itp wtf?

Because I will never forget that I was down to 4k once.

2008-03-21T11:09:00.000-07:00

Went for the routine 6-week checkup, and things are still going progressively great. My platelet count is holding at that long-term goal I had set based on my original, pre-ITP average of about 315k -- they numbers are now holding steadily between 278k and 285k, which has now become a miraculous thing to me.

My doctor took me off the Cyclosporine completely which is a huge milestone in this entire healing process, and it's a huge relief to me for so many reasons. Cyclosporine is the drug that helped my rebooted bone marrow keep producing and protecting my new bone marrow cells; that's the way I understand it.

But like everything in life, it had side effects. It's an immuno-suppressant which just means it weakens the immune system, making the patient more susceptible to infections and any common passing virus or cold, which is how I got into this fix in the first place. Luckily, I didn't stay sick with a constant cold or have any type if infection. Thank you, God. But it left me with a deeper compassion for anyone who has to take this type of drug long-term or in bigger doses. Although anything that happened to me, my mind automatically switched to the thought of someone who had worse or bigger doses and drugs to deal with. Unless you have an overblown, unnecessary ego and have take trapeze lessons to fill the void in your life, that's a key thought that can help just about anybody through a day.

Yes, that last sentence is based on someone I have known, if you can believe that. Ohhhhhhhhhmmm...stress is bad for the immune system. It weakens it. Ask me how I know.....ohhhhhhmmmmm....

The other side effects that really bothered me, I had to learn to cope with in a zen-like balancing act -- the constant gnawing in my stomach got crackers, lots of peanut butter crackers; the burning of taking the liquid-versus-powdered caplets which is all that needs to be said about that got whatever it wanted which was usually a good night's sleep; the brain-drain effect made me lose my concentration and my car keys at least a zillion times, more than the usual average; and the depressing feeling it causes was and still is the hardest thing to deal with daily, trying to sort out what is chemical and what is emotional from some of the other things swirling around and down in my life right now; but I wrote a note to myself and pinned it to the wall, saying "It's not forever, it just feels like it" which had coincidentally become a recurring mantra of mine over the past 10 years.

Sometimes I stop just long enough to get a sense of how much things have changed in my own life in the past couple of years, on top of getting this crazy ITP thing. I'm still not ready to examine it fully and talk about a lot of it which I know for a fact weakened my system so badly that my body's defenses went haywire. But when I do talk about it someday soon, I promise it will be beneficial to you or anyone who's reading this for information or hopefully inspiration.

Speaking of that...

Good or bad, life hasn't slowed down enough yet for me to impart everything I've learned by now, but the only thing I can comment on briefly is that I have had a bittersweet taste of being a patient of patience.

Being sick for more than two weeks at a time is hugely different than anything I have dealt with personally, so far. Healing is a full-time job with lousy pay but great benefits. Living with illness one month, six months, twelve months, eighteen months -- I'm coming up on my nineteenth month, and I'll be honest about if it helps anyone else reading this: most days, I wake up scared. I'm tired. I'm pissed off. I'm sad. I'm confused. Yesterday, I stopped to think about things, and I almost threw in the towel on it all. But that's all part of the process. I know this now. It's the *screw it* step that gives you a boost when you need it, when you ar not as low as you feel worn down to be.

So, screw it: I'm confident with the progress and results and eternally hopeful, and I'm not giving up this close to what I like to call The End. Like my father always said with a thumbs up to my mother after his many treatments, his many operations, "Never give up, never say die."

Hoping to not jinx myself, I'm donating the rest of my leftover unused meds back to the hematology clinic since this drug is so expensive but such a necessity. Even though it has its side effects, there is no other way to beat it unless you fight it with the big guns, and I don't want someone who can't afford it (which is just about everyone) to go without this drug.

While my mother was talking to everyone at the clinic exchanging laughs and smiles, after my doctor had looked over all my blood counts and levels and gave me the good report, he called me aside and told me just as a reality check, "This could come back. I just have to tell you that. That it could come back." Then he looked down to the notes he was finishing up on my records. I looked at him long enough to process my emotions, which I have gotten seriously efficient at doing, until he looked back at me, and I looked to see what he was thinking behind his eyes. I asked, "Is this genetic?' and he shook his head no. "Can I ever donate blood again?" He shook his head no. I searched for any information I could get from his expertise to prevent this from ever coming back. "I think it was a combination of things, don't you? I mean, what can I do to not get this again, what did I do, what can I do to prevent it?" And he just took a breath and said, "It was just bad luck."

That's the first time I'd been officially diagnosed with bad luck, but thank God, they do make pills for that. It was actually a relief. And a reaffirmation.

Good. I think he meant, yes it could relapse, but really, let's see how much of my luck is up to me.

Double good. Then I will not get this again, I can almost assure you. I am not going back to the stressful life I knee-walked through like a zombie for the past few years. That was not me, and the irony of that is that it was killing me, and it wasn't even my life that it was taking. I won't get this again, and I will prove it.

Nope, "Never give up, never say die." Not until I'm good and ready. And if I do get this again, then I am just lucky and mad enough to be ready.

Next update: May 2nd

Sometimes less is better.

2008-02-11T07:57:00.000-08:00

Did I seriously forget to post last 6-week's progress notes? Apparently, I did. But "no news" really is good news when I do forget like that.

(I used to think the saying went "no news is good news" which sounded way too negative, as it would be if it were true, and confused me profusely. But confusing me has never been really hard to do.)

Should I seriously have posted this post on Friday, right after my visit to the doctor? Yes, I should've. And I'd like to thank my aunt for reminding me to hop to these things. I'm so easily distracted. And now that it's turning back into spring outside? I'll be a goner, but in a good way.

So, here's my update: This doctor's visit was good, again, thank you Big Daddy G in the Sky. "How're you feeling," he asked me. "Good. Well. Very well, actually," I said. "That's because you almost are," he noted.

(The doctor said all this, that is. Maybe Big Daddy G did, too.)

My CBC showed that my platelet count went down from from last 6-week visit ~ from 325k to 291k ~ but that is good news because now, less is better, less is getting more normal ~ it's within the normal range of 140k to about 450k. Last year at this time, I was getting transfusions and raving about my PICC line ~ which I still consider my Valentine this year again, and next year too, for good luck.

At some point, I'll make myself read things that I wrote down here a year ago, to compare. But for now, I'm fighting the urge to slow down before I hit the finish line. And I may now remember anything from running track in junior high, but I do remember, "When you see the finish line, don't slow down -- run harder."

My long-term goal is to keep it at my magic number of around 315k -- so I'm going to try harder with the rest, the nutrition, the exercise, and the *less stress* bits to see if it makes a difference. I'm a betting girl. So I bet it will.

And on February 26, I have my annual doctor's exam which (except for the embarrassing paper gown) is going to be extra-sweet because I'll finally get to thank my doctor for finding out that my platelets were low to begin with. Remember that doctor? She's the one I haven't talked to in over a year, and haven't talked much about yet, but she's the one who began the *saving my life* part with one, simple blood test.

Two if you count the recount to make sure the first one was accurate.

I know. One simple blood test, once a year. I owe a lot of people a lot more than just gratitude. But thankfully, now I've got the rest of my life to pay it back somehow.

Starting with this: if you are reading this, you need to get a CBC (that simple blood test) once a year. There is not one good reason you shouldn't, and about 315k reasons why you should.

So, see you after I visit her on the 26th, and then see you after my next "6 weeks." With about 315k or so of platelets? Twenty bucks says "you bet."

Happy Anniversary to me again!

2007-12-28T20:17:00.000-08:00

Last year on this day, I met my Valentine, the PICC line, and went into the hospital for 4 bags of ATGam, 12 days of treatment, 100's of thousands of medical bill dollars, and an unmeasurable amount of steroids and other hi-powered prescription buddies.

So now 365 days later, I still would like to thank the Academy -- for my mother and for all the unbelievable nurses and doctors who took care of me during that time, and all the people who've come here and wished me well, donated blood, or just stood by me while I went through it all.

It seems like a lifetime ago. In a way, I guess it was. Really, I was supposed to be dead now. That's one thing I have realized, finally. Today, right now, if it weren't for all those people and all those doctors and all that treatment and all the research and development within the past 15 years, short of a miracle, I'm supposed to be dead right now. Sure, we've all gotta go sometime. But my time was moving up rapidly without my consent, and my bones couldn't save me anymore.

I've spent a lot of time lately thinking about more than just a lot of things that I couldn't think about at the time when all this was going on. And that makes me cry at times, but mostly, I'm full of hope and relief, and I shake my head and smile up to the sky a lot.

Also, my new Valentine this year: Ambien. Oh how I love you so, even if you are the generic known as Zolpidem.

And here I am, back in Jackson for my 6 weeks checkup and blood work.

long-term goal: 315k

Today, my long-term goal of 315k platelets was bypassed as I came in at 320k. My red blood cells are macrocyctic still (which just means that they are larger than normal to compensate for what's been going on), but the rest of the numbers were low-normal good. It leaves me speechless again and also leaves me to ask myself, "Now what?" So again, I shake my head and smile up to the sky a lot. I say, "Thank you, God." and "Daddy, I still say you could've been more subtle at getting my attention." But probably not. I can be very headstrong at times. I say "headstrong", but I bet it's more "self-inflicted denseness." Just doesn't sound as good.

I know one thing. I'll never be able to thank everyone enough, and I'll never see things the same way I did before this. So thank you again, God. That's one thing I have always been looking for. and always will.

As far as treatment goes, now I'll begin to taper off the cyclosporin over the next several months. Which is really good news for my brain. It's been speechless lately itself.

I'll be back in 6 weeks, expecting to report in with nothing but progress, senseless and miraculous, - but wait, now that I'm thinking, maybe I'll make more sense of it with a new direction or two.

Have a very, very Happy New Year. I promise it will be a good one.

ps: Sissy, I hope you are feeling better. Let us know and hang in there, baby. Think "mashed potatoes"...love you and get some rest.

My doctor's not only good, he's funny.

2007-11-20T20:46:00.000-08:00

I wasn't feeling so good when I went in today, felt kind of beaten up from the inside out. So I figured my numbers might be down. "Lighten up, Francis", was all I thought.

The doctor came in, opened my files and gasped. "What" is all I could say. He looked at me over his glasses and said, "Those are some beautiful counts, so whatever you're doing, keep doing it." I laughed and said, "Well, red wine it is then!" and then I slapped his arm and told him NOT to do EVER do that to me again.

Thanks, folks, don't forget to tip your waitresses, and drive safely.

today's platelet count: 275k
long-term goal: 315k

Happy Anniversary to me. With platelets.

2007-11-10T17:43:00.000-08:00

You still there? Me, too.

I have really great excuses for not posting here more in the past almost 3 months. No, really.

One of the best excuses is that I feel so much better and stronger that I honestly stay gone and away from computers for days and weeks at a time doing anything I can possibly think of -- anything that involves being outside, being somewhere else, or just being.

But I wanted to make sure that I posted that thought for anyone who may have landed here looking for something positive to think about before, during, and after treatment for aplastic anemia: You will feel better. I know it's hard for you to believe, and I won't say that ATGam is a cakewalk because it's not. It's exactly the opposite of a cakewalk -- which isn't a "cookierun" but for now, hang with me until I think of what is the opposite of cakewalk because I am sorely rusty these days with the recent adjustments in my swilly Rx cocktail which has a real dumbing effect on my expression of words and a linear line of thoughts, and trying to focus some days is about as easy as counting thunder-struck baby chicks scurrying around the barnyard...

...

What was my point?...

Oh yeah, anyway I've learned that the ATGam is one stage, but the meds and treatment after ATGam is more than just physically challenging; it's "down the road a'ways, take a right and a left by the crooked tree, and another right that's more of a veer just past the henhouse" mentally challenging. Plus as with any recovery, it's a full-time job that you don't get paid for, not with green money to say the very least.

But in the end, the payoff is sweet. So remember that and forget the babble.

But I just wanted to let you know with my rusty words what I was up to and what you should plan on being up to one day, a year of so later, after being on your journey similar -- especially if its like mine (the new black this season that I'm convinced you'll be hearing a lot more about in the next few years), the ITP variety which results in aplastic anemia.

My point? Hold on. I think I have one. So please try to tell that to anyone who has had to listen to my endless talking-in-hyper-hyphenated-grasping-at-names-and-nouns-useless-finger-snapping-and-hand-gesturing mobius phone conversations full of jubilation, frustration, and fears. Yes, it is a thrill ride.

Hey. Is that the opposite of cakewalk? Victory!

