A personal account of treatment decisions, stem cell collection, and navigating HSCT in New Zealand.
I was diagnosed with relapsing-remitting multiple sclerosis in 2011. In September 2025, after five years of stability, I experienced a relapse that changed the direction of my treatment. What followed was a series of decisions, conversations, and rapid developments that ultimately led me to undergo haematopoietic stem cell transplantation (HSCT).
This treatment is being carried out in New Zealand, where it is still relatively new, and I will be approximately the fourth person to undergo it locally.
This is a personal account of the lead-up, mobilisation, and stem cell collection phase of that journey. It’s not a clinical explanation, but a real-time reflection of what the experience was actually like, including the parts that were uncertain, uncomfortable, and, at times, surprisingly manageable.
My hope is that by sharing this, it provides some clarity and reassurance to others who may be facing a similar path.
– Aaron Henderson
Conditioning, Transplant & Recovery
Since completing mobilisation and stem cell collection, things had been relatively quiet physically, allowing some time to recover before the next stage. That changed on 6 June, when I returned to Christchurch to begin conditioning chemotherapy and the inpatient phase of treatment. This part of the process felt different from mobilisation. I already knew the hospital, the staff, and what to expect to a degree. There was still nervousness, but less of the uncertainty that came with the first phase.
The day before admission, I left home and said goodbye to my house and my cats for what I expected would be around six weeks. That part was harder than I expected. The following day started early, with another sleepless 3 am wake-up before line insertion. This time the line went in with heavier sedation than during stem cell collection. The procedure itself was manageable, though there was more pushing and pulling than I remembered. Once the local wore off, it left a dull ache and pulling sensation in my neck, especially when turning my head or swallowing, but by the next day it had settled considerably.
That evening I was admitted to the ward, unpacked my clothes, had admission bloods taken, and settled in for what would become the next two weeks. Hospital sleep quickly became its own challenge. Between four-hourly observations, IV pumps alarming through the night, and the general reality of hospital life, uninterrupted sleep became a luxury.
Conditioning began with cyclophosphamide — familiar territory after mobilisation. The same chemical taste returned during the infusion, which was strangely reassuring in its familiarity. Alongside this came a mountain of tablets and pre-medications, some familiar and some new. The first couple of days went smoothly. The chemotherapy itself was manageable, and ATG was introduced alongside it. The ATG infusions ran slowly and continued over five days, with antihistamines beforehand that left me exhausted. At first, I tolerated everything well.
Then Day 3 arrived. That afternoon was the first time I really felt the treatment catch up with me. The best way I could describe it was feeling like I’d been hit by a bus — exhausted, achy, and completely flat. Later that day came the first real blip. My temperature, pulse, and blood pressure all climbed rapidly, prompting an ECG and close monitoring. Everything settled, but it was the first moment things felt less routine. The roughest part came that night. I spiked a fever of 39°C and felt awful. At first there was concern about serum sickness from the ATG, but by the following day things had settled and treatment continued as planned.
Cyclophosphamide continued through Day 4, with the final dose completed at the end of conditioning. The ATG continued after that, with the fifth and final dose completed the following day. By then, the chemical taste had finally gone and things began to feel calmer again. One unexpected side effect appeared as a strange rash across my feet, later thought to be an immune-complex reaction from the ATG.
Then came Day 0. After months of planning, appointments, tests, mobilisation, collection, and conditioning, my stem cells were finally returned. The infusion itself took only around ten minutes. I’d been warned about the preservative taste from the frozen cells. For me, it tasted like creamed corn. Apart from that, it was completely uneventful.
And then… the waiting began.
The next several days were surprisingly steady. My blood counts dropped exactly as expected. White cells hit zero. Platelets fell to 11 at one point. Haemoglobin drifted into the 80s. I remained well overall. There were walks around the hospital grounds when the weather allowed, and one memorable day leave out to Sumner for fresh air, sun, and a reminder that life existed outside hospital walls.
Then came the neutropenic phase. I spiked another fever — this time reaching 40°C with intense shaking. That was frightening. The team moved quickly with IV antibiotics, paracetamol, platelets, and blood cultures. At this stage, neutropenic fever was an expected possibility, and I was started on a five-day course of antibiotics to get on top of it. Thankfully, the fever settled quickly and didn’t return. By this point, I’d started tracking my blood counts daily, waiting for what I called the “first flicker of life.”
That flicker came on Day +10.
White cells rose to 0.1.
By Day +11 they were at 0.3.
By Day +12 they had climbed to 0.8.
Then Day +13 brought a jump to 1.2, with neutrophils at 0.9.
That was the point everything changed. After weeks of treatment, low counts, waiting, and uncertainty, discharge suddenly became real. That night I went out on overnight leave and returned to Ranui House for the first time. It felt strange being away from the safety net of the ward, but by morning I realised I was ready.
Day +14 brought formal discharge from hospital. My bloods had continued climbing — white cells at 1.9, neutrophils at 1.0, and platelets at 364. Seeing platelets rebound from 11 to 364 in just days felt remarkable.
The next few days were quieter. Recovery shifted into a slower phase. Sleep improved dramatically outside the hospital. The anxiety began to settle. I started doing short 20-minute walks each day, slowly rebuilding.
By Day +18, my first post-discharge clinic review confirmed what I’d been hoping for. The line was no longer needed. At 11:30 am, it came out.
Quick. Simple. Painless.
A fitting end. That line had carried chemotherapy, fluids, antibiotics, blood products, and finally my stem cells.
Now it was gone.
And with it, this chapter of the journey came to a close. Looking back, this phase was intense, unpredictable, and at times frightening — but also far more manageable in many ways than I’d imagined. There were hard moments, but there were also long stretches of simply waiting, healing, and trusting the process.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that HSCT demands patience.
Patience with the treatment. Patience with the setbacks. Patience with your body.
For now, the line is out, I’m on my way home, and recovery continues.