A week and a half ago I had a headache.

Three days after that I felt like I had the flu.

Three days after that, I was in the ER getting IV fluids for dehydration. They sent me home without checking anything.

5 days after that, I was back in my doctors office because the flu wasn’t getting better. He did blood work and sent it out to the labs. That evening I got a rare bloody nose.

The next day he called and told me to get to to hospital ASAP.

My platelet count was 11000, while it’s supposed to be 150,000 at least. This explains the bloody nose and weird bruises I saw yesterday.

I got to the hospital and the first thing they did was install a PICC line. I have hard-to-find veins, so the elected to do this procedure on me even at the risk of me bleeding severely because they were going to have to take a lot of blood (they did).

PICC lines are an IV catheter that are inserted into a major vein and ran up to your heart. It allows simultaneous drug delivery and blood draws from 3 ports. It’s high bandwidth, which makes IVs go quick. They’re also a fairly major procedure to put in. Two nurses, an ultrasound machine, a big magnet, and lots of lidocaine are involved. For a person with uncontrollable needle panic this was horrifying.

The first attempt didn’t work. They jabbed with this large telephone pole of a catheter needle but couldn’t nail the vein. They let me rest and recoup, and then scanned my other arm. They both agreed that they should’ve tried this one first. After a much better procedure my line was installed.

Due to my non-clotting problems, the site of the port bled most of yesterday. In addition, every time they remove bandaging tape from my skin I get a lot of little purple bruises. I’m also covered in tiny little red pinpoint dots called petechial hemmorages. They remind me of the red sprinkles on strawberry Pop-Tarts, but far, far more delicious.

Doctors don’t usually expect to see a platelet count of 11000 walk into their office, so after what I imagine was a round of shotgunned “OMG YOU GUYS” calls to his doctor buddies, my doctor came up to visit. He made fun of me for having had a failed PICC attempt and we chatted about classic cars for a bit.

He was having hemotologist/oncologist as well as infectious diseases doctors handle my case. I was dissappointed that none of them looked or acted like House, but my hematologist is a very nice woman who knows blood.

They explained that the first thing they needed to do was take blood for tests. Lots of blood. They wheeled in a syringe the size of a Gatorade cooler with graduated markings on the side for me to bleed into. That afternoon they scheduled a full upper-body CT scan to check things out.

Later in the evening, results started coming back in from the tests. It wasn’t Lupus, they said. I thought it was funny.  Either they watch a lot of House, or House is the most accurate medical drama ever.

More good news in the morning. The CT scans and blood work showed it wasn’t cancer.  Now, this is about the time that Waylon Jennings would break in to the Dukes of Hazzard with a voiceover plotpoint narrative. In my head, he’s saying that this is the time that I realized how serious of a situation I was in.

Yesterday, I realized how fucked up the situation was - I mean, I was sick with what I thought was the flu a week ago and now I’m getting wheeled to radiology full of barium milkshake (which does not bring ANYTHING REMOTELY FUN to the yard), but I didn’t have time to worry about how SERIOUS things were.  Today, hearing words like “cancer,” “hepatitis,” “insanely expensive,” and “fantastic penis” really drove home what kind of situation I was in.

This morning was the bone marrow biopsy - to figure out if the problem is no platelets, or platelets being destroyed, they need to check the platelet factory - my delicious, savory marrow.

To do this, they shove a giant needle into your hip, bore out some bone, suck out some marrow, and then plug you up.  Before my procedure, they were nice enough to sedate me with lorazepam which if you’re lucky enough to have it injected directly to your heart is AWESOME. High as a kite. Fast. The also called in a pre-emptive strike of morphine, which caused my mind to work non-stop imagining the ways in which this procedure will hurt me.

They wheeled me down to the operating room, and the doctor came out to explain the procedure. He told me he would be sedating me, which I thought was the most awesome thing I’d ever heard. He then let me know a secret, he called it: The sedation won’t do anything for the pain.

FUCK.

They wheel me in, and at this point I’m considering writing an endorsement for Ativan - I was not flipping out in the least bit, when I had every right to be. They rolled me into position, gave me a sedative - which I thought would be twilight sleep, where you don’t remember anything but you’re still awake - this business was just “make you a little more drowsy than you already are” business - and then slipped me a shot of lidocaine.

I felt the biopsy needle pressure, then bone scraping sensations, then unpleasant sensations that can only be described as life-giving jelly being sucked from my hipbones. After that it was a slap on the ass and a band-aid, and I was outtie.

I ran into the doctor on the way back to the room.  He asked how I was feeling.

“Fine,” I say. “My ass hurts, though.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that’s because that’s my footprint on it!”

I decide I like him.

Today I’ve had more blood tests, and am on round two of immune globulin IV treatment, used to help build up platelets without resorting to a full transfusion. Tomorrow I hope to find out that my body is in fact producing platelets and that some stupid-ass kid-virus is just slamming them down too fast.

I’m pretty tired, I am not allowed to shave, so I look like crap, and I hurt.  But I have a wonderful group of friends to lean on, who can worry for me, and provide strength. I’m writing this next to my bed, sweating like a guy named The Situation at the free clinic, and waiting for Psych to start.

Thanks to everyone who sent well-wishes and kind words.  I didn’t realize how strong they would make me, or how strong I needed them to make me.

Thank you.