Anyway: Point, please -- In a few days, it'll be one of several new anniversaries for me -- the year after I found out on a routine yearly exam that *something was wrong* with my bloodwork. That means a year later, I'm silent, but I'm still here. Some days I wonder why, but most days, I just plainly thank God and then plan on eating some sort of fancy cake.

One track mind. Cake cake cake.

I think the exact date was November 14th, 2006, but I'll have to check my PDA (which didn't fare as well this past year and is dead) for sure because it's an anniversary I plan on celebrating for the rest of my life, I suppose. Along with a few other important mile markers I've acquired this past year that I'm honored to celebrate, I believe everything good can and should revolve around cake.

Happy Anniversary to me and one day to you, too.

xoxo - bny

For those still keeping score, I'm still shooting for the long-term goal of 315k platelets:
Since my last post, I've had two doctor's visits, and the results were that my platelets were holding near 225 as an average. They dipped the last time, but I think that's only because I've stretched myself to the limits the past 3 months with physical things like the new dog-sitting job, listing/selling/moving a house, and other complete blurs like that. In retrospect, I haven't posted because I was afraid of riding a bike on a tightrope and looking down -- was afraid I'd fall if I stopped in the middle of it all. But, here I am again to tell you all this as a good thing. A year ago, I could hardly walk to the car from my job.

Oh yes, add to the list another anniversary I celebrated with cake: Friday, October 13th, 2006 -- the day I got my life tossed back to me from the Dark Side. Again: "Thank you, God. I saved You a corner piece of the cake."

Anyway, back to counting chicks and the Update notes: Being the labmonkie that I am, I've decided to add in a B12 injection every month for the past 4 months. Now. You might want to try this if you're running a bit macro-ish anemic. But. Now. I'm not saying you should do anything like that without your doctor's permission like me, but hey -- I'm a rebel, baby. And sometimes I pay the price for that. But my hematocrit levels have been coming up and improving slowly but surely, which means I'm getting less anemic every month. So all I can say is "why not", and it "feels like a hawaiian vacation" as my mother says. One shot a month isn't a thing to endure, and I'd add "human pin-cushion " to my curriculum vitae anyday as long as the right numbers keep coming up.

Man. I ramble.

Well. Enjoy the silence for now. But after all the dog-walking, house-moving, kitchen-repainting is done, I will post so much, you'll have a warrant out for my arrest. Yes, again, Mom.

Yeah, I kid.

Next doctor's appointment is November 20th. I'll guess that my platelets will be up to 230-ish?

A Quickie Post

2007-08-15T16:14:00.000-07:00

Wait, wasn't that the name of that chick on "Night Court"?

No. It's me, aced my CBC with 228K platelets and the grace of God and medical advances in horse serum and mustache-growing prescription medications.

And that is the sound of my bone marrow making platelets and even more red blood cells.

"Your aspirate shows that your bone marrow is getting better, but it's still not normal." What about me is normal anyway, so I'll take it.

To be continued, September 14th.

Hang in there with pie.

2007-08-01T11:30:00.000-07:00

I forgot to note last time: For anyone keeping score still, last time at the doctor's office, I had 222k platelets up from 202k. That's pretty good for 3 weeks' work. And my red blood cells are starting to come up. I think my marrow is producing more cells instead of just bigger cells as it was doing the past few months. It's been fascinating for me to learn things, and how the body was designed to compensate and renew itself if it couldn't repair itself completely.

Sometimes I'm keeping score, but mostly, I'm not, I gotta say. I'm just readjusting to a life that's worth living for so many incredible reasons. I think it's amazing what has happened to me since last November when I was first diagnosed with this ITP/aplastic anemia thing. It's too much to think about at once. I don't feel like getting the bends. And I'm still not far enough away to get a good look at it because I'm out of the woods, but still too close to the trees to see the forest.

Are those cliches or analogies? I don't know. But it's a good way to describe it all.

Lots of people have asked me, "What do you do now? Are you cured?" Well, I hope so. Seems this type of blood disorder was very rare, and all I can do it watch it from now on for the rest of my life with hopefully only bi-annual or annual checkups. I still wonder where the weekly mysterious bruises come from. But then I remember, I'm still healing up. But nicely.

While I am still on that cookieduster-growing Cyclosporine, the dosage has been steadily reduced. Which is excellent news. My doctor promised me that next time, I will probably get to reduce it even further. The Colonel Sander's mustache has gone away, but the Aztec bone-picker nails seem to be holding in there nicely. And when I brush my hair now, I can feel it's thickened and not one strand is left behind in my brush.

Which to me is all weird. My mom said, "One day, you will look back on this and realize how bad you felt and how sick you really were." She's right. She's always right.

So I guess that is my advice to you if you have Googled here, wondering about some strange and rare blood disorder you may have contracted. My mother's always right. "Fifteen years ago, you would have been dead from this. Thank your Dear Lord they have treatments to try now." And "Yeah. those pants do make your butt look big, but who cares? Here. Have a nice piece of pie."

Bone Marr...OW!!

2007-07-24T10:06:00.000-07:00

Yes, I finally got that long-awaited third bone marrow aspirate done today. Corkscrewed a big chunk right out of Ye Olde Buttbone. But when it comes back from testing, I expect nothing but good news.

2007-07-03T14:49:00.000-07:00

Still good news -- bone marrow is working overtime making platelets (up from 185 to 202), the red blood cells counts are coming up, too (I think the shot of B12 in the arm helped that microcytic jive), and I get to reduce my beard-growin' cyclosporine. See? Again, what can I say more than "better living through chemistry" and "Kiss a researcher or scientist today"...

Whew, this aplastic anemia job is harder than I thought. Sure, the pay is eh, not so great, but the benefits are out-the-roof.

Next doctor's appointment in 3 weeks. Expect miracles.

Man. I need new glasses.

2007-06-18T08:13:00.000-07:00

That goes on The Shortest List, along with fixing the eye-watering gas oven fritz. Rest in peace, you sad pair of gimped up glasses. Now you just match the rest on the pile.

You've been stepped on, kicked, dropped, but finally you snapped under the pressure of me, I guess. Not to make you feel any worse, but now you've made me feel fat and clumsy on top of it all. It all started so innocently. I guess I should've never done those crosswords right before bedtime. That I did not see coming. That and drawing indiscriminately all over my arms and sheets with a pen that night, too.

"Oh, Ambien, I can't stay mad at you."

Now all I have left is the granny-specs missing those cushiony nose things that you take for granted until they are gone. Then it makes you wonder how people lived without plastic. How people used to only have things made from wood, like sets of wooden teeth. Like how I should really be working in a factory right now, like on a production line, with a conveyor belt, maybe working at a candy factory or something like that. I wonder if they have a vision plan that would cover the cost of new glasses...

I can't see crap without squinting like I live on the surface of Mercury now, but you can't win them all. But if nothing else, I can roll away from this knowing that at least I have the confidence to do crossword puzzles with pens and not pencils.

I'm getting good at this.

2007-06-12T09:31:00.000-07:00

Not the "posting regularly" part, but the "making platelets" gig.

Why do I have to explain my jokes? I blame Cyclosporine -- not only for the gorilla arms and the cookie-duster but also for the flatness. Or redundancy. Or over-explanation? Or total awareness of my over-explanation and the inability to edit myself any better than I ever did...?

See? Who Cares and What's New...

Anyway, the best excuse yet for not posting more: there's not much but consistency to report.

Good!

I just go in for check-ups every three weeks for now. Between doctor's visits, I've been making and stock-piling even more beaded, sculpted things to sell online eventually, already selling books for divinely-donated-platelets money. Or even better, for fun.

Except for the daily, earth-shattering fact taken for granted that I am making all of my own Trinity (white blood cells, red blood cells, and most important platelets), there's nothing more serious to report except the persistent anemia.

Well, that, and my eye-watering gas oven won't light up for some reason, and the drains in the bathroom have gotten just clogged enough to be really irritating. But other than that, there's nothing but literal and figurative blue skies.

Today's doctor's appointment still showed that I have a lower red blood cell count than normal which is okay as long as I am still making platelets. Which by the grace of God and Cyclosporine, I am. My platelet counts are steady and growing slowly (which is good) at 186k.

My long-term goal is to get back to 315k, but that's just to show off.

For now, my new experimentations will be turning toward increasing the absorption of my iron. So if you know anything about that subject, I'd love to hear what you've got. Currently I take 325mg three times a day and added Calcium Citrate. Apparently, taking calcium supplements along with iron supposedly helps you absorb more iron. I've also read that white wine increases the absorption of iron. Good enough for me!

Also, my B12 levels were low. Bumping that level up just might help to sped away this on-going anemia. Even though I've never had the pleasure of taking a Hawaiian vacation, my mom says that's what a shot of B12 feel like. And just one shot into it, I do feel better but just a little ripped off without the sandy, warm beaches of Maui.

Next appointment is Tuesday, July 3rd.

Until then, I will update more, but hopefully it won't be anything more than, "Crud. I just broke my last pair of decent glasses." Which I did the other week already.

Still haven't gotten that follow-up bone-marrow aspiration corkscrewed out of my buttbone yet, but I'm not going to think about that until it happens. I'm off to buy those sparklers and firecrackers for the Fourth. It's going to be a good one.

"Poof," and she disappeared into a wisp of smoke...

2007-06-06T11:51:00.000-07:00

And I mean "poof" in the magical way, and no other.

How've I been? No, no. Really, the question is: How've you been instead? I seriously want to know. For one thing, I care. (Thank you for reading all my bappity-bap.) And another thing, I'm tired of thinking about all my stuff, all the time. Not complaining, just squinting up at the sun, drying out on the beach I've washed up on, shaking the wet sand from my unmentionables. Or is it unspeakables?

Aplastic anemia or any other illness is not for the faint of heart, is it?

The only catchy line from "Steel Magnolias" besides "My signature colors are 'Blush' and 'Bashful'," is "That which does not kill you makes you stronger." I think I can say, with room for growth, I could bench-press a lead-covered gorilla right now. More likely, I could levitate him using only my brain.

Last doctor's visit, I had 180k platelets. In other words, "yippee!" Blushing, I made them myself. Whew. So that was about 6 weeks ago. Then 3 weeks later , I held my own and still had 181k. My mom nodded with the doctor, agreeing that 181 was a good number, seems the platelet-production is beginning to plateau. I need more red blood cells though, but I think I can manage that. So as far as I'm concerned, my platelets are working again, my white cells are good, too, so that's good enough for me.

Thank you, God, thank you, Dr. Files, thank you, PICC Line, thank you, University Medical Center Cancer Clinics, thank you, blood donors, thank you, good friends who've had to listen to my ills and complaints, and to those really good friends who suggest prescription medication changes, and thank you, "better living through chemistry" and research. What do I say? "Kiss a scientist today."

Oh yes, and big thanks to my Mom, for simultaneously saving my life and not killing me.

This roadtrip, sponsored by Evian water.

Scary. I look up and a month is gone, amusing and amazing myself for days at a time. But I get stuff done. No, really. Working on that 10 Year Old Personal To Do List. Actually, for all the outdoor-time, I do have a really good t-shirt/arm tan to show it. At least on one arm from driving back and forth to Memphis and Jackson in the past weeks, have been without a good internet connection in there, and all those good intentions.

I've spent a lot of time trying to get back to normal which isn't as easy as it looks, ever, is it? But I can tell ya but, I have been running while I have my motivation back. Plus, I figured I needed to get out of my poor mother's hair, even though I do like having pillow fights with her. And I do like threatening to break her arm in three places if she doesn't stop it. She laughs at me for suggesting it, but has this look in her eyes as if I just issued her a physical challenge.

Let's see, what day is it...June 6th? I go back to the doctor on June 12th. The only thing they found that was beginning to go abnormal was my kidney function. This is just a side effect of cyclosporine, hopefully. But just to be sure, my morning dosage was reduced (goodbye, bearded lady career dreams!), and I was ordered to drink an ocean-full of plain water. Have I mentioned I hate plain water? But, I am sure I'd hate dialysis even more, so cheers!

Water is good with lime. Squint at it, and it almost looks fashionable.

Well, I have crossed a lot of major stuff off The (Never-Ending) List:

- spray for ants (not easy, people, they are crafty)
- wax the car (hey, it had to happen)
- excavate/box-up good clothes for donation
- drink water
- declutter, then declutter even more
- call for storage unit prices
- procrastinate in calling for storage unit prices
- sell books and other delightful media
- make stuff
- finish something I put off for, oh, ever
- drink more water
- get the yard spiffed up and weed-free (still working on that)
- declutter even more
- drink more water
- take many baths (but don't drink the water)
- clean and wax (yes, wax) the faux-marble bathroom sinks, tubs and shower
- despite the cottonwood blooming for the fifth time this season, walk
- get together portfolio for freelance projects
- learn GoLive
- finish web site
- do scribbles and scributes
- update blogs
- watched Johnny Depp in "Pirates" movie*
- drink more water
- bathroom break...

