February 10, 2006
This morning was another blood draw. This is the weekly event which permits a glimpse at the internal workings of the bone marrow. Last week showed drops in all sorts of places, and this week, the blood draw seemed to be a bit more optimistic. There were more small gains than losses, however, the white blood cells dropped even more, and a call to the health nurse in the oncologist’s office is intended to inquire about the significance of that.
The blood draws began in earnest when I first entered the hospital in early January. At the beginning of the testing, blood was taken every hour, first from one arm, at the inside of the elbow where a large vein appears, and then from the other. The persons who came with their kits on their arms arrived through the night; they would tie a stretchy band around the arm above the elbow, and sometimes they would ask for a fist, sometimes not. They would always check the identification band to make sure they had the right person and the right tests aligned. I did not watch the needle enter the body, but rather instructed all molecules to be at rest. “Stick” or “Poke” they would say, and then the needle would enter. Now of course, as a complete novice to such things, I do wonder how they can be sure that the needle doesn’t go right on through the wall of the vein to find who knows what, but always, these technicians found their mark. One young woman with red hair, a wispy voice and very fair skin came most often in the nights, and each time she proceeded very slowly and carefully. Her touch was remarkably gentle, and her needle entry was the kindest of all.
Another said cheerfully, ” I know you are looking at all these vials and thinking that we are draining you dry, but really, this is less than two tablespoons.” It gave me something to consider at those hours between three and four AM – people working through the night at the hospital gathering information, analyzing it, and in the process, helping to determine my future.
On this day the weather is making a statement of great contrasts; one moment there is a snow storm, and shortly thereafter, the sun will be shining and the clouds will be moving southward in great dark and light shapes. Birds seem to be a bit puzzled by the whole – sitting quietly in the plum and willow branches when the snow is whipping about and flying forth when the sun comes.