1st Phlebotomy

Its not like I was actually looking forward to it or anything, but yesterday's phlebotomy treatment could have, well, gone better.

 

Let me start by saying I know how lucky I am. There are others going through a hell of a lot worse than I am, so I really do not have much place complaining. I am mainly relating this from a more humorous level if anything.

 

The day started with a sense of foreboding, coming as it did in conjunction with "Stormpocalypse 2014". Amy ditched out on joining me (to be fair, she was dealing with a nasty cold/cough and neither of us felt it was a great idea to have her in the presence of people with already compromised immune systems, getting their chemotherapy, etc.). So I drove myself from Tracy to Modesto. Wind and rain dissipated a bit as a neared my destination, which was good (I hate driving in inclement weather...). Checked in and took a seat with my Kindle, waiting my turn. I have to say that it was a sobering 1st view, if only because I had never experienced it previously, seeing where those getting their meds, etc., basically all hang together. My boss - herself a cancer survivor - had given me details, but nothing really prepares you. Any anxiousness or fear I may have felt at this stage was actually dispelled knowing these people were so much braver, so much stronger, and dealing with so much more than I am.

 

For my condition, the treatment is currently scheduled to be weekly blood draws, about a unit each time. Several days in advance of each draw, I have to also give blood for lab work to track/monitor my ferritin (and other) levels. Good thing I am pretty ok with needles, right?

 

Assigned a seat, get comfortable, warm blanket wrapped around my arm to get things flowing. Clean the spot, insert needle. Pretty much ok at this point. Tube inserted, bag set-up, blood flowing, however slowly, as I pump the ball she gives me to squeeze to keep the blood itself pumping. Wave of nausea hits me so hard I actually break out in a total body sweat. Not even during deep-sea fishing trips have I experienced this type of nausea. I think, "Great. I have this damn tube in my arm, blood is leaving my body, and I have to ralph. This is not gonna be pretty by any degree..." I sit back, close my eyes, focus on the cool air coming down from the overhead vent and the wave begins to dissipate. Now, keep in mind that I am not generally a squeamish person when it comes to blood; it has never really bothered me. Maybe it comes from hunting and fishing in my youth, maybe I am just a sick bastard, but the sight of it - whether it is someone else's or my own - doesn't affect me as it might others. The only thing I can imagine is that I simply did not eat or drink enough before arriving. I thought I had, but I obviously didn't. Check that off on good things to note for next time.

 

And this is where, I fully admit, to feeling some shame, remembering where I am, what others around me have been and are going through. There is an older gentleman in my little "area", the 2nd chair, lounged out, watching TV, obviously getting fluids, chemo, something...but definitely going through far more than I am. I saw a woman who did not appear to be much older than myself, getting her chemo, as well as a number of other women, older, doing the same, knowing their routine, knowing the nurses, fairly casual, fairly relaxed. I do not feel pity for them; I feel admiration. And I also feel like a wuss. I am only having a unit of blood removed per week, for now. Suck it up, buttercup.

 

I relax and drink my apple juice. At some point, my nurse comes over and comments how the blood has stopped moving. Not slowed, but stopped. I look at the mainline and, sure enough, despite my still squeezing that little ball, no blood. With that, my nurse starts to move the needle around in my arm. What the fuck did I ever do to you? Let me tell ya something, Nurse Mengele, that does not feel too good. Needle is definitely in the vein, so let's swap out the mainline. Nope, still not going. Looks like the vein collapsed. As it turns out, I was able to fill 90% of the bag; they can either a) poke me again to see if we can get more or b) I can come back next week. Yeah...next week is good.

 

Wrapped up, scheduled next treatment...and walked out into a deluge of Biblical proportions outside. Drive back to Tracy basically underwater. That was fun.

 

Overall, not really too bad. Just something that will take some getting used to as it is going to be the norm for the next few years, at least. Again, I honestly cannot and shouldn't complain. Its all manageable.