for a day I was known as the hemo

19 February 2009

If I am ever to contract some dramatic, long term disease, I will clearly not be the type of writer who will end her life by writing a detailed, moving book about the situation and live on forever as an inspiration to all those who came after her.  And before I go any further, I DON’T have any dramatic and long term disease, but I was not well for a time, and it culminated in a somewhat dramatic fashion, by way of a “get your ass to a hospital and get a blood transfusion” call at work from my doctor.  By the way, I’d recommend a blood transfusion for a haemoglobin sitch any day of the week as I now feel like a million dollars.  (That’s NOT to say I’m recommending getting into any haemoglobin sitch.  Important stuff, that haemoglobin; do your best to hang on to it.)

I suppose every one of us would retreat inward on getting sick.  You focus on getting though the day and on your body getting well.  And I guess it makes sense that since one of the symptoms I had was extreme fatigue, the mere act of thinking, let alone writing, was a challenge to me.  Getting to the bus stop was a minor victory.

At any rate, I’m back.  I’m well, and I was treated, and continue to be treated, and it’s working.  I could tell the tale of what it was like to learn that I needed blood, and the subsequent day spent going about getting it. But I’ve done enough sitting around in emergency rooms and hospitals to last me a lifetime, and probably so have you.  Describing what it is like to wait and wait and wait and wait is not what I call ‘writable’.  (It was certainly ‘writable’ by Samual Beckett, but I’m no Samual Beckett.  Frankly, I didn’t like his play much anyway.  Probably because I’m not a good ‘waiter.’)  And I could tell you what it was like to be referred to as “the hemo” or the “the blood” by the busy nurses swirling around the rooms with tubes and bags and blood pressure monitors in their arms.  When I told Carly I was “the hemo” we really just had a giggle about it.  Who wouldn’t?

There were a few inspirational experiences, like spending half a day next to a wonderful man in his nineties and eavesdropping on his conversations.  But he’s in hospital, vulnerable, and I’m thinking that even though he and the other people I encountered remain anonymous, it’s somehow unethical to talk about them.  But I sure hope that man got to go home.  He really  wanted to.  He had some shopping to do.

Anyway, it’s time to get this blog and my related blog world activities rolling again.  It was one of life’s annoying (and thankfully temporary) little glitches.  I’m back, and I feel great, and duly reminded of the precious gift that is health.

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