About four and a half years ago, prior to my multiple myeloma diag­nosis, I started to have lots of health issues that were pre­vi­ously unknown to me.

The ones that initially affected me most severely were back and rib pain and breathlessness when I exercised. I had slipped when hill walking, and I thought I might have pulled a muscle or even broken a rib. I couldn’t find any reason for the breathlessness, but I thought I might have damaged an intercostal muscle.

Yet none of this really made much sense. My slip had been minor, and rather than getting better with time, my health problems were inten­si­fying.

So I made an appoint­ment to see my family doctor. During the next few months, I saw this doctor or another within the practice about 12 times. I was given lots and lots of painkillers. Every time I went to the practice, I was given yet another prescription for a stronger drug. It was also suggested to me that I should see a physiotherapist and a chiropractor. I tried both and was in excruciating pain as they manipulated my back and ribs.

This situation con­tinued for months, and the problems got worse and worse.

I can still remember well the particular doctor’s visit when I was told that I was depressed. It cer­tainly was true that I was anxious and worried about my deteriorating body. But depressed? Why would I be depressed?

I hadn’t pre­vi­ously suffered from depression. I didn’t know very much about depression, but I did know that it was a very serious con­di­tion and wondered if it could somehow explain my symp­toms. I cer­tainly was not my usual happy self. I couldn’t do any of my nor­mal activities, and the con­stant dreadful pain was wearing me down. Did these symp­toms cause depression, or was depression causing these symp­toms?

Eventually my health deteriorated further and, because my husband and I had moved to Singapore, I finally was referred to a myeloma specialist. That was the end of any further discussion about depression because I was diag­nosed with multiple myeloma. I was obviously very sad about my diag­nosis, but I am pretty sure that I wasn’t depressed.

It was a tough diag­nosis, and I can ap­pre­ci­ate that it could lead someone to ex­peri­ence a sense of hope­less­ness and possibly depression. Maybe some readers of this column have ex­peri­enced depression or, like me, a false diag­nosis. I would never, ever want to belittle the way other people react to the many grim things that a myeloma diag­nosis and sub­se­quent treat­ment bring.

During the year fol­low­ing my diag­nosis, I did come across depression. My dear school friend was going through the most severe, frightening, and terrible bout of depression. Despite me being in a hos­pi­tal in Singapore and her being in the United Kingdom, we started to share our ex­peri­ences. I learned about depression. My friend learned about myeloma.

One of the upsides of my treat­ment with dexa­meth­a­sone was that I was awake most of the time. Coupled with the time dif­fer­ence be­tween Singapore and the UK and my friend’s chronic insomnia, we were able to chat via email day and night.

It sounds pretty awful but, for both of us, it was a lifeline. We renewed our old friendship in an incredibly meaningful way. Mutual under­stand­ing has con­tinued and is so very precious. I found finding out about depression very chal­leng­ing, and I have great sympathy for those who suffer. It’s such a dif­fi­cult and sort of unseen struggle.

My friend has be­come a myeloma specialist of sorts and can follow me through my symp­toms and my fears. She is always there for me and still provides 24-hour sup­port (though fortunately we’re both sleeping better now and live in the same time zone). I, too, have some under­stand­ing of how she was feeling, and I have had the privilege of fol­low­ing her re­cov­ery.

During the time we were chatting regularly, my friend often asked me this question: Why is it that you are the one with multiple myeloma and yet I am the one with depression?

It’s strange to think of it that way. I don’t have an answer. I don’t know why. But I cer­tainly know that I am not immune to depression any more than I am able to avoid relapse. And it seems so unlikely that myeloma and depression would have such a pos­i­tive out­come for our friendship, but life is full of unexpected turns.