Damn The Counts

My bone marrow apparently didn't know it was my birthday.

Yesterday I went to Hopkins and got, by far, the worst blood counts report I have ever received in my life. My nurse is so sweet; I could tell she was stalling, so I just asked what my counts were. She told me. I was like, "are you sure?" She printed them out for me and gave them to me, saying, "I don't want to give this to you on your birthday!" I pretended to hand them back saying, "I'm sorry. You're going to need to go back and bring me better counts than this! This is unacceptable!"

So. Not precisely the birthday I was looking for. I started laughing as I recalled the puff piece on "don't ask why or how when bad things happen; look for the good in it" just that morning on this very blog. It also made me think of that book written by Julia Sweeney about her cancer called "And God Said, 'Ha!'" God was definitely saying something along those lines to me yesterday. Maybe something like, "Don't write something unless you're prepared to back it up, big mouth."

So here I am. Definitely bummed. Definitely scared. Wearing a mask 24-7. Washing my hands like my life depends on it. (oh wait! It does!) And hoping that my visit on Tuesday will see even a minor upswing in my white count. I'm still not asking how or why. But I'll have to get back to you on the "what is good about this" part.

I'll try to write some over the weekend, but my mind is kind of focused on only this at the moment, so I think any posts will become very boring hematologic treatises which I may, in my abundant mercy, spare you. :)