It just goes on and on like this, every day, every week. Again, who's complaining? Not me. Because I realized that I don't feel like getting back to the normal I had before I got sick. That was not my kind of normal. Working on my own dreams and visions of those I respect and work with is harder to come by and harder to get cranked up, but more worth it and more normal to me. So, wish me luck and platelets. I wish you the same, which is, in fact a very good sentiment to wish someone.

Next doctor's appointment: June 12th
I predict the platelets will be hovering around 180k still.
Might get a bone marrow corkscrewed out of my buttbone. In a way, I hope so, to get it over with!
Will see if my iron-enriched food selections have paid-off some of my anemia debts.

Been feeling winded, heart-poundy, headachey, flakey-like-a-pastry, but that could just be those dang cottonwood allergies...

I know, I know...I really should move from Memphis. Ok. Anyone want to buy a really cute cottage-style house complete with roses and gardenias, just down from the River's edge? More details to come, if so.

Also, anyone know of a place where I live/write/sculpt/make beady things where the weather never gets anywhere near 90 degrees F, plus there is no cottonwood? Next to water would be nice, but please email me with ideas!

*me: "I saw the new Johnny Depp movie last night."
mom: "Did ya like it?"
me: "Like it? Who cares? I could watch him draw in the dirt with a stick for three hours."
mom: "I could watch him read the phone book for two."

wthybtt?

2007-04-16T15:35:00.000-07:00

That stands for "where the hell ya been this time?" meaning "I disappeared again, didn't I?" Well, I blame the weather and this allergy I've developed to the computer. That's me though ~ distracted by shiny objects, sushi, and walking in the park, counting caterpillars for longer than I meant. This has always been the story of my life, all except for the ITP twist, but luckily I like most of the story, really.

That's where I have been with a grand total of 177k platelets since the last time I went to the doctor, last Tuesday. Like I have said before and will say it again squared, "Thank you, Big Daddy G, hiding up in the clouds, and thank you for all the angels you put here on the earth to put up with me and help me through all of this, every day."

What else have I've been doing since last update? Hmm...

~ went to Memphis to check up on the hermit crabs (don't ask)
~ made many things with beads on them
~ had a birthday and some cake
~ watched several hundred different cooking shows
~ realized Ina Garten is a person and not a place
~ watched an acceptable amount of "Fraiser", and an unacceptable amount of "Will & Grace" and "The Golden Girls"
~ got my funny valentine, the PICC Line, taken out which was a very, very sad day until I realized I could take a shower for the first time since December 28, 2006
~ took a very, very long shower
~ thought of approximately 63 good business ideas and shot all but 4 down
~ cut my hair twice, but not in that crazy Bette Davis "Baby Jane" way, but more of just a nice trim to even out the ends which had begun to look moth-eaten, I thought
~ tricked out my mother's computer until I created one fine conflict with three innocent firewalls
~ got a 2-unit blood transfusion that didn't agree with me, but I absolutely appreciated it anyway
~ thought I liked Rachel Ray
~ learned how to whack weeds, becoming a full-fledged "whackerologist" (named so by my mom -- Yes, I know it sounds like a urologist, so just let me dream I'm a doctor, okay?)
~ helped cart home thirteen tons of plants, equipment, cow manure, tomato plants, and other good things for The Yarden
~ helped cart home thirteen more tons of plants, equipment, cow manure, tomato plants, and other good things for The Yarden
~ made guacamole
~ wondered if I'd look weird driving the Weinermobile
~ stared at the Eiffel Tower and wished to go back and stay there
~ took a monkey bath with a book for old times' sake
~ contemplated my eyebrows
~ lost part of my mind after I came to and realized what all has happened in the past 93 days
~ gained perspective With a Little Help from My Friends and felt bad about the hermit crab that died instead
~ got over the crab almost as quickly as I got past Rachel Ray
~ saw something sparkly and painted my nails, both hands Bashful Blush and all 10 toes Tijuana Red
~ made my mother insane, but she totally asked for it because she bothers me every time I go into the bathroom
~ apologized for making my mother insane (even though she bothers me every time I go into the bathroom)
~ went to the farmer's market for okra
~ thought about the word "pumpkin" until it made no sense at all
~ did 99 other things instead of the 3 things that really needed doing
~ took many walks, counted more caterpillars, and waited for the butterflies soon to come

Not exactly exciting but I have to admit, even with the ITP and aplastic anemia, it's much better than anything I was doing exactly this day, exactly last year.

And I'd like to especially thank every one of you for being the sweetest people in the world for keeping up with me through all this and always sending me hugs and your cheer. There's not enough I could say or do for you, but remember to call me when you need a couch moved or need your weeds whacked.

The next time I go to the doctor is next Tuesday where they will take my blood (and I will miss my PICC Line so much that day) and do one final bone marrow to confirm that yes, ATGam, transfusions, cyclosporine and good thoughts and prayers do work.

So how is the beard coming? Fine, thanks. Under control. Am enjoying the eyelashes and nails as the trade-off, so I really am that easy-to-please. And the second-chance at life is an extremely nice benefit, too.

Officially, the physical healing is slow, but it's sure, and that's good. The emotional healing is more than interesting to see everyday and is soon to follow like the little lamb. And now it's time for me to get busy with work* again, and I can't wait.

*See, I told you I lost my mind, didn't I? But this time, it will be opposite and purposeful, new and improved, with lots of love on it, and lots of knowledge on many topics I had no idea I'd ever explore. Actually, that reminds me a lot of how my life was 8 years ago, and that is a very good sign.

xoxo - bny

short-term goal of 100k accomplished 03/13/07
with the help of a few hundred people and God.

almost there to mid-term goal of 200k,
so by 04/24/07, I should be there.
the bone marrow will be a piece of cake
because this time, I know to take
*some blue bippies* before I get it

new short-term goal: admit that, yes, I did use my dad's nose hair trimmer. there. I feel better for having said it, okay? it was for everyone's benefit, not mine.

long-term goal: 315k

I need to stop under-estimating things.

2007-03-14T09:30:00.000-07:00

"So how do you feel, " the doctor asked. "Oh, I don't know, I feel good, really good, so you tell me," I smiled and shrugged back. I'm really get the hang of this aplastic anemia thing whether I like it or not.

So good news, with yesterday's predictions, I forgot to throw in, "I'm feeling a fit 126k" because in all actuality and despite the missing steroids, I came up at 113k platelets ~ 13k past my short-term goal. Literally winded, but I can figuratively breathe now.

I'd like to thank The Academy, those four extremely expensive bags of invaluable horse serum along with handfuls of pills, all the divinely donated units of blood and platelets from the selfless unsung heroes, Big Daddy G in the Sky and all his angels (you) here on Earth, and leafy green salads with plenty of avocados, and here's a high-five for okra.

Yep, without the steroids, I'm a little winded and slow ~ but that's just the anemia talkin.' I'll get over that and gain some form of energy soon enough ~ hopefully it'll be some type of super-power where I can churn out more beaded things for sale or maybe glow-in-the-dark or something cool like that.

I need a few thousand more white blood cells and red especially. My white cells are hopefully temporarily low because of the immuno-suppressing cyclosporine I take twice daily. And I knew my red cell counts were on the low-side because I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, but that is almost a comforting whooshing sound at times. Well, of all the side effects and symptoms, it is! The doctor decided not to tranfuse me with any units of blood unless my red blood counts fell lower or anything changed in the next two weeks.

So I'll watch that, and get another blood count early next week so I can go to Memphis and do some business. That's the plan anyway, although I have gotten Really Good at "Plans A" going out the window. But that's what "Plans B and C" are for, and that is The Truth.

I brought back my cat, Googie, and he's loving the extra attention and tuna here provided by my mom. My mother's cat is getting used to him even though she wants to rip him open like a drunk frat boy with a bag of chili-cheese corn chips.

Summation:
Two weeks ago, the butt-bone was victorious
with baby platelets @ 69k.
Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
with an army of platelets @ 113k ~
13k over short-term goal of 100k.

At this rate, I'd say by next doctor's visit,
I should fall in the low-normal range of 140k.
But I'm thinking it'll be more likely
halfway to my long-term goal of 315k,
which my math-cheater mom would calculate
is about 157k.

Then I can get back to normal life as I know it, right?
Everyone, either hold on or stand back.

Next time, I hope I don't need it,
but I will gladly accept a unit or two of red blood
for good luck and hopefully farewell,
because it makes me feel like I just had a Mars Bar.

The doctor didn't order the PICC Line out.
Good, please don't anyone tell him any differently
in case he kindly forgot for my benefit.

short-term goal of 100k accomplished 03/13/07
with the help of a few hundred people and God.

new short-term goal: bleach the Neandertal hair growth
like it'll fool anyone, but hey

long-term goal: 315k

Where the fork have I been?

2007-03-12T18:46:00.000-07:00

"Off to do 1.5 million errands," I said. I meant 2.3 million instead, and I'm still not done.

Your week begins with a rush, but quickly falls into a manageable pace that allows you to methodically plow through your chores. You turn toward the more serious side of life as you reevaluate what you need to do in order to keep the most important things on track. You've had your fun; now it's time to get back to work. Monday, March 12, 2007

Loosely translated, the fun part must be subjective.

Making platelets is good, relieving and addictive, but I wouldn't call it fun -- the knitting of scarves made things manageable while I've been coming off steroids for the past fews days. Maybe that counts as fun. But am I complaining? Nope. I can't have fun until I can get back to work. Good Lord, you take that back ~ I am not high! I don't touch that stuff. I just like to work is all. And, to tidy things up.

There, I said it and feel better for saying it.

Maybe being a Merry Maid is in my near future....hmmmm...

Also, I've just been scribbling down notes of interest and research to myself every day so I will remember not to forget, when I can, between the fun. Again I say "Steroids are the Beast Goddess Who Taketh with One Hand and Crusheth Thy Nuts With the Other." My figurative ones ~ not literal ones. The moustache and beard are throwing you, aren't they? Well I can assure you, it's about the most masculine thing about me besides proud, fightin' Irish attitude. Which mainly explains the tendencies toward scotch, too.

What? You got a problem with that?? Hey, my great-great-grandfather was directly from Ireland, I can say that. Why, if I weren't so tired and in need of a good waxing, you'd be in real trouble, buddy. Don't put down My People. Ooo, now you've gone and made me miss my cross-dressing friend ~ he always inspired me to keep my nails looking as luxurious as I could, which was completely motivating at the same time, and I could almost keep up with his hair but never his shopping for shoes...

My my. It's the 'Roids Leftovers gigressing again. Ignore me. I spend loads of time ignoring myself, too. I have tips on How To if you need the brochure.

Off to the doctor tomorrow for another platelet count, two-week checkup. I'm still playing the numbers guessing game ~ not because I have to, but also because a bag of jellybeans is involved.

For those playing the platelet-growing pool,

Last stats:
Two weeks ago, the butt-bone was victorious
with baby platelets @ 69k,
over halfway to short-term goal of 100k
I predict 99k, not because it would be
the normal, slow-growth average
but because it's a pretty number.

I may need a unit or two of blood for good luck and farewell, but we'll see.

I predict the doctor will order the PICC Line out soon. Not much of a prediction as he told me as much last time. PICC Lines only last for about 3 months due to risk of infection and thrombosis, and I got mine December 29th. Bittersweet because you could serve tea off mine it's so immaculate. I'll hate to see my Valentine go, but I must move on with my life ~ even if it means I will have to endure more pricks along the way without him. Needlepricks for blood counts...what did you think I meant? Sheesh!

Aw, who's kidding who...I love the way you think.

short-term goal: 100k
long-term goal: 315k
And, to get rid of the Australipithicus forehead hair, sideburns, and goatee...the nails, I'll keep.

And the winner is, the butt bone, with 69k!

2007-02-28T06:47:00.000-08:00

As we used to say in fourth grade,"Boogie." I'm up from 46k to 69k...

Doctor said, "Slow growth, that's what we want."

"I feel like I have 126k," I told my mom. She said, "No, you don't want to get them too fast, then you'd have a different blood disorder." Good point.

