moving through the dark places

The Atlanta oncologist I met the day before yesterday is a nice man. Exhale. He is not the expert in MDS-AML I really need in that corner of the ring, if I dare tempt the fates with such an analogy, but he is a more than adequate 'place holder'. He gave me names of specialists who do bone marrow transplants, and described the atmosphere in the three local hospitals where those are performed. Considering that I would not have that done today even if you put a gun to my head, I now find it interesting that I keep that card in a back pocket. (It's a clichés-R-us day). I can see him once a month for blood draws and I now have someone to phone if I'm feeling poorly. Ahhhhh!

Aside from the build-up of my anxiety which slithered in weed-like between prayers and breaths, my WBC and neutrophils could be heartier. Ok, so they suck; I'm trying to be nice to what few I have. I did squeeze a good 24-hours of distress out of those numbers: 1.2 WBC and .3 ANC. (If you're a doctor and you're reading this, no, you may not phone me, thank you very much!). The reds are rockin', however - near normal RBC and platelets at 83!

I am praying for and researching a holy healing for my underlying MDS (myelodysplasia). That's the one where my counts stay low and sometimes whisper out to the naughty tendency to turn into active leukemia. When I told Dr. H. that my last bone marrow biopsy in late April showed 6% or less of blasts, he smiled widely; "That's good!" By the time my friend Susan & I left, we were both spent. I didn't even ask to stop at a Starbucks for a decaf vanilla latté as I'd threatened.

On to Church and my worship of the Risen Lord, my Friend throughout all.