Phlebotomy from hell
I don’t really blog enough about personal stuff here. So I figured I’d update people on my health and flex my narrative nonfic muscles.
I am generally in good health. I should exercise more, but I’m healthy; my depression has been regulated quite well with medication with no horrible side effects, I don’t have a problem with weight, and there are no real issues I’m aware of. In fact, I’m hoping to lose a couple of pounds (shut up – I’ve gained a little since finally losing all the baby weight two years ago I don’t want to have to buy new clothes again).
Red Blood Cell by Andrew Mason
As I’ve said before, I have hereditary hemochromatosis. (WordPress wants that word to be “monochromatic.” Just thought you should know.) Essentially my body doesn’t digest iron right, so it gets stored in my organs. This causes problems later in life, depending on how much iron is stored. Problems like liver failure, cancer, and heart disease, for instance. It’s terminal; eventually all that iron will kill you in some way or another. But it’s not really that scary, cause a) they caught it early in me (my mother has it, as it’s hereditary) and b) it’s treatable. They treat it with good old fashioned bloodletting. I’ve been treated for this condition for 11 or so years, I think. I’ve had good times of low iron when I need treatment every six months and times where they have to take a three pints over two months (for instance, Jan 2, Feb 2 and March 2). The phlebotomies always wear me out, usually putting me on the couch for the rest of the day.
In fact, this “couple of extra pounds” weight thing is what made last Thursday so puzzling. A little while ago, I dropped down to 114 pounds. I even went to see the doc, as I wasn’t doing anything to encourage this weight loss. He said as long as I maintained the weight and didn’t have any other symptoms, I should be fine. My health wasn’t bad. I felt great. I even had phlebotomies with no trouble. But now I’m at 127 pounds and last Thursday I had the phlebotomy from hell.
It had been a while since my last bleeding. I’m thinking maybe three months, but it could have been six. I lose track of these things. Usually I take someone with me just in case I am too tired afterward, but the last time I went, I risked it, and I was fine. So I pushed it again this time. See, I know the condition is real and this is a necessary treatment, but since people give blood* all the time and continue to go on with their days, I feel weird asking someone to drive me.
The nurse was pleasant and the treatment was as pain-free as she could have made it. Now, I never know how long it takes me to bleed. That time period just doesn’t log itself in my mind. Is 30 min okay and 20 min too fast? I don’t know. I did wonder if it was too fast, but I didn’t start to feel anything till she was nearly done. Near the end, I felt woozy and put my feet up.
It was this odd moment, with a needle in my arm and my blood pumping into a bag, that my daughter’s school called to tell me she was sick. It was close to 3:00pm, she was supposed to stay after school for a program, but I said just put her on the bus. I figured I could make it home by 4:30 to meet her.
Once the phlebotomy was done, I started to feel really bad. I broke out in sweats, got nauseated, and lost all energy. The chair did full recline with feet elevation, so we did that for a while. The nurse brought me ginger ale. Maybe 15 min passed, then I felt the oh-so-convenient need to pee. I asked the nurse if I could stumble toward the bathroom and she said sure. She walked me there, and aside from an initial headrush, I felt fine, if very tired. I went in alone and did my bidness. While on the toilet, I realized sitting back down was not keeping the wooziness from coming back full force, and I started breaking out in sweats again.
It was pure societal shame that got me off that toilet, to the sink to wash my hands, and got that toilet flushed. There was a “help” pull cord at the toilet but I was not going to be the woman who had to pull the goddamn toilet help cord for getting a pint of blood taken. The river started to rush in my ears and I started to get those blooming black flowers in my vision. Even though I was standing and properly put back together again, I still didn’t want my face to meet that bathroom floor. I slowly made my way to the door, out the door, and to a chair by the bathroom. I sat down, thrilled at my triumph (by “thrilled” I mean “white faced and losing hearing due to the blood rushing in my ears”). I could faint now! I was not in a bathroom! I could wait for help to come, and it did!
A nurse walked by, put her hand on my arm, and said, “Are you all right?”
“Oh, no,” I said, shaking my head and focusing on a particularly interesting air molecule.
I’m sure the poor woman didn’t know what was wrong with me or why I was there, as I get treatment at a cancer center. It used to be “hematology and oncology” and it’s where my hematologist works, but now it’s just called Cancer Center. This nurse; I’ll call her “Savior,” found my nurse and together they got me back to my pretty recliner. Oh so pretty.
“Maybe we should take your blood pressure,” she said. Huh. Maybe. She did and it registered 70/40. Well. That wasn’t good. I received another can of ginger ale.
