What I'm reading Wednesday...

Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand

This is the biography of Louis Zamperini, an Italian American, an Olympic athlete, an officer in the Army Air Corps during WWII.  I'm about a quarter of the way in, and his plane just went down in shark-infested water.

I'm not usually into war stories, but I'm reading this one for two reasons.  

One:  I loved the author's previous book, Seabiscuit.  She has a way of bringing an amazing amount of research into a gripping story instead of just a list of events.

and

Two:  though my father served in the Pacific Theater of WWII, I know very little about it, so I'm reading this now in honor of my dad's upcoming birthday.  I can almost imagine that I might see his face in the background of a photo.  I can't believe he has been gone for over twenty years.  Sunday would be his 103rd birthday.  (Why yes, I was born to my parents rather late...maybe not by today's standard, but certainly by THAT day's standard.  Don't get me started on my whole 'old egg' rant.)

Supercalifragilistic...

...hemochromatosis.

If you have it and ignore, you might just get cirrhosis.

If I hear it oft enough, I know I'll have neurosis.

Supercalifragilistic hemochromatosis!

 

The latest chapter in my Old Egg saga.  I won't bore you with the details...if I haven't already.  I just want to ask for prayers and positive thoughts on Wednesday, when I will be having minor surgery.  The phlebotomy treatment for the hemochromatosis is not working out so well, so I'm having a portacath implanted so that it can be used for removing blood rather than constantly fighting to find a vein.

 

And since I had to stop my blood thinners (taken for yet another Old Egg malady) leading up to the surgery, I get to inject myself in the stomach twice a day instead till it's all over!  Yippee! 

 

photo credit: ActuSoins

 

I had to do quite the internet image search to find a photo of an attractive abdomen being injected.  Most of the photos I found looked much more like mine...doughy and flabby!  I just couldn't subject you all to that.  :)

 

Just call me a turnip...

photo credit: http://www.bestinseason.ie/a-z/turnips/

 

You know the old saying, "You can't get blood out of a turnip"?  Well just call me a turnip.

 

Today I had my first treatment for my new malady.  Treatment is to draw blood a pint at a time...sadly it can't be donated due to the medications I'm on...what a waste.  My hematologist happens to practice in a cancer center.  So when I went for the phlebotomy, I was in a room full of people getting their chemo.

 

Here I am a fairly healthy person, surrounded by people who are fighting a battle for their life.  I had a tremendous amount of guilt just sitting their looking healthy.

 

Beside me sat a man who also looked fairly healthy (despite a broken leg).  He was getting a pint of blood drawn also.  We were seated within seconds of each other.  The technicians began their work on us simultaneously.  A few minutes later they were still searching for a vein in my arm that worked, and he was done and drinking his juice.  I said, 'You're done so quick?'  And he said, 'Yeah, but I have to do this for 52 more weeks.'  I very quietly, so only the nurse could here me, said, 'I have to do this for the next twenty years.'  The nurse repeated it to him.

 

I didn't mean to get into a pissing contest.  Nonetheless, I think he felt bad.  I felt really sorry about that.  Funny thing...he sounded exactly like my husband's brother...voice...accent...the whole package.  And so in an effort to kind of breach the uncomfortable moment, I tell him.  'You sound just like my brother-in-law.  It's kind of comforting.'  So he sat there to keep me company long after he needed to.  He eventually thought they might need the chair, so he came and stood by me, and as the second technician was trying yet another vein he put his hand on my shoulder.  And though he didn't say anything, I felt that he was praying for me...that's what my brother-in-law would be doing if he were there. 

 

He eventually took his leave.  It took a full hour and three nurses/technicians to get a pint of blood out of me.  The nurses had to sit beside me on a low stool and hold the needle in my hand with the blood bag beside them on a scale on the floor...making certain that they still had the blood flowing out ever so slowly.  They kept having to tag team as one had her back start aching, and the next had her legs start cramping.  When the bag was finally full...well, full enough-ish...everybody on my side of the room breathed a big sigh of relief, and some smiled and woo-hooed.  I've been giving thanks for them and praying for their healing all day.

 

I go back in two weeks.  I wonder who dreads it more...me...or the staff?