog it wouldn't be all doom and gloom but everyone has down days. I'm lucky because I can snap out of mine pretty quickly - I've got a donor, a fantastic medical team on my ward, support of a wonderful girlfriend, family, friends and work colleagues.
Since being released from hospital in early March I have had some great times with all of them. Everyone has helped me feel better, just by keeping in touch, making me laugh or by buying me a pint.
People said to me when I told them that I was writing these blogs that it might help others who are in a similar situation. I don't know if that's the case, but from my point of view I have found writing them incredibly cathartic. All the comments have been lovely and I would like to thank everyone who has posted one.
Regarding the bone marrow transplant itself, obviously I'm nervous, but also highly confident that it will go well.
However, I have to say I'm sick of being asked when my "operation" is or "when my hip is being broken". It has become pretty obvious that there is a lot of confusion about what the transplant actually is.
I can't do much in my present condition but the one thing I can do is help raise awareness and clear up many of the myths surrounding bone marrow, or stem cell, transplants.
That's why I wanted to take part in a series of films, explaining the procedure, for www.examiner.co.uk.
My colleagues Gemma Castle and David Himelfield will be making a number of short video blogs explaining how my body is prepared for the transplant, the transplant itself, then attempt to capture what it's like to be in isolation.
From my point of view I hope that last stage is boring and uneventful. It can be a bit of a lottery with symptoms ranging from a slight skin rash to good old-fashioned death. For example, patients can experience severe pain due to the lining of their throat and gut being destroyed during the treatment.
Obviously I'm not too excited about that prospect but I suppose we will have to wait and literally see what happens.