By Julie Devaney
“When she called me last night with the blood results she had a grave tone of voice. I was approaching my best friend’s house on a country road a couple hours northwest of Toronto. Even though I was expecting the call, the whole getting-medical-results-on-speakerphone thing was slightly creepy,
“Hi Julie, how are you feeling?”
They only ask this when something’s up. But I’m seriously bored with medical drama so I didn’t bite,
“Great! How are you?”
“Um, I’m fine. But your results aren’t good.”
“Ok, so what’s my hemoglobin?”
She gave me the number and asked, “”Can you come in tomorrow?” adding, “You really should’ve come in a lot sooner.”
Blah blah BLAH. Definitely not the news I wanted.
Now it’s tomorrow and I’m sitting here with my IV. It’s both concerning and not, at the same time. And I can’t decide whether I feel more vindicated or irritated.
2004 I had my third and final bowel surgery, and by 2005 I needed regular blood transfusions because for some reason my body just gave up all responsibility for storing and producing iron. Many many many tests and specialists later, with heavy speculation about other autoimmune disorders and possible cancers nobody ever figured out why.
As the nurse who [...] continue the story