Off to do 1.5 million errands, no time to be anemic! Be back this afternoon to answer mail and get to more paperwork. No, really!

past halfway to short-term goal: 100k
long-term goal: 315k

Off to the doctor today

2007-02-27T07:18:00.000-08:00

It's been two weeks now since the last doctor's visit. What have I learned since then? That taking 400 mg of cyclosporin daily without so many steroids not only makes Mr. McKinley's Snake Oil Salesman Handlebar Moustaches bigger, but it also makes you r-e-a-l-l-y t-i-r-e-d. But on the plus side, my eyelashes are l-o-n-g. Good. They will distract from the beard. But as long as they grow platelets, I couldn't care much less because it's all Just Temporary.

Anyone still playing the guessing game of "How many platelets will she have this time"? I feel obligated to...

Last time, my butt bone was victorius in making 46k platelets.
My math-cheating mom says that averages into 500k a day, so her guess would rationally 14 times 500 which equals 7k, so 53k, but she now is says "Oh, I'm no good at this. But I'll guess you've picked up exponentially"...
Which is my guess, I'd say I'm well into the 100k range...126k? 199k?...I'll take 99k!

Whoever gets closest gets a bag of jellybeans! Back later with the results. I'll be the bearded lady, yawning...

ps: Sissy...how is your arm, your sinuses, and Little Man Tucker? And hello to Melinda and Hank! Also, to Bushra -- yay, okra! How 'bout brussel sprouts? To Tara, congratulations again! And to Mamie, if lovin' you is wrong, I don't wanna be right either, girlie ~ you made me smile with that, as usual! ~ hug baby girl Hannah for me and give Bart a hug, too, while your at it!

House is good! Still have Memphis-itis though...

2007-02-22T07:40:00.000-08:00

Just flew back in from Memphis last night and boy, are my arms tired. Oh, how funny. No, but I got to drive my car back and sing at the top of my lungs to Judy Garland. Thank you to Dan B for leaving this Judy Garland Experience link over at The Yarden (where I'll be today, again, taking a wad of photos I'll promise to post and then disappear, as usual).

Thank you for cleaning up the house, Ron, looks good. I brought back my potted roses to start them over again. I'm still allergic to Memphis, waking up with a sore throat and scratchy eyes. I'm tellin' ya, there is something about Memphis that'll make you have an allergy attack. I know it was a factor in finally setting off my ITP /auto-immune platelet-eating blood disorder. That plus a strange virus-caught-on-the-train-I-bet plus stress. So don't ride the train, don't stress out, and don't live in Memphis when the cottonwood blooms. Easy enough, right? No. Everyone has allergies in Memphis. I call it "Memphis-itis." But it is a beautiful place to live, by the river, and also down in the historic areas like Central Gardens and other places in Midtown. I just don't feel like dying there. I'm just sayin'!

Just not going to tell the doctor that I strayed 3 hours north from his exceptional care, dosing with platelet-pumping, beard-growing, character-building yet immune-system-suppressing Cyclosporine before I reached my safe-platelet level to travel, around 100-140k or so, but I know he'd have done the same. He's a tough soldier, too.

Ok, I'm out to The Yarden if it kills me. Which, it won't!

Last platelet count was 46k over 9 days. I predict over 100k on next doctor's appointment ~ Tuesday, February 27th.

Have I mentioned lately how much I love and respect horse serum and modern medicine combined with proper nutrition and care? I need to at Very O+...done, on The List.

xox - bny

"R-a-m-b-l-i-n...apostrophe" ~ Steve Martin

2007-02-19T09:36:00.000-08:00

Speaking of, I'm offline for a couple of days to travel 210 miles north to Memphis until Wednesday. I have 1.2 million things to get done before my next doctor's appointment next Tuesday. While my platelets are soaring (I believe), I need to check on my house (see a photo of it in the recent snow ~ thank you for the photo, Ron) and all the other things I left behind way back in Decemeber 2006. How many days has it been now ~ like, 70? Can't wait to weed my tiny little yarden, combing the knots out of its hair like a sad, rained-on ragdoll. Can't wait to clean the wood floors and vaccuum the baseboards until they sparkle. Call me crazy, but all I can say is "I love my purple Dyson." Just don't tell the PICC Line. He's the jealous type.

Back in a few days, hope you are all well with a touch of spring fever!

xox - bny

ps: Sissy ~ Need to know how your doctor's appointment came out ~ how is your arm/is it broken? Call us on Ma's cellphone!

Valentine's Day Blood Drive In Jackson, MS

2007-02-14T13:00:00.000-08:00

By 12:15pm today, the Mississippi Blood Services has had over 220 donors. One blood donation can save up to 3 lives with what I've started calling The Trinity ~ red blood cells, white blood cells, and platelets. People are standing in line to give their blood freely. I swear. That is way past "love", it's amazing. If I could donate, I would ~ but this is the only way I can donate by spreading the word.

The blood drive will be going on all day today until 7:00pm on Lakeland Drive. You'll get a Marshall Ramsey t-shirt if you donate. Hug a blood donor today. And thanks to WLBT for the live report.

Warning: Meet My New Valentine

2007-02-14T11:11:00.000-08:00

I posted this at Very O+, too, but thought it might also be helpful here if you are researching any information about PICC Lines. I was terrified of getting one, mainly because with ITP and aplastic anemia and all the negative articles and postings I was reading already, it was just another thing that scared the beejoobies out of me: having a plastic tube inserted into my vein and over to my heart. But trust me, if this has been suggested to you by a professional as needed for your medical treatment, take it. It won't take you long to get used to it with proper care.

Don't look if you are gonna be grossed out, but I wanted to show you the new love of my life ~ my PICC Line, the direct line to my life with aplastic anemia and my heart. Literally.

"Ok, she had me up until this picture, and now I'm totally grossed out. Why did she post this picture? What drug is she on? And why is her new favorite word 'literally'...?"

No no no, you don't understand. Give my new man a chance. I love him. He has a face that only a mother could love. But this bionic-looking invention means that instead of getting one thousand needle-sticks by now, I just give blood samples and receive tranfusions and even medications like steroids through this line. The end.

What's my point: If you are scared of getting a PICC Line, please don't be. Odds are, the professionals have suggested it to you for a good reason such as you have crappy, tiny veins like me, and this is the best thing for you to do.

One day, as I was getting a benadryl-dozy platelet tranfusion (I'm a relatively happy, cheap date on benadryl), the PICC Line nurse told me, "You know, we have a patient who refused a PICC Line because he's afraid of the idea. We don't know what to do. He's going to have a hard time. He's thinking about not even taking the treatment." That broke my heart. I immediately asked for the universe to intervene and make this man come to his senses. Modern medical technology is a gift, and for a reason. I wish that American pharmaceutical companies spent more on researching new drugs than giving out free keychains and squeezy balls and logo-emblazoned trinkets and free lunches since there is no such thing as a free lunch, or a free kitten, if you need to know the truth...

Not that I'm saying you need to eat a kitten for lunch...am I ranting? Must be the hormones.

What I'm saying is: If anyone googles to this page looking for information on a PICC Line, scared to death of the whole idea like I was, trust me ~ it only hurts for a little while, you'll get used to it, and it's the best thing you can ever do in this case.

Speaking of necessary pain that only hurts for so long, keep your insurance premiums current and paid. This amazing stuff isn't cheap (thanks to free lunches, passing the savings on to you and the hospital). The cost of the drug ATGam I took in the IV for 4 days alone was $28,000. My point is that the minute you think you don't need insurance, you might as well gamble the deed to your house on the craps table. Or stick your kitty in a slot machine. Me-OW.

Not to scare you, nothing to be frightened of, just get the care you need. And plenty of love. Aww.

~ Happy Valentine's Day, go forth and eat candy! ~

"Gross! She posted another picture of, what, her getting platelets...ewwww. Hey. Dang...steroids went straight to her, uhhh, chest...area. Well then...maybe this PICC Line thing isn't such a bad idea after all."

Today's Update: I say we both won.

2007-02-13T22:00:00.000-08:00

For those playing the platelet-growing pool,

Last stats:
Last Friday, I had 29k.
Yesterday, feeling 56k, I guessed 36k, and
Mathwhiz-cheater mom guessed 31k.
Reality: Today, we have baby platelets @ 46k!

Ok, so my lips were pale when I woke up, so I knew I'd need to be topped off with red blood ~ and I got two units of divinely donated blood. Thank you, whoever you are, that person who donated blood to a stranger. Heavy on the strange. But good news is: all my other cell levels are coming up to normal, meaning The Trinity (what I call the white blood cells, red blood cells and platelets) are beginning to work together again. And that's a big hallelujah for anyone.

Sorry for this late VERY GOOD update, but with donated blood, two units take a couple of hours to transfuse plus the benadryl used to keep any allergic reaction from happening knocks me out. So I came home and fell asleep. In heaven. Man. I know. I'm surprised yet not surprised at the same time. I'm tellin' ya ~ proper meds boosted with proper nutrition and rest are key to a quick recovery, plus the Big Daddy G upstairs is really the one responsible for the whole design of life and renewal in the first place.

All I can think of is how lucky I am to have this treatment begin to work, amazed that someone's job was to figure out how to make someone's elses broken bone marrow reboot and begin producing platelets with a horse serum named ATGam and the proper mix of cyclosporine and steroids to keep the cells from rejecting it all.

And, I have never lost sight of how lucky I am to have access to the University Medical Center Cancer Clinic (Hematology) and the UMC Bone Marrow Unit here in Jackson with the exceptional care of the doctors (Dr. Joe C. Files) and the entire staff at the clinic and the bone marrow unit. You have no idea how they not only run those facilities like clockwork, but they are all such wonderful people with a laughter and character from deep within, one which I have never experienced anywhere else.

Just like the people reading this, too. If you are reading this, then you are one of a kind. Just the kind I am thankful for, everyday.

On December 8, 2006, I packed my bag for a one night stay here in Jackson, kissed the dog and cat goodbye, but never got to go back to Memphis after the doctor read my counts and began this unexpected trip of mine. But today, I don't have another doctor's appointment until 2/27 ~ not two days from now, as usual, but two weeks from now. So now, it's time for me to travel in the next few days, with baby platelets growing, driving 210 miles north again to see what I had to leave undone the last 67 days in Memphis.

I have some vacuuming to do, I can feel it! And the story of this trip has just begun.

short-term goal: 100k
long-term goal: 315k

"...I Got Music, Who Could Ask for Anything Mo-o-o-re..."

2007-02-12T20:14:00.000-08:00

Oh yeah, platelets would be nice, I keep forgetting.

For those playing the platelet-growing pool,

Last stats:
Last Friday, I had 29k, 2k more than 4 days before at 27k.

Tomorrow, feeling 56k but I guess 36k, and even though my hematocrit was low last time (which should equal unit of blood this time), think I will walk without receiving a divinely donated unit of blood.

My mom, the mathwhiz-cheater, says, "Let's see, last time, you made 500 a day, so I'd guess 2k more, making it 31k. But if it's still at 29k, don't be surprised. I mean, it fluctuates, y'know..."

I appreciate that. She has taken excellent care of me, have I mentioned that lately? Emotionally, that would be the "Don't Get Your Hopes Up" part of the show. Me? Besides rhythm, I got "High Apple Pie in the Sky Hopes" so I keep my guess. I'm just annoying like that, and many, many, many other ways.

Good timing: Frasier's on, my favorite episode, singing "...hippity-hoppity boppity bo, somethin' and somethin' and panty hose, and Buttons and Bows!" Location joke, yeah, but hopefully you know which episode I mean. Ooo, attention span gone...sparkly...pink...prettyyyy....

short-term goal: 100k
long-term goal: 315k

See you tomorrow.

ps: Yes, it is fun being the daughter of a research chemist. It certainly helps to have that blood running through me, literally and figuratively. Experi-mental, heavy on that last part.

The proof in the cookieduster.

2007-02-09T19:46:00.000-08:00

Sure, cyclosporine grows hair. I know that now. My whoops-now-bleached-white Colonel Sanders moustache will tell you that. So, you're asking, does it grow platelets? Well, it certainly must help.

In the past 4 days, my platelet count went from 27K (holding exactly from its last count 3 days before) and is now rising -- to 29k. Yesss.

Some say, "You built 2k!" but I say, "No, baby, I built them all ~ 29K of 'em." Why? Because a normal body produces 200k-400k, recycling them all in 7-10 days. So, that's my opinion, and I think I am on my way to making baby platelets. Feel it in m'bones. Now, how long til normal range. low end being 140k. Don't know how long that will take (let's ask mom and her cheating calculator ways), but I'm shooting for what I had and took for granted for years: 315k.

Thanks to you, God, and to the universal healing powers of good. No, really. Like any regenerative object on this regenerative planet, the human body is a divine design, whichever god you believe in. This is not the end of my healing ~ they said, "Don't worry if it goes down again, don't get discouraged, it's normal, that's expected." But let's celebrate today, want to? Me, too.