Well at this point I realized I was not going to be able to drive myself home. I was communicating with Jim via chat on my phone and he very sweetly offered to come and get me, but, again, how lame is it for him to have to say, “I have to leave work to get my wife because she had a pint of blood drawn?” Nope. He was going to be one of the last people I was going to ask for help. I figured I’d start with people I knew were home during the day. Hey! My mom lives relatively close! I’ll call her.
Whoops. Apparently I scared her to death. She has had her share of bad bloodlettings and demanded to know why I had gone there alone, why the nurse wasn’t giving me fluids at this point, etc. She was right, of course, they shouldn’t have let me just lie there like a dried out husk, but this had never happened to me before, so I had no idea. Also, her … strong encouragements to demand that they give me fluids were not really working considering at this point my mental capacity was congratulating itself on being able to figure out how to call her and not much else.
My nurse got off shift while I was on the phone. “You drink that ginger ale or we’re going to have to give you fluids!” she said before she left. She said it like threatening a kid. “You eat all your veggies or you’re going to get a spanking!” I blinked at her. I’m not four, and fluids are not a punishment. Course, it took approximately six minutes for this thought to work its way past my lips, and by then she was gone. The nurse assigned to me didn’t really pay much attention to me, so I lay there for another ten to twenty minuts. I wasn’t really sure about the passage of time at this point.
My stepdad came in; Mom had called him to come and get me. So instead of getting my husband out of work, I got my stepdad out of work. Great.
The new nurse came by and checked my blood pressure again, and at this point my stepdad started asking questions about why I wasn’t getting fluids. She said they just don’t do that, they wait to see if the patient is recovering over some time, then they ask the doc. She took my blood pressure again, frowned, and said, “I’ll go ask the doctor.”
So I got my phlebotomy at 2:00. By 3:00 I was in bad shape. By 4:00 I was told I’d be there around another hour. I sighed and told Jim he had to leave work early anyway to go get our sick kiddo at the bus stop. The nurse with the fluids came. I got stuck again. I learned at this point that saline is not kept in a happy 98.6 degree F warmer, and so got rather chilled during this. But hey, my head stopped swimming! I felt better! When we were done, I stood up and my blood pressure was 120/90 – much closer to my norm. My wonderful stepdad drove me home, and I fell into bed around 5:30.
Poor Jim. Our kiddo was miserable with what we’d find out on Friday was an ear infection, and his wife, while no longer about to faint, was still in bad shape. Dad was in town so he went out and bought us Chinese for dinner while Jim had to go to the school for a mandatory meeting regarding a program the Pink Tornado is going into. Dad helped put the kiddo to bed. It was a busy night for them; I just wandered around like a zombie.
This weekend I was kind of down with low energy. Took a nap each day, which helped. Interestingly enough, even though I had low energy, I still managed to gt a ton of stuff done that had been weighing on me (check the feed this past weekend – and Tor.com this week – to see what I mean). I don’t know if my low energy this weekend was remnants from Thursday, but it sucked anyway.
Mom wanted to know if I was leaving the cancer centers for another that will take better care of me. I said I’d give them another chance; I’ll tell them what happened this time, and if they don’t take the necessary measures next time, I’m walking. I love my hematologist, but I see her maybe once every six months- and often I see her assistant instead. I see the nurses much more often. And if they can’t take care of me, then why the hell am I there?
So if you’re still reading, that was my Thursday. I was touched by my husband’s, mom’s, stepdad’s, and Dad’s understanding and helping with the situation, and the friends who offered the following day to help me retrieve my car from Raleigh. I know I shouldn’t be amazed that people would help me out when I need it, but still, some part of me is going, “Sheesh, it was just a pint of blood, what’s WRONG with you?”
But I guess a blood pressure of 70/40 was wrong with me. Oh well. I’ll take it seriously next time.
* I know it’s going to come up in the comments of whether I can donate this iron-rich blood I’m pouring down the drain. And trust me – I have tried. Many, many times. My red blood cell levels are never what the donation people want them to be, or my weight is too low, or some places don’t want to do treatment phlebotomies (dunno why, maybe it’s not altruistic enough), and after this episode I definitely want to be around nurses and doctors. There’s nothing wrong with my blood, but I can’t donate it. Sorry.
Category: Personal
Mur, never let it be said you’re not a brave woman. Not only do you get bled on a regular basis, but you’ve got the ovaries to post your actual age AND weight on the Internet. Wow!
I know how you feel about it being “just a pint of blood.” I have a minor heart condition that, essentially, just causes low blood pressure. But it means I can’t give blood, because losing even just one pint could put me in a condition… well, much like the one you unfortunately had to experience. It really makes me feel lousy sometimes, feeling like everyone else can handle it, so I should be able to too.
But, y’know, “should” is a dangerous word. I have to remember that I can’t do some things that everyone else can, but I can do other things that very few other people can, too. I’m me, you’re you, and everyone else is everyone else. Don’t get down because you can’t do what other people can; celebrate what you can do.
