Zee Blood

I feel I should write about the guy on the L who told me he slept through 9-11 (at his desk, and had to be evacuated by the Illinois secretary of state); and the guy who was offered the job as the head of No Child Left Behind, and refused it, but not before pilfering 100 pages of Cheney's stationery to amuse himself with; and my realization that no one sells bedspreads anymore, just duvets and coverlets and dust ruffles--but what moves me to write is my blood. Which does not move as quickly as it should. It is sluggish. In yoga yesterday after doing a complicated bend up to the side and put your arm through your leg to meet your hand on the other side, we rested. And when I rested I felt that my skin was on fire and had a severe hot flash and I got scared and I felt like crying. I don't know if it was because of the pain or because of the fear. I never know that. I think it was at first because of the pain. I couldn't stay lying down )even as I write that I don't know exactly what I mean, but I know I couldn't) so I sat up and drooped my head and tried to breathe, which was somewhat uncomfortable because my asthma and allergies were acting up. L was supposed to meet me after class and I sat outside on a step waiting, with my head bent over. I called him and he had gone half a mile north by mistake, but I felt I couldn't get up and meet him. I had to keep sitting. Some friends from the class offered to give me a ride, which was very nice. Finally L showed up and we talked then walked to Tac Quick for dinner. I felt somewhat lightheaded and began to feel better.

I had had a big hot flash last week in yoga, but I thought it was bad because I hadn't brought water. This time I had plenty of water during and after class. I emailed my hematologist and called her today and she said she didn't think it was my blood disease, because my blood showed it had thinned out last time it was checked. Today my head feels filled with blood, the way it does after you bend over, and my ears are red. She said I could come in and get my red blood count checked if I didn't feel better. The thing is, the possibility of getting hit by this again feels dangerous, but I asked her, and she said it wasn't. I'm used to, by now, sweating at the drop of a hat, sweating when I do the least bit of exercise, and I don't want my fear to keep me from exercising. Today I've been all teary because I'm afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid of the dizzy and light-headed and on-fire feeling. Afraid of feeling the nest-of-mettles again (O please don't throw me in the briar patch! I mean it!) Afraid of death. Because it seems a precurser to dying. To Death. It felt like death cooled over. A prelude. My father died of an aneurysm that burst while he was shopping for clothes. He had a terrible headache that morning. I don't have a terrible headache. My doctor has told me what a blood clot might feel like. I don't feel that. I'm feeling all the things that everyone expected me to feel when I was diagnosed with breast cancer, but didn't feel. (Just typed "blood cancer" by mistake. Hmm.) I'm feeling, Why me? Why this stupid extra blood-making? And of course it blends into my lifelong asthma, caused in part by exertion. To have something wrong with your blood is to have something wrong with your most vital and essential body-self.

I called the Bouncy Shrink and left a message to see if I could get on Black Cohosh again. It interferes with something else I'm taking, but I'm hoping she can taper me off that and substitute something else.

Blut und Boden

So. I've got a new disease. Or condition. It's rare, only five people per million are diagnosed with it annually. I think "people" might mean Americans, or rather, US residents--because "Americans" includes people from the Arctic Archipelago to Tierra del Fuego. But I'm dancing around the point. Attentive readers of this blog will recall that I have too many platelets in my blood (AKA essential thrombocythemia). I've found out I also have too many red blood cells. The official term is polycythemia vera . I have the non-hereditary gene mutation, JAK2, which is found in 95 percent of the people who have this. My hematologist (you know you're in trouble when you have a hematologist) told me yesterday I probably had it, and she looked at my blood results today and confirmed it. I make too many things, I said to the hematologist yesterday--starting with cancer, which is the production of too many cells in an uncontrolled way. She said, Yes, you make too many things. The first-line treatment for this, she told me, comes from the 13th century. Leeches? I asked, because I'd seen an article in the New Yorker about their use but hadn't read the piece yet. Not leeches, she said, but you get a phlebotomy. You go to LifeSource and get a pint taken out. You can't donate this pint because it's filled with too-thick blood. Where does it go? I asked. Probably into a biohazard bag and then to a landfill, she said. I thought of my blood seeping into the earth. Blut und Boden.

It seems a shame to waste this blood. To spill it. If Venus flytraps snap up hamburger meat, couldn't they sup on some blood? Could blood be used as plant food? (Alas, I am finding through the 'net that flytraps feed on bugs, not hamburger meat.) Believe it or not, someone else has thought to ask about feeding blood to the flytraps. Unfortunately, you can't tell if the answers have merit.

So the plan is to give a pint on Tuesday (the first time I could get an appointment) and then two weeks later, then go to Fancy Hospital to get my blood tested, talk to the doctor, and probably have two more sessions two weeks apart. From there I would probably get my "prophylactic phlebotomy" every one, two or three months.

I need to rid myself of this thick blood because otherwise it maybe maybe maybe could cause blood clots, stroke, heart attack. I am a funny person to have this disease because it most often strikes men over 60. I have learned what the signs of a blood clot are and that you can get an ultrasound to show if you have one. If this "venesection," as the Brits call it, doesn't work, then there's Plan B, which involves chemotherapy. Mild. In the form of a pill called hydroxyurea.

There are other funny (strange, not ha-ha) things. My hematologist asked if I had itching. I said, mostly after taking a shower, and she said that's a symptom. It's funny because it's a phenomenon I had noticed but I hadn't thought it meant anything. I also had noticed that my gums were bleeding after flossing, and that's a symptom, too. I also have hot flashes, which is not news to attentive blog readers or anyone who has been in a room with me lately. While flashing, my face and ears turn red. The doctor said that the phlebotomy might help with the redness and sweating. So that's good news. (I keep thinking "lobotomy" and have to remind myself that one is brain and one is blood. No ice picks for Cancer Bitch.)

In case you want a leech of your own, click here. Note that leeches are non-returnable.