And I'll never forget: None of this could've happened without the divinely donated platelets from the silent angels known as blood and platelet donors. Honestly, I would probably be dead right now without donated blood and platelets I've gotten. As I received them, I treated every one of them with care ~ I babied them with the hour-by-hour medication regimen, rested in periods of thanks and meditation and drooly naps, increased exercise levels daily (shuffling around the backyard filling up birdfeeders is good for you), researched and applied better nutrition (easy when your mom makes excellent salads), and resisted sugars and the rich, blood-red Cabernet Sauvignon. And, have resisted the occasional 5 mg of diazepam in its place. Whoo-hoo! (Hey, it was prescribed for the dog's bad back, but it takes the edge off. Aw, we got it at Walgreens, it's kosher.) And if I need to get more, I will do the same thing, with respect.

Anyway, my hematocrit level was low, so they say I may need blood next time, but that's fine. Basically, I'm ready to donate something back to them ~ to the cause no one thinks about until it hits them ~ (whether it's a truck or a freak blood disorder) ~ I have to give back by raising awareness for blood donation and its donors. Selfless acts in silence that truly save lives. How can I thank these people?

Hey, that was a pretty good line in blue, for starters.

And, if you are reading this, thank you for your kindness, messages and support. Honestly, you are the ones that make the world better everyday.

And finally, don't forget to hug an research chemist or scientist today. Trust me, the pigeon hawk roosting on my upper lip is worth it. As my dad would say, "Better living through chemistry." And he should know, being the research chemist who lived with Chronic Lymphocytic Leukemia for 24 years, which is almost unheard of.

So, Airborne, Daddy...this is your daughter, labmonkie...excuse the walrus beached under my nose...but we made 2,000 platelets this week.

Back to the doctor tomorrow to see:

2007-02-08T21:16:00.000-08:00

Is she making platelets, or not?

Last time:
platelet count was 27k, steady/holding over 3 days, which is, like, the longest transfusion hold yet, like...in 2 months. So's I think I made some platelets, Demi, like for real, no kiddin'...

(Listen to me, talkin' all like Ashton Kutcher or something...which reminds me of a story...)

My guess: I say 30k, but feel like a 56k
Mo's guess: "What'd you guess? 30k. Well okay, then, go on with yer bad self then."

Which, for those of you who don't *speak the local juke jive of olde*, that means, "Well, if you say so, sounds good to me, I'm going to bed." So I *hollered back*, "Hey...HEY ol' lady, where's your calculator now, huh, where's your cheatin' calculator NOW, lady?!" to her white-cottoned backside as she scuffled off to bed, scratching something more twitchy than itchy, looking for her cat. We're both like totally over the guessing game, like yeahman. Luckily, me and Demi are into Scientology. I mean kalabbah. No wait...the one with the red string...felafel...

This is not my fault I am speaking in Ashton Kutcher. I found this draft never posted from 12/26/06 to explain everything, just everything. Please enjoy.

"I also got a Sylvia Browne book on how to get in touch with your spirit guide. I know. Now that all of you have stopped rolling your eyes and snorting, that's why I got the book to begin with. You know me, always up for experiments. Plus, she makes sense. Oh yeah, I'm psychic, no doubt. In fact, I knew I'd say that. See?? Unexplainable. No, really. It's not marketable for me, but it's nice and annoying to everyone sometimes. I don't talk to dead people though. Scratch the line there. Hell, I barely talk to living ones.

"Anyway. Here's the best part though: I got to the end of the book, where I have to visualize in order to see my spirit guide. I'm not good at visualization. Or sitting still. So you can do these exercises before you sleep. So I tried one exercise last night, and the next thing you know, I found out that, yes, he came to me -- my spirit guide was tall and pale with dark hair and dark eyes and that nose, that face...that goofy smile...that guy from "The 70s Show". Yes, everyone, Ashton Kutcher is my spirit guide. I know. Only he wants me to call him Carlos though. What is up with me and the Ashton Kutcher dreams? This is the third one. I don't care back-or-forth about him. Why couldn't it have been Johnny Depp or Matt Dillon? Why?

"Angry Czeck, you stop that surly laughter, or I shall rise up mightily and smash your bones into a fine powdery dust, leaving your spirit guide, Paul Lynde, cleft in twain!! Or is it Rip Taylor..."

Reality might be transfusion time, but I really doubt it.

Blood for me, Angry Czeck, not you, or Ashton Kutcher. Unless you're cruisin' for an extreme bruisin' yourself. (Ashton, stop making me say stupid things.) Hey, Surly Czeck, you need to update your blog. What's up with you? You sick or something?

I was wrong. It surprised me. But not really.

2007-02-06T08:29:00.000-08:00

Before I left for the doctor yesterday, I just felt like it wouldn't surprise me if my platelet count hadn't fallen, or was actually higher. I can just tell. And that's not the construction-worker socks and bleached moustache talkin'...

My last platelet count was 27k and by today, based on averages so far, should be 11k (transfusion time). This morning, I heaved 3 bags of garbage to the curb, filled up birdfeeders, took out the recycling, and then thought, "It will be the exact same, or 26k, I can tell." One of my beautiful leg bruises that go along this aplastic anemia thing had healed almost overnight, it's now just a crescent moon shape. Kinda pretty if you ask me, looks like a tattoo. Makes me want to jump on my chopper and ride into the sunset. And shoot a lizard off a rock and leave fire trails behind me like that bounty hunter on "Raising Arizona", Leonard Smalls.

Because today, my platelet count was holding, at 27K, same as 3 days ago.

So in my opinion, I not only held the donated platelets from over a week ago but also think I made some platelets because normal bodies recycle/renew their own 150-400k averages every 7-10 days. They didn't tell me that, but what else can you think?

Donuts...Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia...fried chicken...pizza...(steroids talkin')...

We'll see what happens when I go back in Friday.

There will either be more, or I'll be down to a quart-low and need a transfusion. Somehow, I have this feeling I will be up a little with a low count in the 30s, and need no transfusion.

But that is days away, and I have to get out into The Yarden. (Yes, yet another blog...have to do something with my hands, don't I, besides donuts...Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia...fried chicken...pizza...)

PS: Katherine, I love you, girlie, and am calling you soon -- excuse: my mom has kept my butt in the road with our Elvis-like TCB (Taking Care of Business) List, and man, that list keeps growing. Need some sleep --it heals bruises and that's the best excuse ever.

Late Update: My Mom's a cheater, and I'm lazy.

2007-02-04T21:15:00.000-08:00

Ok, so last doctor's visit, I guessed 20k. But I was thinking 26. After they drew the blood and we sat back with the doctor and his results, my mother turned to me and said "26k", and I said "20...ish." The doctor smiled and said, "27k. " I smiled back with the chipmunkie prednisone face and said, "We're makin' a game out of it, ya see. Numbers." She said, "No, it was easy, I just did math."

Wait, wait wait. I went on gut feelings, she said she *did the math*, based on average loss-rate per day.

So in my opinion, she counted cards and cheated. But I didn't speak my gut, losing by 6k. Still not building my own platelets yet, but at least I'm not a cheater-r-r-r.

Lazy, maybe. No, actually, the opposite -- just made myself really busy the past three days. Started a new blog called "The Yarden" which will grow roses here while I grow platelets here in Jackson with my math-whiz mom.

Back to doctor tomorrow:

My guess: If it's fallen, I say 11k, but I feel like a 32k.
Her guess: She says 17k.
Reality should be 11k, tranfusion time.

She said, "Make me a liar, Bethany!" I said, "Fine, you're already a cheater!"

Gamblers, place your bets, Off to the doctor today, I put my chip on the 20.

2007-02-01T06:02:00.000-08:00

Up early for the day so posting now. Besides "cyclosporine makes your socks smell like a workman's boot", the only other thing I have learned in the past couple of days is that doubling cycloporine caplets to therapuetic levels combined with my normal amount of a.m. steroids takes me back to shades of the good ol' hospital stay. Yes, I remember like it was December 31st, because it was, when they'd finish up my 10-hour bag treatment for the night, shoot my PICC Line full of steroids, and I'd quiver and bawl like a baby. I figured, "Great, I'm going to be like this for the rest of my life." But no, thank you, God, it's not forever - it just feels like it.

My only mistake was calling the pharmacy. Knowing your enemy is half the battle, so yesterday when I felt the nerves coming on, I came to and made myself *have a lie down* and that seemed to work, so naps are back in the mix for the experiment here. Definitely. This data was compiled directly after I noticed as I talked to the pharmacist to check whether the insurance company had approved my main, doubled prescription as "overridden", the woman on the other line, God love her, couldn't understand English well. Ok, I'm being nice -- hardly at all. And it's not because of the cyclosporine/new man odor, but I always imagine myself in someone else's shoes -- I'd hate to have her job and try to understand some of the people around here. And trust me, my drawl is back yes, but for business calls, I speak "Customer Service Representative" style. Years of rushed, cheap voicework for the last job I had gave me lots of practice, and heartburn.

If you ever want to hear one, I bet there is still one in an online sample somewhere. I'll admit, one does sound really HickVegas drawly-y'all, but I was tired that day, and the woman who ran the company I worked for was being a total jerk. More than usual. Which is why I bet I can't make platelets now. Stress-induced *no kill* suppressed rage, daily. Man. She has near-zero idea how to properly run a business over 5 people. And that's not just me talkin', that's a guy from a huge agency talkin', too. Hey, what can you do past coping -- called her "Miss Management"...among other things...

Ooooo, looks like my cyclosporine/steroid cocktail is kicking in early today! Sweet! Who needs a good smashin'!! CYCLO-ROID, SMASH!!

See? I hate to sound negative. I'm not though -- it's all true.

Anyway, re-adjusting attitude now based on new data, check, and making peace and coffee early on in the day. Gotta wake up my mama and get her going with the *secretly switched decaf*, back later -- enjoy the day!

76, 50...I say I get 26k for optimism

2007-01-29T11:47:00.000-08:00

Plus, I gotta brag on appearances -- my skin, nails, hair have never looked more balanced and luxurious, minus 10 pounds I've been meaning to lose all over anyway, despite steroids. Sparkly eyes with a bright shiny coat. Must be all that ATGam horse serum I got in the hospital.

Ok, so the results are in from today's appointment.

For those playing the pool,
Last stats:
prediction was: "I will walk with no transfusion
to guess a number, 76K"

reality was 50k
and my cyclosporin levels in my body were half than needed to be therapeutic
(cyclosporin being the bone marrow transplant *non-rejection* caplets I take, keeping the oven on for the hopeful platelet-baking. So, I increase my dosage back up to my hospital levels again. Hey, no problem. Twice the Rx price and shaky hands, but hey, not so long ago, aplastic anemia was incurable. So, hug a scientist today.)

BUT to me, this is still win-win situation.
Win one, no transfusion, and all other blood counts and levels were good and strong white and red blood cells. And the doctor will readjust my cyclosporin levels to kick up the heat. Thank you, God, for Better Living Through Chemistry. Win two, I seem to be keeping divinely donated platelets for a little longer intervals -- trying to eat all the folic acid I can, freshest ingredients, resisting processed and choosing whole foods, and treating the donated platelets with care and respect. As far as eating goes, I was like this before, but now, it's sheer appreciation to the donors and also, the labmonkie in me experimenting. The only thing I need to add back in this experiment is naps. For real. I watched it work on my serum sickness. Two hours of deep sleep and my bruising would heal, seriously. Sleep is so restorative.

Wishing sometimes, longing really, for one, delicately-shaped, thin crystal-etched glass of full-bodied Cabernet Sauvignon, don't care which -- a pretty label would do. But we all know it thins the blood, so I will wait until I toast my own home-grown platelets, hopefully with a big slice of red velvet cake with buttercream icing somewhere in March. Or, before. I got The Fight in me. Today I realized, I'm from Mississippi. Still. With fire. It's official. Funny story if ya got the time...

I will write it here when I get back from loading up the birdfeeders. Basically, it involves a bad-looking neighborhood stray cat taunting my mom's cat in the backyard, and me, snapping into Firey Mississippi Girl Mode, automatically grabbing the bb-gun from the umbrella stand (yeah, I know) with my sweetheart PICC Line arm, not even thinking and pumping it up twice to sharp-shoot his unwelcome ass accompanied with a blue-stream of Southernisms which I can only describe as *something that sounded exactly like what my dad woulda hollered at 'im.* Don't worry, I didn't hit him. But son, I coulda put it right in his bb-hole. Hate to brag about my sharp-shooting abilities, but again, Mississippi Girls ain't braggin' when it's the truth. And that's when I came to, and thought, "Oh damn, my PICC line arm...shoo, good, it didn't pop loose and bleed. Girl! Dang you! Get your butt in here and sit down and eat your fried chicken (after giving all the fried parts to my mom and eating only the nutritious, meaty parts) while its hot. You can't build a platelet yet, but you're home from the inside-out, and you @#$%in' will build yer own platelets, girl." And, I love that part of a Missisippi Girl.

