DAY 33: Platter of platelets...

Thursday morning started with an 8am appointment at the Emory Clinic. I had high hopes that it would be a quick in-and-out (meaning we'd be home by lunch), but I was proven wrong. Wasn't the first time and won't be the last! Funny how we set ourselves up for a let-down ONLY when we have an agenda of our own. If we have no expectation, then there really is no disappointment.

Got my arm pricked for the 176th time for a blood draw. I had Alfreda again. She goes by 'Freda'. Freda is a good stick. I am starting to develop relationships with the Pflebotomists. Who'd-a-thunk-it? If I don't think I'm getting any IV fluids or am not scheduled for any IV chemo, I usually don't ask them to access my chest port. That hurts a whole heck of a lot more than a simple arm prick. Too bad I didn't have my crystal ball with me this time.

We then went across the hall for a consult with a nurse practitioner. This usually involves a whole lot of waiting. We ended up seeing one around 11am. The lab work confirmed that my WBC count was decimated (0.3) and therefore I am in the neutropenic stage of the cycle. Through the usual battery of questions, we decided that it probably would be prudent to get a bag of platelets that day. I had been dizzy and light-headed, having chronic nosebleeds, and my platelet count was around 30 (as compared to a low end of 'acceptable' at about 50). I was also most likely dehydrated. I try to drink fluids all day long, but there really is no comparison to getting a bag of saline directly into the bloodstream. So it was time to wait some more.

To pass the time, we went to the Patient and Family Resource Center within the building, and I looked over some Lymphoma books and read some testimonies from other cancer survivors that made me cry. (I seem to well up very, very readily these days. Again, not something I mind. In fact, I hope this folly stays with me.) One concept that was particularly memorable was that one becomes a cancer survivor upon finding out he or she has cancer, not going into remission. So, for me, I would say, "I became a cancer survivor on November 19th, 2008, when I was diagnosed with Aggressive Burkitts-like Lymphoma." I don't know. For some reason that made me feel more tangibly like I could beat this thing -- and that I probably already am.

After our buzzer buzzed, we went back down to the infusion center (the Land o' Grady), got our vitals taken again. I was a fall risk yet again due to my light-headedness, and got the little red sticker on my arm band indicating such. My blood pressure has been low due to my anemia (low RBC/hematocrit)... around 100/65.

We went to our chair and then waited another hour for them to get my paperwork in order. See the theme here? We met a very kind nurse and she gave me some topical lidocaine creme before they accessed my port. Guys, the needle is 3/4" long that they stick in your chest! Right through your fleshy tissue. So this time it wasn't as bad as in the past. Thank you, ma'am.

We sat there for 2.5 hours while the saline and platelets were getting pumped into me. Platelets, which are about 1/10th the size or normal cells, help your blood clot. Hence, my nosebleeds should abate. They are a pale yellow color and the bag looked like a lemon creme sauce.

After the bag of platelets emptied, I started to get a weird sensation on the back of my thighs. Itching. It got worse. And then worse. I tried to scratch a little and then put it out of my mind, but I wasn't so skilled. I then got red bumps all over that area. Then it spread to my arms. It was HIVES! YES! The nurse said that often times people have an allergic reaction to blood products. I got a Benadryl pill and things got better over the course of the afternoon.

We left Emory and got home around 4pm. Wow. Another 'full' day fighting cancer.

One thing I remark on every time I am sitting in the Clinic waiting room is that human sickness is indiscriminate with respect to so many things we typically see as differentiators. It's a great equalizer, or sorts. There are people from multiple races, nationalities, genders, ages, and levels of monetary wealth -- all sitting together in one waiting room, wearinng the same silly armbands, all hoping for the same thing: wellness.

I like to study people intently as I sit there. I note who the patient is, and who the caregiver is. How might they be related? Are they there alone? Do they look like they are in pain? Do they have their hair? Why might they be there? Have they been coming a long time or are they newly-diagnosed?

The rich and the poor, the young and the old, the white and the black and everyone in between, the well-prepared and the ill-prepared, the ignorant and the enlightened, the judicious and the carefree... all somehow got sick and are all sitting there, trying to fix what's wrong. We're not macroeconoic statistics that describe incidence rates and remission rates-- we are all just individual people trying to be healed and live and long, healthy life.