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And Now For The Good News!

I didn't ask you how you wanted your good news, so I guess you just have to take it how it comes. . . and here it comes!


I don't have IT!

I'm sure this is a relief to all of you. Oh, no, wait, you didn't know the doctors were even considering that I might have "it".

It all started about 2 years ago. I had a regular blood test and it came back as anemic. No biggie, been there, done that. But is was sufficiently low that my doctor wanted me to see a specialist -- a hemotologist (and, oh, by the way, oncologist). I saw her. She said, hmmmmmm. Your white cell count is low too, let me do more tests, . . . and more tests. Oh, you have monoclonal protein, hmmmmmmmm . . . Let's do a bone marrow biopsy. Okay seem me in another 6 months. . . . And again in another six months. hmmmmmmmmm. Your platlets are also low. Let's do another bome marrow biopsy. hmmmmmmm You don't really have enough cells in your bone marrow, I want you to see a specialist at the Cleveland Clinic.

I saw him a month ago. I brought him my slides of my bone marrow and he took 10 vials of blood (actually, the phlebotomist did) and made another appointment for this last week.

And he said, "You seem to be okay!" I had been dealing with this sword of Damacles by whistling in the graveyard, so it was hard to get excited about being rescued from a danger I was so busy ignoring, but those were sweet words. I'm not exactly sure what 'It' was, but he did say, "We ruled out some pretty nasty things. Oh, and I want to see you in another three months."


I guess I don't have to clean the attic after all. At least, not for another three months.

Comments

That's really good news. I didn't realize that it'd been going on this long.

This is really good news. I'm glad you're not ill, Maman.

Is that why you asked about how we want to hear bad news?

Well, sort of. I mean, I just didn't know how to raise the issue without sounding like "look at me, focus on me, you ignore me, here is a ploy to make you feel guilty." Even if and when asked 'how are you?', my response is always 'fine', even if I'm not. I just can't quite figure out how to talk about it, so I think I have decided that if the time comes, I will just leave it to Daddy to tell you. But then, that means that I have to tell him first. . . Good thing there is nothing to tell.

Somehow, I have no problem telling you all anything about Gramma and Grampa. Don't worry, I will call. But about myself? That is a different story.

AH! That drives me nuts! When I ask you how you are, I sincerely want to know, and FINE will NEVER suffice. I cannot be emphatic enough (and, luckily, this is for a good thing: I care about you and what you're feeling).

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