Ok, so that was my funny story I was gonna write in there. So, done that. Nevermind. Now, on to that therapeutic nap I told you I was going to add back into the mix -- I call it the "Shooting Aplastic Anemia in the BB-Hole with Nutrition, Meds, Rest, God/Good and His Friends, You" Experiment. My chemist (and sharp-shooting Special Forces) Daddy would be so proud of me.

Tomorrow's post will be shorter. (Yeah, right!)

2007-01-28T17:11:00.000-08:00

But just had to say, feeling good. Actually, too good. Inside and out. Like a million tax-free bucks. Scary. Have addicted my mom to selling books at amazon.com (sales have been steady - she's an avid reader and keeps the books immaculate), going to get her hooked on eBay soon (she's loving this paring down of Her Stuff), helping her with business matters involving my Dad's death, enjoying her friends, enjoying her church, her pastor Ross Olivier from South Africa...stunning topics he talks, was a prisoner in a South African prison, yes -- a fascinating story. Plus I just have to say, I love his accent. So, we went today, really nice, they'd tributed all the people passed in 2006, my Dad in the rollcall, today's podcast to be in here soon. (Wow, site updated with Flash intro.)

Anyway, except for this *not making platelets thing*, I've gotten more done in the past two weeks than the last 13 years. What gives?

Ok, off to the update, doctor's appointment tomorrow: My prediction, based on me getting used to my body's routine -- I have lost a few platelets, but my number will be high. We'll see.

You know, I feel so well (meds, recovery, God/good and the earthly angels to me, all of y'all, the exceptional care of UMC Jackson and Drs. Joe Files and Carolyn Bigelow and too many staff at the Adult Hematology/Oncology Clinic UMC and UMC Bone Marrow Transplant Unit to mention, and I'd also like to thank The Academy for my mother's magic wand with this saving my life thing,), I have purposefully become my mother's House Elf.

"Want me to do laundry, want a cup of coffee, need the trash taken out? Birdfeeders filled? How 'bout that hottub back there - let's get it serviced."

Got this PICC Line right arm humming and clicking away like a sweet, vanilla-scented Valentine candy arm. I'm literally in love with it because it means they just fill me up right there, in my right arm, rather than stick me (no good veins, and me with the blood disorder - that's me). I feel bionic. I have a digiphoto, but haven't posted it since I know it might gross some of you out (Ron). Not me. It fascinates me. "What the PICC Arm Wants, The PICC Arms Gets" is my motto. Swedish massage with scented oils and powder? You got it, Valentine. Now, let's go outside and fill up birdfeeders. I love you, PICC Line.

Started thinking about irony. So, this whole itp/aplastic anemia thing started because, what, they don't know, someone walked by me and sneezed some vague virus in my face on an elevator ride way back in 2006, right? Never even knew it. Me, I stayed tired, so who could tell. Life was just pure stress for a long time, and that sets off itp-like disorders. (That is why I stress to you, do not stress.) So, my body did what bodies do -- switched on antibodies and started cleaning house, as antibodies are designed. And then, in an innocent-but-ugly turn, they never switched off and began attacking healthy cells, my platelets and maybe stem cells. In the end, they over-cleaned me.

Irony: I'm running around this house just exactly like an antibody gone wild. I've cleaned everything in this house, and started longing to pick up sticks in the yard. Am I just dangerous? Will I begin attacking my mother's small dishes (bad attempt at making a jokey reference to "platelets", sorry.)

No. I will just end up selling them on eBay for her.

I'm so funny, right? You just have to laugh. Throw me a bone. With some marrow in it!

For those playing the pool,
Last stats:
last visit, scored big from some divine donor,
ending up with a post-count of 91k,
which is the highest platelet count
I have probably had in months, unknowingly.
tomorrow: I will walk with no tranfusion
to guess a number, 76K

Soon, I will be guessing how many days between doctor's visits.
At first, it was "come in every 2-3 days",
this last batch has lasted 5 days, I can tell,
but until I make my own, they say, in the next two months...
argghh...my life in Memphis, remember?
when do I get back to it...
will the doctors here stop loving me because
me'n'mo stop coming, bearing donuts...
the story goes on, only days at a time... and boy,
this has taught me something I never had before:
patience and the true meaning of being a patient.

short-term goal: 100k
long-term goal: 315k

Even though sensei is Japanese not Vietnamese, you get the idea.

2007-01-27T15:48:00.000-08:00

Number one, I hope you are having a great weekend. Man, I still live for Saturdays and Sundays. If you are reading this, stop reading, go go go. Read later. Go.

But as for an update, I go back to the doctor on Monday. It's been a lazy day here. Rain, Lemon Zinger Tea, but nicely productive, wrapping packages up for the post. Showed my mom how to sell books on amazon.com yesterday, and, snap, we sold two books like that. Well, she's *cough* hooked. It's like fishing, except without the beer-bellies and sunscreen.

But in my quest to keep my donated platelets and build my own soon, I have researched a lot on nutrition. Really, I have found a lot of things that bust up platelets, but not a lot that supposedly build them besides These Wonderful Meds and the ol' skeleton. Folic acid was the only thing I read that may at least *do something beneficial to help keep and build,* so I have been at that orange juice, and the leafiest, greenest veggies plus avocados and just wonderfully-crafted salads. And Bushra dear! Thank your dad for me for the spanish onion suggestion and thumbs-up to leafy veg -- anything else recommended for us aplastic anemia babes (that's me), pass 'er this way.

But, between the vegs, I did manage in a Kit Kat Chocolate Mocha or so (limited edition, good excuse, huh?) and maybe a Lindt Lindor Extra Dark Chocolate (hey, cool candy blog here). Look. I may not be able to clot, but I'm not made of stone.

Ooo. Big scans. Also got mom a new scanner here (yayyy), can y'tell?

I also want to thank My Most Awesomest Pho Ga Friends, Kevin and Ralph, sending the unbelievable package to mamasan and me the other day, filled with all the stock-makings and absolute goodies galore for preparing spring rolls and pho ga. Honestly. My mom kept pulling out surprises and physically ran off with the *rooster sauce* over her head squealing "mine, mine!" like she was a gameshow contestant.

Which, most days, she is. She's more than a handful.

(Ralph, Kevin, have I told you how much I love ya? Yeah, you'll get tired of that after awhile.)
Because I'm so lazy but still wanted to show you the pics and also the link to the spring roll recipe at Digs Magazine (cool site, dude!), following is the email to Kevin and Ralph, "The Two Best Pho-King Guys, Down Like Four Flat Tires":

Check out the attached cellphone pic -- if you are wondering where the spring rolls are, we snarfed them last night. Had I been thinking, could've phoned those, too, but Sue went whirlin' dervish on them and had a BLAST making them. I peeled shrimp and let 'er rip. It was her first time, and she is now the sensei.

Today, she brewed us up this batch of the pho ga -- all of it was so pho king good -- we *double-heart* you both so much that we can hardly contain ourselves. This is giving her too much energy. I have secretly switched her to decaf. Seriously.

xox - bny

ps: I also attached a photo of her harassing me in the platelet-transy room, as I call it. She needs to stop.

She's going to prick me in my sleep and let me bleed dry when she realizes I've posted her photo on the internet. That's what you get for scratching on the door like a cat when I'm in the toilet. Why do you devil me, woman??

Ding-ding-ding! But, closer to my short-term goal...

2007-01-24T16:52:00.000-08:00

Ok, ok, so I admit it -- I'm no gambler. This is why I only go to casinos for the steakhouse and the occasional Rick Springfield concert.

It was a fullhouse at the clinic today, but they run it like absolute clockwork. I rarely start up a conversation with people, anywhere, but I gave it a try. Plus this is Mississippi, and man, I totally forgot that in Mississippi, meeting people in checkout lines at grocery stores and exchanging recipes is just The Way It Is. Everyone here talks to each other. And my Southern drawl is firmly back in place. I sound like Barney Fife from Mayberry.

Anyway, hard as this is to believe, I rarely speak unless spoken to. But when in Mississippi, I decided to do as it is done -- so, here goes:

I zero in on him, zippin' around on a metal-flecked, cherry-red electric scooter, a chemo-balded man in his early 60s, carefully-dressed but with no particular color scheme in mind, with his pressed, striped dress shirt and wide, black suspenders, pants too short, baby blue socks that went with nothing and his suit coat draped on the back of his scooter seat. Me, with cancer? I'd be in my bathrobe and fuzzy socks, looking like a newly-hatched, chewed-up baby chick.

So immediately, I figured he was my kind of guy. I sat down to wait my turn now. "Hello there. How're you feeling, huh?" Looking down around at himself, he says, "I'm ok, I guess." Then I got him to talk about how cool his scooter was. I could tell he was proud of it by the way he was driving it. Tried to talk like my dad, "Boy, that thing looks like it turns on a dime. You really do fly on that thing." Then he got proud of the whole ride. Has another, too, with four wheels, "More stable, but not like this one." That one was His Baby. "Well, I personally like the color." He smiled, suffered me gladly I hope, got his shot of Procrit, and we bid each other farewell, telling each other we're both going to be well, and he punched an extra-squeaky, rubber wheelie around the corner for me and down the hall. Burn rubber, young man, burn it well.

I get my blood drawn, they run my bloodwork, then the nurse comes in and before she tells me my winning number, she asks how I feel. What, so then I get this instant headache in the center of my head. "I feel like a 36. You tell me." She says, "You're at 17k, come on back, we'll getcha some platelets. You o-positive?" Me, "Oh yes, so very."

Hey, if nothing else, numbers-wise, I'm catching on to this thing. I was right with the 17k prediction. But the Yardener in me is impatient to start growing her own.

The way I look at this, either way, the day was a winner.

Last stats:
01/21/01, scored big with loss only down to 20k
today, 17k but scored big with a nice, dark batch of platelets from some divine donor,
and ended up with a post-count of 91k, which is the highest platelet count I have probably had in months, unknowingly

short-term goal: 100k
long-term goal: 315k

For the football pool, last time, I was holdin' at 20k.

2007-01-23T21:03:00.000-08:00

Off to doctor tomorrow. Man, this aplastic anemia-itp thing is a full-time job. I should've read the fine print before someone sneezed a virus into my body.

Bettin' Time!
The odds wager I need some platelets.
But, shaking the Magic 8-Ball, double-jinx-no-whammy...
if I had to guess, I'd say "no platelet transfusion" tomorrow.
No jinx, no jinx, no jinx.

Last stats:
01/16/07, platelet count @ 36k
01/19/07, down to 24k
01/21/01, scored big with only down to 20k

Tomorrow, they'd expect 10-15k, I betcha.
Equals transfusion time.
But me? C'monnnnn 56k, but feelin' real at 36k.

short-term goal: 100k
long-term goal: 315k

Goodnight, babies. Thank you for playing.
Winner gets freshly-baked cookies.
Hell. You all will once I'm back in business.

And the results are in: I stink.

2007-01-22T19:12:00.000-08:00

I stink because instead of instead of immediately posting the what-I-say-is-good-news, me'n'mo had some freedom today. This monkie-in-the-bubble went outside in the fresh air today, and took photos.

In other words:

Got all packed up to stay for awhile at clinic, expecting platelets (based on my track record so far). But during the time I rest, I think about visualization like my aunt told me to do. I said, "I don't know how to do that, man." But she said, "Try it." Since she has battled, rallied, and won her fight with breast cancer for the last 3 years, is it now, gee whiz -- I'm taking her every word for it, yep. Plus she knows how to grow soybeans, cotton, and pretty much anything else you can grow.

So, I think of a number. And, I eat My Folic Acid Experiment -- leafy green spinach/spring mix, avocado, cucumber, dried cherry, vegetable-laden, kalamati olive, feta cheese, basamic and sesame or olive oil salads with protein of choice on side everyday, with orange juice. (My Experiment today was to obviously shift into all fried chicken livers [yeah, I admit it] and chocolate cookies, I guess to celebrate, huh? Let's see if it makes a difference. Wait, I ate carrots. It was penance. Penance carrots.)

So anyway, to visualize, I've just been shooting higher in my head during Cyclosporin, thinking "56, 56, 56."

Last platelet count on Friday was 24k -- this morning, I expected 10-17k, but I got a 20k! No transfusion. Next clinic visit is Wednesday.

