I hurriedly type this blog while reclined in a surprisingly comfy pleather chair, my left arm tethered to an IV pole, and Benadryl rapidly dripping into my arm, which will precede the Infed infusion. I'm hurrying, because once the Benadryl kicks in, my blog post will go from THIS............ to....THLKJAFJDNVKJVVVVVFBBBBBBBBBB.
What am I doing here? The gist of it as such: I have a teeny tiny minor little bleeding problem called von Willebrand disease. Because I'm such an astute academician (hello, Benadryl), I've suspected this for a few years, but it's finally been confirmed thanks to all the booyah with the kidney stone doctor (see previous post). Incidentally, my brother informs me vWD is really common in dogs, too. Could I be part dog?
(Definitely, the Benadryl is kicking in. This is probably one of those posts I will have wished I'd saved for later after I'd had a chance to edit it, but I'm so loopy, I'm posting it now. So enjoy the pharmacologic fun, y'all).
What it means, other than discovering I am part dog, is that elective surgical procedures, like the Mommy Makeover I've been pining for, will now take a little more strategizing with my hematologist, since she has to infuse all these dramatic, expensive IV medications before and after that will hopefully encourage my blood to clot and do what it was designed to do.
In addition, and the reason I'm reclined in a chair in the chemo room of my doctor's office, is I have a really low blood ferritin level. A normal iron level should be 130-140. Mine is 15. FIFTEEN, people. Now, performing my due diligence and attempting to increase my knowledge of all things medical, I hear these results and immediately consult Dr. Google to determine the symptoms of iron deficiency. Lo and behold, looky here: fatigue, brittle nails, dry pale cold skin, low energy levels, hair loss, and did I mention, FATIGUE?
Holy smokes! All this time I thought my fatigue was due to a condition known as mother-of-two-very-active-young-children-who-tries-to-work-and-exercise-and-take-care-of-the-house-and-still-be-Supermom-Superwife-while-preparing-for-my-upcoming-date-with-the-Mrs.-Norma-Strait. Come to find out there's a real, honest-to-goodness, legitimate medical cause? And my fingernails all breaking off? And the hair? Explains why Chris asked me the other day if I'm trying to carpet the shower.
So now I recline here for my forced four hours of rest as the first of several 500 ml of IV spinach infusions drips leisurely into my arm, hopefully infusing me with tons of energy, long glamorous fingernails, warm pink skin, and a head full of thick hair.
And I take a look around the room at the other patients receiving their chemo, and I think, Dear Lord, I give thanks. I really, really give thanks. Thank You that the reason I'm here is not life and death. Thank You that my condition is easily treatable and only necessary a few times a year; not monthly, weekly, or daily. Thank You that I do not have to depend on this procedure to live. Thank You that I get to walk out of here and go hug my family and know that I will wake up in the morning to hug them again. It's very hard to look around this room and not feel grateful for blessings, small and large.
To be honest, though, now all this typing has worn me out, and I think I'm going to lean back in my chair and take a little nap.
Hallelujah and bring on the spinach...