Anyway, thanks for sharing! I know it was a crappy day, but at least it turned into an interesting and thought-provoking read.
– Jason
Thanks for the perspective, Jason, I really appreciate it. You’re totally right. And as I said, I’ve learned my lesson. No more going to these things alone.
And the weight is no big deal- the only thing is I get irritated when people make fun of me or call me anorexic. It’s bad to make fun of overweight people, but thin or underweight people are fair game. I’m small. It’s okay; people underestimate me.
Please add me as a member of the ‘Take a friend when visiting the phlebotomist’ list, if such a thing exists.
Aww, thanks Joe, I will take you up on that.
Hi Mur,
I know the feeling. I’m also very small (I don’t think I’ve ever weighed more than 100), and I’ve gotten the “anorexic” comments before, even though anyone who’s seen me eat should know better. I certainly can’t give blood either.
One time I was having a blood test done because my mom suspected that I was anemic (I wasn’t), and just the teeny test tube of blood they took was enough to make me feel woozy. Another time I cut my ankle shaving in the shower, didn’t realize how much it was bleeding, and actually blacked out for a second. So I can relate.
It’s definitely interesting to think about what we consider the norms, and how we can be ashamed to admit that we don’t measure up to them – we’re embarrassed about a percieved weakness even when others aren’t judging us poorly because of it.
Thanks for the post.
Jason nailed it, Mur. Don’t “should” all over yourself. Just do what you can do. It can be difficult for those of us who take care of others (your daughter in your case, my aging mother-in-law in mine) to let other people take care of us, even when we really need it. But we have to let the love flow both ways. It’s good for us.
I shall keep you and your family in my thoughts, meditations and prayers.
Peace out,
Dharma
That sounds like a scary time…glad you’re alright.
Getting blood drawn is something I’ll never get used to, even though I get it every three months, due to being on a drug trial (for a new MS therapy). I have to look away, not because of the blood per se; I just don’t like seeing my arm with a bit of metal stuck in it. The nurse used to tell me “you have good veins” … well, thanks to her ministrations, they aren’t that good any more. 8(
You know what spare blood is good for, if it can’t be donated? Sausage! It’s the main ingredient in Black Pudding in the UK, and other European countries do various kinds of blood sausage such as Blutwurst, With that much iron in it, however, you’d need to keep it away from magnets while cooking.
I can identify somewhat with your mindset. In my case, I am a big weenie when it comes to medical procedures, so I overcompensate by pretending nothing bothers me. I may be in pain during a medical procedure and I will sit there and try to gauge whether everyone has this pain or whether it is something I should call attention to. I don’t want to be seen as pitiful because I am the only patient they’ve had to cry during this procedure.
Mur-
The whole giving blood thing can be tough, even for those of us who aren’t below the weight limit. The company I worked for had a blood drive and I signed up. I’d never given blood before but I felt it was the right thing to do. It was a little painful but I sucked it up. Unfortunaltey, I then spent the next half-hour bundled up in the break room with the old ladies feeding me cookies and juice. I almost went home. I haven’t given blood since, although I know I should. The fact that you can power through and be brave has given me the inspiration to try again.
Thanks-
Meredith
Folks that love you (and it sounds like you’ve got some of those) aren’t going to be thinking “Sheesh, it’s only a pint of blood…” and I don’t think we should ever be afraid to reach out to those that love us in a moment of physical or any other kind of weakness. (Except maybe that toilet cord thing, with you on that 100%.) It’s what they’re there for.
And thanks for letting us in to this part of your life.
Don’t worry, people can and do pass out after “just one pint of blood”. It happened to me twice when I was donating blood.
BTW: If you ever get to travel to a magical world, I know the perfect familiar you should look for. A vampiric rust-moster. It would certainly help to keep the iron content in your blood in check.
Don’t feel bad, and don’t “should” about it. I “should” be able to make it through an OB/GYN appointment without having a panic attack like every other woman ever, but I can’t, so they give me Xanax once a year.
oh mur.
you are so strong and so brave. you always amaze me.
i’m sorry that you had such a terrible experience. i hope this never happens to you again.
know that you can always call me too.
I used to donate blood but had to stop when I became anemic. One of the last times, they had to switch arms and I got a glimpse of the needle. Spent the next half hour with my feet up and an icepack on my chest, trying not to faint. Felt like a total baby. I can put it in perspective now, but at the time it was, to put it mildly, embarrassing. And I had donated dozens of times before. So, stuff like this happens sometimes for no apparent reason. No reason to feel bad about needing help. I’ll bet you’ve helped out people more times than you can remember.
After getting only 3 test tubes of blood taken out of me, I just want to sleep the rest of the day.