The way that I look at that is (1) "holding platelets" and in my mind, I say, (2) "building platelets". I also reckon since I'm growing a groovy, side-effect moustache, I HAVE to be growing platelets, too, right? Roll up and see the bearded lady. Bring the kids!

So anyway, me and the mom just stood there and looked at each other at clinic, like uhm, free? What is this "free"?...then I said to my saint of a mama, my showtune-singing friend whether I like it or not, "Whatever YOU wanna do, we're doing it." And we did. Bought some beads, bought some white roses to spruce-up and Valentine-up my dad's *campsite* (hate to brag, but that man has a nice plot, wanna see pics?), took her out for a meal that she didn't have to cook, and loved every minute if it.

Commercial break: She just stopped me, has no idea I'm writing over here about her. She stood up from the couch and put her hands on her hips, and said, "'Ey, Look at me, I'm dancin'," and started shakin' it. No reason. I laughed, "What would Daddy say about you doin' that spontaneous dance?" She said, "He'd say, 'What's wrong witchu, yacrazysummabeep?', and I'd say, 'Oh you can't charm me that easily!' and keep on dancin' and singin'..." I really don't see any hope or need for me ever being normal.

So here's a cellpicture of his campsite view. I'm standing by the coolest two trees that have grown together at the base and entwine each other -- an oak and a cypress.

There's a tiny white dot up in there that's a crane, see it? Me neither. But we also saw a wood duck mother and two babies. And here's my dad's little roses on the campsite, Spooner being a family name he was proud of. They almost named me "Spooner", I think. I'd have liked it. I'm sure my schoolmates would've pelted me with rocks on a daily basis though. Builds character.

You know...

2007-01-21T18:53:00.000-08:00

Except for this "Making No Platelets in My Buttbone on My Own" gig and quite possibly growing a full beard from Cyclosporin, I gotta say, with just the right mix of meds for me, I could at the very least wax your car. Lefthanded. For free. I'm definitely considering it. Definitely. Extremely productive when awake.

Should channel this energy into Blood Drives instead though.

Off to doctor tomorrow, wagering I need some platelets. Who's a gamblin' man?

Last stats:
platelet count 36k @ 01/16/07,
to 24k @ 01/19/07
01/21/01 -- I feel a healthy, wealthy 56k
but I wager a healthy, infusable 17k

short-term goal: 100k
long-term goal: 315k

Yeah, I apologize. I'm boring myself with this, too. Pray for my mom that she hits me in the back of the head with a shovel so we can go to sleep tonight.

She's flipping at the tv watching "Iron Chef America", and I asked what food they're competing with -- she said "beets." I paused. I tried not to, but I said, "I'm sorry that you have to hear this, but that means they're having a 'Beet Off'...hee hee hee. Y'know?" She's gone to the garden shed to get the shovel. Goodnight!

Good news for you! The world's shortest post from me so far

2007-01-19T13:59:00.000-08:00

Enjoy my unusual shortwind while you can, but I wanted to update quickly after today's doctor's appointment.

Latest stats:
hematocrit number was low, so I got 2 bags of O+ blood (thank you, anonymous blood donors! kisskisskiss)

platelet count only fell from 36k 01/16/07 to 24k today 01/19/07

What's this mean? Platelets low, sure, but good news as far as I'm concerned. I go back Monday if I can hold a good number and will get platelets. And watch me hold a good number.

So, this has preheated my E-Z-Bake buttbone oven with two bags of blood, and now I'm off to take good care of those new red blood cells and take care/no running with scissors/perhaps bake up some baby platelets myself because they didn't transfuse me with any today. If you need to know straight from the Horse Serum's Mouth, I absolutely believe rest heals and restores your body; no overworking for you anymore; do not let anyone take away your sleep, babies. In fact, I coulda showed the restorative effects with photos with what just a two-hour nap did to heal my body, but dude, I respect you too much to do that to you. Really, I do.

Tonight when I'm dosed in the PredniZone, I will return emails I have been writing in my mind for days now, I promise. But for now, zzzzzzzzzzzzzz oh, and you -- have I told you lately that you're awesome? Oh, and one more thing, if you don't get out and enjoy the weekend, I'll flip you like a pancake! With maple syrup if you need it.

Finger and toe crossing works: Good doctor report today -

2007-01-16T14:50:00.000-08:00

Serum sickness is healing. Lovely! I won't miss looking like Rip Taylor's bucket of confetti and feeling just bad enough to almost tell the woman in the waiting room sitting next to me to "Please, Shut Your Piehole." Which almost happened last Thursday. But from the look on her face, I didn't say it. I must be feeling stronger inside enough to get hacked off to begin with and mainly to control myself. But man, she beat everything. With a stick.

She got in my face, right up in my personal space, with my brain quickly referencing my last batch of white cell counts. My mother knows her and helped treat her at this clinic 15 years ago, so she introduced her to me, telling her about my ITP. This woman lit up like a spotlight and leaned in with rapid-fire sentences (ps: don't do this to someone on Prednisone, lights and volume hurt),

"Oh no. Do you have ITP? Oh, I have ITP! I've had it for 15 years. Oh oh, but I don't have it anymore. Oh, yeah, it's bad, isn't it! Yes, it is. Me, I'm here today, I just had a li'l petechiae here and a bruise pop up right here, and so, here I am, I came in to get my platelet count because I'm going out of town! Is that petechiae you have? Oh let me see...oh my, no, that's not petechiae. That looks like welts. Oh no, you have something else. Definitely something else. Hey look at this (beckoning stranger across the room), she has something all over, but it's not petechiae. That looks serious." At this point, I almost said, "Yes, I do have something. It's called KMA. That means Kiss My Ass. Now Stop It."

My dad shoulda never taught me that KMA thing as a child. But it just comes in handy sometimes. Actually, a lot of times.

Luckily, the nurse called the woman in for her bloodwork. I blearily turned to my mother with all the might I remember and said, "Did I hit her in the head with this water bottle?" She said, "No. They called her back. I'm sorry. She's nuts, bless 'er. Can you believe she's a therapist?" I thought, "Good Lord, Physician, heal thyself," and tried to think of the Benadryl I was soon to take. I think I love Benadryl now. Love is funny like that, isn't it?

I'm sorry, but I thought that story was funny, so onto the Good Report:
Latest stats:
last platelet transfusion (two-bagger) was last Friday @ 68k
rechecked them Sunday, only fallen to 47k (translate: a nice hold)
today, my platelet count held well @ 37k (translate: this is very good news)
because usually, at this point, I'm at 11k and ready for a platelet transfusion, but not today!

Gimme about 278k more, baby, and that's my goal within the next 3 months -- to be back where I was last October 2005. Oblivious, on the outside, but high-normal with 315k -- with a new career helping people with blood drives and hopefully any type of healing I can offer.

If I haven't reinforced this, put this in your PDA, write it on your mirror in lipstick, post-it to your manager's forehead: Get your annual checkup no-fail, people. I almost called in sick for mine this past October, thinking, eh, too tired, what's the use, sure I'm fine. But why do I have three bruises on my leg shaped like the dog's paw? Get your CBC, rest and play, and eat your goodies.

This is good news. I may be making my own platelets. Brewing up a baby cuppa platelets from the inside out! The counts will go up and down, but this is good -- can even make my mom coffee in the mornings and bring it to her in bed so we can gossip and gab like yawny roommates. Which is so much more suitable for me than shuffling around trying to Not Bruise Anything Like an Overripe Banana. God love that mother o' mine, between her and the exceptional care at UMC, I have been taken care of like no other facility in this region. Can't brag on them enough. Ask me if you ever need a good doctor, which I hope you don't.

Only one, teeeeeeeeeny complaint: I miss the HECK outta my PG Tips only because I'm avoiding caffeine. How long will that last? Oh for sure, I miss my afternoon teatime. And watching "Wallace and Gromit" only makes me hungry for m' PG Tips and cheeeeeeeeese. Although I have never had Wensleydale. Oh, I will though!

You know what else I've been doing? Eating even more of those green leafy veggies, extra virgin olive oil, with grapes and avocados and pears and apples and dried cherries (need to throw in some cheeses and pumpkin seeds soon), and more folic acid in oranges and juice but stay away from the grapefruit if your meds won't allow it. Can't wait to get back to some tandoori chicken and sushi and Los Compadres' fresh chicken soup. Been researching more foods for Very O+. Will update soon.

So anyway, you know what I want you to do? The exact same -- stay healthy, steam it slightly if you don't like the raw. Wilt some kale with a grating of nutmeg (which goes well on any dark leafy green). But dang it, do live a little with some greasy corn chips, or sweets -- chocolate, I say -- dark Cadbury's with or without fruit and nuts should do it. So do it. And take a nap when you need it. Trust me, you need it. I didn't before. But I swear, it reboots your buttbone.

And trust me, you want that.

NUMBER ONE: This goes to Bart, Mamie and Hannah

2007-01-14T16:41:00.000-08:00

Bart! What is this with the arterial fibrilation! Can I tell you something you asked in the comment -- Protonix. That is what I used for my hearty-attacky acid reflux. But you, my friend, you won't need that. You are officially in the thoughts and prayers of some Mighty Good Stuff down this way. We love you and Mamie and Hannah, and will do anything for you that you need. Maybe you are having withdrawal from Gus's chicken wings. Eh? But I forgot to tell you that I'm all psychic and stuff, and not only will you get better, but you will kick some major ass-ibrilation. Switch from beer to red wine. It made my heart rate so good at a resting state that in the hospital, they told me it was too healthy/too low. We love you, and remember, Hannah's birthday's coming up, and you are going to need your strength. Long live on, m' brother, cheers to your beautiful wife, and that absolute gem of a truck-driving daughter.

Number Two, Just to Update:

Had some problems this week -- got something on arms and legs I thought was called petechiae, but it wasn't -- it was serum sickness from coming off my steroids too fast. Long story that I won't get onto, and if I tell you the difference between a bad case of petechiae and the onslaught of serum sickness, you will never be able to look at a muffaletta with cotto salami again. Steroids are Ze Naughty Goddess what gives with one hand and takes with the other, but you know, I'd suck up a serum made outta horses to get over this aplastic anemia business. Wait. That's what I did already. Skip that part, and God willing, my bone marrow will bake me up a nice batch of platelets without doing that. Watch me burn, baby!

Latest stats:
Wednesday, checked-in with what I thought was grody petechiae and terrible, lumpy hand and feet cramps; platelet count was 36K so was sent home until Friday.

Friday, diagnosed with serum sickness instead of petechiae, platelets @ 17k.
Asked doctor, "What did I do?" He laughed at me and said, "I did that to you, I gave you the serum!" Trust me, I love him and a laugh from him means he'll heal me.
But not after he brought in the cutest doctor also following my case -- looks just like Noah Wiley from the tv show, "ER", and he looked at my new afflictions, wide-eyed, and said, "Ohhhh...so...how ya feelin'?" And I busted out laughing and shook my head. He put his hand on my head, and said, "No more heart pains though?" I said, "Heart pains? What heart pains?" ("Can I have your autograph?" Must be getting better, eh?) Honestly, they should've taken photos of this serum sickness skin outbreak because it is a learning hospital, and it's set everyone's eyes to a size 12 1/2 so far.

So, got my a big shot of steroids and after bag of platelets, transfused @ 68k (I'll take it), and increased oral steroids to fight serum sickness.

Sunday (today), went in for platelet count, and it was hanging at 48k! This is good news -- usually, my track record would have been a low 10-17k, but baby, eat your greens and folic acid with avocados -- and, most importantly, take a relaxant -- Valium, Zoloft, whatever you need -- and watch "Creature Comforts" by Nick Park.

Going back to doctor next Tuesday. Let's see what that count is then.

I'm back. And that horse kicked my ass.

2007-01-09T17:07:00.000-08:00

You know, I had no idea how hard this treatment was going to be. Ignorance is bliss. And I am so incredibly, blissfully ignorant. I love being ignorant when it comes to all this.

So this may be a long one since this is the first day I could type and have watched everything on tv probably 3 times, and I hardly everrrr watched tv before all this -- I'm feeling rather full of myself just because I got topped off with enough platelets to keep me clotty for the next 3 days.

