Dr Comfort

It is a strange thing having someone else’s blood running through your veins. It’s like a blind date. I didn’t know the person whose blood was about to enter my body. Male or female, young or old, I was about to be connected on a very intimate level to someone I would never meet. Did they look after themselves? What made them donate blood? I wondered if my veins would make a good impression. Or would the blood recognize it was in a foreign land and refuse to perform? I asked the nurse how long the donor’s blood would last in my body. A day? A week? Was some blood more fortified than others like getting premium petrol? She said it was completely individual. That’s the medical equivalent of: “I have no idea. Stop asking stupid questions.” My blind date was a success. My hemoglobin rose and the lightheadedness vanished. Thank you to my donor. Charlotte told me that my transfusion had prompted her to give blood. I was glad. Everybody should.

                On February 16^th I woke early and proceeded with my daily routine of taking and recording my observations. I wrote: temperature: 36.1, weight: 60.5kg, blood pressure: 116/78. I had breakfast and then my medication which I also recorded every day: Ten cyclophosphamide, ten dexamethasone, two allopurinol, one aciclovir, one metaclopromide. Then I busied myself doing three loads of laundry and having a shower- anything to take my mind off the doctor’s visit. I got to the hospital at 11.15am and I did not see Alex so I texted him to meet me at the hematology reception. When I got there he was already there and said: “I have checked you in”. It annoyed me a little. My disease had taken authority from me and the little things I had under my control, even as trivial as checking myself in, had become increasingly important. But I didn’t want to start an argument so I just nodded and smiled. After dreading the appointment all week, my diary notes post-hospital were in capital letters: ALL GOOD NEWS. My hemoglobin had risen to 113.  That meant for at least five days the donor blood had been keeping my hemoglobin at a normal level. The doctor showed me charts of my plasma cells and immunoglobin and other things I didn’t really understand. But I could see that the line for these things was very high to start with and had dropped right to the bottom of the chart. He told me it was really good news. At that point and from thence forward I dubbed him Dr Comfort.