“This is for Jenna Langer?” Julia asked again, scribbling down numbers recited to her over the phone. “Can you say them again?” she asked, following each line of numbers with the ballpoint of her pen.
My blood counts inexplicably took a nosedive from last week, completely wrecking the weeks-long upward curve I’ve enjoyed since leaving the hospital. Some of my counts are even in transfuse-able territory, a place I haven’t been since they bottomed out in the transplant unit.
On the homestretch to Day 100, my family and I are not amused by these dramatic blips.
I could see the thoughts barreling behind Julia’s grimace. “I want to see you again on Friday,” she said. “If your counts keep falling, we’ll have to do a bone marrow biopsy next week to see what’s going on in your bone marrow.”
After more of my medical team weighed in, the agreed-upon hope is that this unwelcome slip is a fluke – a result of the anti-viral treatment for CMV plus the hemorrhagic cystitis, which is draining valuable hemoglobin and platelets from my system. To more quickly get rid of the latter, they’ve switched me to 24 hours of the backpack fluids. I’m the most hydrated girl you’ll ever meet.
In anticipation of Friday, I’m doing some inner-coaching of my bone marrow. “Donor cells – fight. Jenna cells – give it up.” I’ve never wanted so badly to be somebody else – my dear donor.