Transfusions are spooky?

This past Thursday I went into the doctor’s office to get my weekly blood test; the numbers revealed that my bone marrow had yet to bounce back, and that my platelet level in particular was even lower than last time, being 5 thousand parts per million where the low normal is 130 thousand parts per million.

So Thursday was another transfusion day. This time they gave me two units of platelets, and one unit of blood, along with benadryl, tylonal, and one other that I’m forgetting, to help my body accept the new material. However, the big side effect of benadryl is that it knocks you out.  I was at the doctor’s for a total of seven hours that day, from 9am to 4pm, and after the first three in the waiting room (waiting for the platelets and blood to be ready; I understand that these things take time, but sometimes I wonder if they actually have to go get a downer, get his blood, and filter it after they learn they need the stuff), I slept like a baby. Well, a drugged baby, but a baby nonetheless.

Now I feel good; I’ve gotten my blood counts lifted out of the basement, and I’m confident that in another week or so my bone marrow will kick in (next week will make it three weeks since I’ve been off Gleevec). One thing I’ve learned from this most recent experience: blood is warmer than platelets. When platelets go into you, your arm feels icy cold, but when blood goes in, it feels nice and warm, like the heat from a comfortably crackling fire, except that the heat comes from within your body instead of without. I would know, I had ’em back to back.

And that’s all for now. Happy Halloween! Oh, wow, this is a post on Halloween, isn’t it? Custom dictates that anything being remotely affiliated with the holiday should be somehow spooky…and to answer the question posed by the title of this post, no; no they are not. To remedy this situation, here’s a REAL LIFE ghost story.

Once upon a time, when I was young (that makes me sound so old!), I woke up. Then I got out of bed, but didn’t make it, and went downstairs. When I came back up, the bed was made perfectly; my dad was at work, and my mother had been with me the whole time! Whoooooo! My sister was there, but knowing her, the last thing she would do is make a bed, much less mine. Or maybe she wasn’t born yet, I don’t remember. Spooky! A scary old house cleaning ghost! Oooh!