In many ways this is an incredibly difficult post to write because I know it will raise hope that is misplaced.
Just before shopping with Carrie on Friday I got a phone call from the hospital.
More results had come back from my last bone marrow sample revealing why the Glivec drug or Imatinib had failed to work.
It also showed a drug from the same family, called Dasatinib, should be effective against my leukaemia.
They asked me to come in urgently, but as I had killer shoes, perfume and pizza to take care of, our little meeting had to wait.
At the moment I feel terrible.
I don't need to be stabbed by a nurse to tell you that my blood counts are poor.
This means I am not making enough red blood cells to carry a satisfactory amount of oxygen around my body.
Consequently I just feel exhausted. My eyes are heavy and even getting out of bed is becoming more and more challenging.
Blood blisters are forming in my mouth and occasionally I can taste blood throughout the day.
Thankfully, there have been no major bleeds yet.
I will need blood and platelets again tomorrow or Tuesday.
This is the way of things and I was quite resigned to my fate.
However, in many ways, Friday's news was as cruel as it was kind.
My medical team had no choice but to pass this news onto me.
Without getting into the science too much the classic form of chronic myeloid leukaemia (CML) can now be controlled, with much success, by the drug Imatinib.
I've never had CML but a strange myelo-proliferative disorder which the doctors have never really come across before and have never quite known what to do with.
Before my bone marrow transplant there had been some success with Imatinib. My strange disease had responded and was improving - but the medical team were convinced my best option was a bone marrow transplant.
When traces returned earlier this year there was no reason to suggest that the Imatinib wouldn't be successful again.
Obviously this was incorrect.
The reason is that my particular strain of the disease has developed resistance to the drug.
Tests carried out on my last bone marrow sample show that it will be sensitive to this other drug Dasatinib.
Again, the consultants find themselves in uncharted territory.
There is no one else to compare with exactly how this drug is going to work in me - if at all.
But of course the doctors have to try and so do I.
The head funk is that it raises this slim, tiny, glimmer of hope that we can achieve a remission.
Because it's so unknown what is going to happen anything is technically possible.
But the likelihood of this, considering the extent to which the leukaemia has returned, is verging on the impossible.
The theory is the new drug will inhibit the cells that are misbehaving in my bone marrow.
Whether this can reverse all the damage that has been done is highly unlikely.
And then this in turn raises more almost unanswerable questions.
At the moment, as well as all the other vast quantities of infection fighting tablets, I am taking very mild chemotherapy tablets to slow down the cancer's progression.
Problems can occur if too many white blood cells get into the blood stream thickening it up.
The idea my consultants have is that this drug will make a better job of this so look on it as a preferred medicine in respect of palliative care.
I have had a great time recently but I am spiralling downwards.
I'm all for prolonging my life - obviously - but not if I'm feeling like this. Another six months of being bed ridden is not what I need at all.
Maybe these drugs will have no effect.
But what if they did start to reverse things?
On one level that would be fantastic, but realistically my leukaemia has survived so much, and already developed resistance to one member of this drug family.
From a scientific point of view it is therefore more than conceivable that resistance could develop again.
I've talked to my parents about my funeral, made plans - how could I cope with getting better only to have to go through all that again?
If I get rid of the leukaemia then it's back to living long-term with Graft Versus Host disease and a very poor quality of life.
Realistically nothing changes.
This is not the miracle people have been praying for. But it's horrible trying to explain this complex haematological situation because you can see people's eyes light up with the aforementioned misplaced hope.
Emotionally, I wish I'd never had that phone call.