Latest stats:
today before transfusion @ 17k
after bag one transfusion 29k
after bag two transfusion 79k

For the last 6 months, my life has been a dogtrot on the highway. I thought the worst thing that could happen was when my dad died in July. But actually, he was such a good man, I was left with more peace and laughter than anything else. And I have had the honor to meet so many of my parents' friends, I am overwhelmed daily. It still doesn't mean I don't cry everytime I see something to remind me of him, which is everywhere. But when he died holding my hand, I swear he travelled through me and is still with me today. In the hospital especially, I'd feel like he was peeking out of my face. Mostly reminding me that my mom was with me, and that I promised to look after her. As I was feeling guilty for being sick and helpless the other day, she told me, "I feel guilty. I love to doctor on you. It's all I know." Well, I'll be damned. When I told my dad right before he died that I'd take care of her, I had no idea we'd be looking after each other like this. So Daddy...you knew, but man, thanks for not telling me. Airborne.

Of course, hallucinate with a blood pressure of 210 over 120 two nights in a row until 5am and you start collecting truths -- everything leading up to this since July -- my father dies, my disk finally herniates, I get *restructured* from a company with no structure and a job that was slowly killing me, and a couple of other things along the way that are way petty have now turned to nothing but trivial -- my life has changed 180 degrees, and despite it all, I take it as positive. Plus, this may have been one hell of a way to go about it, but hey, I'm off caffeine these days. Just tell me I can't find a positive note, I dare ya!

Even though I could drink red wine until the cows came home and have always tended to eat healthy, decent foods (stopped eating red meat toward the end here and prefer vegan alternatives), I have to tell you this -- if it'd help me make platelets, I might hit a cow square in the face with a shovel now. I'd feel really bad about it, but I'd just have to get over it.

My new best friends, and you should think about befriending them to, they are Good For You and Yes, I Actually Care:

Low sodium food -- there's a huge variety to choose from that have vastly improved like Lean Cuisine, South Beach, Healthy Choice, Campbell Advance -- you know, if this was the 50s, I'd die from starvation and boredom because all they had back then was celery, buttermilk, cottage cheese and Menthol cigarettes.

Low sodium/No Caffeine drinks like Sprite Zero, Sierra Mist Free, and Diet Rite Raspberry

Complete All-Bran Cereal (choke it down on top of ice cream. Hey. Calcium)

Great Harvest local bakery -- I just can't even begin to describe that place but I will go into later, because you need to know about it.

More new best friends, Rx in nature:
Protonix for that acid reflux which does feel heart attacky

Lassex injectable diurectics (warm dose goes to face, then down to feet, then up to Harry Potter's Platform 9 3/4ths, so grab the ole Mike Watowski for the Porcelain Waltz.)

Hydrocholorthiazide, for high blood pressure and being able to remember such a word makes you an instant, yet boring, dollar-store sesquipedalian at the next office meeting.

Ambien

and the lovely and always noble Prince Valium.

Loritab is nice as well.

Don't Go Ask Alice. Just Ask Me.

Scheduled to stay in the hospital only 4 days, I had to stay 7 days which was a-ok to me, as long as they were monitoring me. To spare you the details but to explain a bit, I went through a treatment of 4 days worth of bagged IV drip chemo meds called ATGam. Along with the bags, I took two doses, 12 hours apart, of Cyclosporin. The two together were like and atomic bomb. And I'm not joking about this, the hospital food was so good, but I think it was a huge factor in my problems. I never in a year eat the foods they serve -- rich foods like biscuits and yeast rolls, fried catfish if you can believe that, and desserts that I have only twice a year. This could explain my anemia, but no. It was almost 3 days into before I saw a piece of wheat bread. At that point, I almost wept.

In retrospect, I'm sure I probably did. The steroids were massive injections, and they made me bawl like a baby. But I got to hold my stuffed tiger baby,"Killer", named after my Auntie Kay. He's almost as good a hugger as she is. Thank you for my roaring antibody Killer, Kay.

Oh, but I have a new best friend/nagging neighbor -- the PICC line in my right arm. It's a permanent fixture in my right arm for as long as my body can stand it. My body better be stronger than me, because I keep having thoughts of "eewwwwwwwwwwww" everytime I look at it. I can't lift my right arm over my head because I spring a leak and freak out. Problem is, they sutured it the second day I had it, and I was beginning to swell to 16 pounds over 2 days. The nurse who sewed it in didn't even give me a stick to bite on when she did it. "You should feel a slight pinch...did that hurt?" You know, any professional I have mentioned that to since gives me The Look, saying she was way rude to suture me without candy. But can I tell you what works for me? Staring at a point very far away in the sky and watching clouds turn inside out. Honestly. Oh, that and my blissful ignorance. Key for me is ignorance.

I nicknamed my IV pole Mike Watowski, since he is of Polish descent. He was my New Year's Eve date. He was a lot better than the first IV pole I had, named Larry. He squeaked like a bad shopping cart, so he had to go.

Besides wetwipes at rib joints, you know what else I will never again take for granted? Peeing without dragging around a pole named Mike Watowski in the bathroom with you. But I tell you, I'm not here to complain, just explain. Every person who took care of me, except for that charge nurse who came in with a syringe of morphine and a threat, was straight from God. There's no way I can tell you how divine those people were -- friends and staff from God. And that is not the Valium talking. It's just a side of good I haven't seen in so long in my industry, my bones longed for it literally and figuratively, I didn't think it still existed. But thank God, it does. I'm in to repay.

Long update, but I'll blame the steroids. Lucky for you, I have a block of "Frasier" to watch before I dose myself up for the nightynight. What's next for me: Bi-weekly tranfusions of platelets until I make my own, which may take up to 3 months to get rebooted in my buttbone. I don't want to know what happens if they don't reboot, so as far as I am concerned, it's not "if" but "when".

This Immune Thrombocytopenic Purpura, how did all this happen? The professional and expert answer is, "It just happens."

2006-12-28T21:50:00.001-08:00

Biting bullet,
and gone to hospital today,
getting punished for the comment
regarding Patrick Swayze's brother's forehead,
taking a drip drug which is
"made from a horse's...
(doctor didn't say but instead
made hand gestures in front of him,
but it looked like
smaller than a breadbox
and irregularly shaped
like a bunch of grapes. You decide.
I'm not googlin' this one.)"

xox ~ bny

Y'like the inspirational scribble?
Told you I was gooby.

2006-12-28T16:45:00.000-08:00

Boy. Benedryl makes me a bitter person.

I reread yesterday's post and detected *some tones* in there. Ah, besides always trying to be funny, it's the Benadryl talkin'. You get a dose before a platelet transfusion to prevent allergic reactions. Who knew, not me, but we both do now. At first, it makes me a really fun person to drive a needle into. But then, I pass out and wake up feeling very Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. I had some of the weirdest dreams, too, involving a vampire bat and a squirrel and a dacquiri bar.

Anyway, it's the Benadryl. Oh, and the fear. I knew this whole ITP thing would eventually piss me right off. When I get scared, I get mad. And that's where I am. Topped off with some angel's platelets, and fightin' mad. It's about time. Another thing that makes me mad is gin. When I drink gin (which is "never" now), I get Ninja Star Throwin' Mad. So, because I like you, if you ever see me drinking gin, slap it out of my hand. And run, dear Lord, run, because I'm a dead-eye with a star.

Anyway, after this last load of laundry I guess I'm ready to go to the hospital tomorrow then.
I shouldn't be back until Tuesday, so I wish you a gin-free happiest New Year you've ever had in your life! So you on the other side.

xox ~ bny

Episode 27: Adrenaline or platelets?

2006-12-27T18:20:00.000-08:00

It surprises others when you express a softer and quieter side of yourself. You may not do this too often, but now with the Moon in your own sign, you have a chance to open your heart. It's likely, however, that you'll also use this time to kick up your adrenaline levels, for you're still more comfortable with excitement than with vulnerability.

So that's what the ole horoscope says today, huh? Well, alright then. Here we go with The Excitement.

This blog's intro: Number one, the "i" in my case of ITP doesn't stand for "idiopathic" anymore but actually "immune-". So it's immune-thrombocytopenia purpura, to be exact.

Purpura was never my color. I always looked better in green, but there you have it.

This "immune-" thing at least tells me one thing: It means instead of "having no freakin' idea" what has caused my low-to-no platelet production, they at least "kinda sorta maybe" know, narrowing it down to an antibody set to "KILL, STUN, KILL" mode. It must be my daddy's Special Forces blood in me.

By the way, I'm not braggin', but the doctor I have is one of the best in the region. So if he doesn't know wtf this is, and neither does the crack team behind him (I'm sorry I said "crack" and "behind" in the same sentence, but it was thrown together to make you giggle.), then that hunch I had a few years back could be right -- I might've had alien spores deposited in my blood as an experiment, and they've now hatched.

If all goes as planned by the aliens, I should be turning into a mutated monster soon that grows to epic proportion, stomps around downtown and ruins all the buildings, while people point up at me and scream, and only the National Guard can shoot me down after I crash through the powerlines that end up pissing me off more than electrocuting me. I knew it, I knew it. I knew I shouldn't have drank all those vodka drinks in the middle of that cow pasture the night we all went looking for crop circles. But we sure did he a good time, didn't we?

Anyway, since I am now officially saddled with a hellbent-for-leather blood disorder for (at the very least) the next 3 months, I've decided to move the ITP updates from my Scribbleville labmonkie blog to this new blog named, appropriately, "itp wtf".

I thought of other names like "itp fyi", but that sounds Too Light'n'Sassy. Thought of "itp OMG!!!", too. Even though it's exactly how I really feel under the surface, it sounded Way Too Urgent Preteen and borderline sacreligious. Apparently, not that I care, being that I started this post off with a tarot reading. Maybe I should've gone with the "omg" route. But really, in the end, as long as no lab bunnies are hurt in the experiment, who really gives an "effy-bomb". Just let me know if the font is too small or too big, I can't tell. On to our regularly scheduled update.. Now that you are caught up, the following is about how long the updates will be. Painless, really.

Today's bloodwork:

I have found there's a fine line between "having a good outlook" and "being stupid." And crossing that line will make you cry, everytime. So I started to wonder, maybe the problem is, am I stupid? I need to know what this ITP thing is caused by so I can plan the rest of my life out, right? For the past month, I've had to wait 3-4 days between bloodwork and think the worst about it all. I'm done with that.

So today, I asked all the "elephant in the room" questions -- can you tell me what this is not? It is not hepatitis C. It's not HIV. They rolled their eyes at me when I mentioned Ebstein-Barr and lupus. From the two, corkscrewed chunks of bone marrow taken from my (I think the correct term for it is) buttbone, it's not leukemia, not lymphoma.

Answer is, I have an Antibody Gone Wild. When I say that, some of you (ok, probably just me) may visualize a buggy-looking creature running around and pulling up her shirt for the camera. I only wish that was the case because I'd have them all suspended and picking up garbage in the common areas at school until prom.

But in my case, I have an antibody that turned itself on in order to eat up a vague, unidentified common virus I encountered, and now won't shut itself off and thinks my platelets are the enemy.

No big deal, I thought, probably just a virus I picked up off the edge my favorite coffee cup at work that someone ate chili out of and housekeeping swirled the ratty, ecoli-riddled dishbrush on it like a magic-germ spreading wand, so now I'll be dead soon. I'm picking out stylish toe-tags, one that's pink with sparkles. This is what happens, when you don't clean up after yourself, officeworkers. No amount of scolding memos will save you, will it? You really need to do you own dishes and not use the sink as a garbage can. And like Terry Tate says (grabbing you by the tie and lifting you to your tiptoes so he can scream in your face), regarding the shared coffee, "If you kill the joe, you make sum mo'!!" And then he tosses you aside onto the break table, which is filled with half-eaten, picked over cheese danishes.

Boy, can you tell I really don't miss working in an office environment?

Anyway, my platelet count was down from my last transfusion 7 days ago. Normal, healthy platelets only last 7-10 days then your body makes more. Last Monday after the transfusion, my counts bounded up to 69k. Today, I was hoping for anything in the 20s. But they came back at 11k which equals platelet transfusion time. The worst part of it is I missed Sylvia Browne's Predictions for 2007 on the Montel show. Damn.

Oh yeah, and I have to go to the hospital for at least 4 days, probably tomorrow or the next day.

I get my own PICC Line, which I wish that was like a party line where I could sit around with pink foam curlers in my hair, as I twirl bubblegum around my index finger and chew it back into the side of my mouth so it won't get stuck in my retainer, while I let my green facemask dry and gab with about 3 other pals, and we'd talk about how cute Matt Dillon is, about how big Angelina Jolie's lips are, and what is up with Patrick Swayze's brother's forehead...

But that's not what a PICC Line is unfortunately, and now that I made that rude comment about Patrick Swayze's brother's forehead, karma is gonna pinch me hard when that PICC Line goes in.

But I've been called a tough cookie by a Special Forces buddy of my dad's, so I feel pretty good about this whole PICC thing, and the ITP thing. Even though both will make you cry when no one's looking.