I called it. I knew this day was coming. I knew from the terrible bruise I gave myself yesterday giving myself my neupogen shot. That needle looks so harmless.
I knew it because the times lined up. I’m 10 days out of my transplant. This is apparently the time when my counts start going haywire. Maybe my immune systems will engage in war sometime, but right now, I just have 17 platalets (155-410 is normal) I like the number 17. That was my number. Sweet 17, but I don’t like that number when it comes to the amount of platalets.
I need a transfusion. Platalet transfusions are relatively quick, but the platelets themselves are guarded more heavily than Fort Knox. It’s liquid gold. There are not enough donors. Demand outpaces supply. No matter how badly I’m bleeding, I am only ordered for one unit of platalets. Then, after they’re received, I’m drawn for another count. This is guarded by the platelet police.
What would alleviate this problem, is if everyone would donate. I know you can donate at the CRC Building at Dana Farber. I wish I knew where you could donate in your proximity so you could leave my blog and go right to donate. NOW. Cancer patients everywhere need them, but I don’t know where to direct you.
In other Hillary news, I think my relationship with my hair is short lived. I think my hair may be going tomorrow. Xander, Jon, and I have plans to shave it.
I considered waiting until I could pull my hair out in clumps and it started making a big old mess every where I went. I can’t do that. I really want to keep control of whatever I can. Shaving my hair is a pre-emptive strike against what would inevitably happen against my will.
People keep telling me that my hair could just “thin.” This irritates me. It will “thin” in the manner that I will have a gigantic bald spot and whisps of hair. Not okay. I’m an all or nothing girl. I think sporadic bald spots look awful. An all bald head is not so bad. I can rock it. I have before.
These are my big plans for the weekend. Xander is off with Heather and Allen right now at Chuck-E-Cheese or some Kidfest in Salem. He tried to leave us last night, but couldn’t do it. He wants me in his sight at all times. I understand the mentality. If he sees me, and stays with me, then I am safe. He decided to leave because he couldn’t stand the idea of spending another full day in the hotel, but he will be back this evening.
He misses snuggling with me and behaving silly. I miss the same things.
Baldies' Blog began originally in the UK by a 26 year old journalist with a blood cancer on a mission to inform the world about bone marrow donation.
He has since died, and I took on the cause of making cancer care more transparent for everybody.
Cancer is a disease that will touch everybody through diagnosis or affiliation: 1 in 2 men will be diagnosed and 1 in 3 woman will hear those words, "You Have Cancer."
I invite you to read how I feel along my journey and
how I am continuing to live a full life alongside my Hodgkin's lymphoma, with me controlling my cancer, not my cancer controlling me.
I hope that "Baldies' Blog" will prepare you to handle whatever life sends you, but especially if it's the message, "You Have Cancer."