After 15 years of being on the Anthony Nolan Trust's bone marrow register, Western Daily Press deputy editor Stephen White learned he was a potential match with someone dying from leukaemia. Here, he describes the process of donating bone marrow – and dispels some of the widely held myths about it.

The letter came out of the blue. It was the Saturday before the May Bank Holiday and there on the mat was an envelope with an Anthony Nolan Trust sticker on it.

I opened it, and was shocked to discover that after 15 years of being on the donor register, the trust had found a possible match. They urgently wanted me to make contact – someone was dying, and there was a one-in-four chance that I could help.

Like most people, I have moved house a few times in the past 15 years. Like many, I have not always updated everyone with my new details. The Anthony Nolan people had been trying to contact me for some time.

I made contact as soon as I could – and within a week had given blood at my GP's surgery, and posted it off to the Trust in a special delivery envelope.

By then I had also completed several questionnaires about my health and sexual practices – am I HIV positive or carry the Hepatitis B or C virus?; have I ever injected drugs?; have I ever had sex with a man?; have I ever taken money or drugs in exchange for sex?

All blood is tested, but if you answer yes to any of the above, and a lot more, you don't get any further.

My decision to donate bone marrow brought varied reactions from friends and colleagues. It's surprising just how many are put off because of their fear of needles.

Some suggested I was being brave. "It's very painful you know," they said. Others were surprised that I planned to go ahead. "Why would you want to when it's for someone you don't even know?" I couldn't understand either reaction. If you're not scared of something (I just don't happen to fear needles, doctors or hospitals), how can it be brave?

And to be asked to give another human being the chance to live, whether you know them or not, seemed to me, as they say, a "no-brainer", in fact a privilege. I asked the sceptics if they ever saw a baby being swept away in a river, would they jump in to help. Of course they would.

So how is this any different? If your mother, sister, or daughter needed a transplant, you would pray for someone to volunteer, wouldn't you?

I felt very positive about it. I just hoped that after getting so far that I would be a match and be asked to donate. The Trust's people are used to this and warned me not to get my hopes up; telling me there was a good chance I wouldn't be selected. I listened to them, but all along knew somehow that I would be called.

It's now the end of June and I have been in London all day at an awards event. It's late when I return home. There, on the floor, is an envelope bearing an Anthony Nolan Trust sticker. I pounce on it, tear it apart and am delighted to learn I'm a match.

The Trust ring me and ask if I'm still willing to go ahead. There's an added urgency about this now. "My patient" is very ill – all I am told is she is an adult female – and needs a bone marrow transplant as soon as possible – her operation has been set for the end of July.

Donating bone marrow will involve a two-night stay in a London hospital, but first I need to have a medical. I travel to London and at the London Clinic – next to Harley Street and opposite Regents Park – I meet Professor Gareth Morgan, who will extract the bone marrow. He immediately puts me at ease; we talk about sport, newspapers, travel. I feel I'm in good hands.

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