New Year Celebration MDS Style

A quiz: How does the happy MDS patient celebrate the New Year?

1. Go out to dinner.
2. Go out dancing.
3. Go out to dinner and dancing.
4. Go to Times Square.
5. Spend 9 hours in the Emergency Room.

Answer? Whadda you think?

This adventure began Wednesday afternoon when a pain shows up in my left hip. It doesn't go away, but radiates down the leg to the calf. It feels something like sciatica, but it's not. It keeps me up most of the night. By morning, I'm more of a basket case than has become the norm these past two weeks.

Penny calls Dr. Dr. O says meet her in the ER. She can do tests there she can't do in the office.

We arrive at about 11:30. Blood is taken. Many questions are asked and re-asked. The victim—uh, patient—is parked in a room that has a door with no door knobs. It's the psycho room. The victim—uh, patient—informs the nurse that he's the son of a psychologist and fully capable of acting nutty, if that would prove entertaining.

Then—we wait.

Each of us reads a book and a half.

Finally, the blood results come back:

• Platelets: 10,000

The victim—uh, patient—needs a platelets transfusion. The "doctor" wants to admit the victim—uh, patient—to the hospital, as soon as a bed can be found.

Oh crap. First Easter; now New Year's.

But—wait. Along comes Dr. O. "You don't really want to spend the night in the hospital, do you?" she asks.

No.

"I'll have you transfused and sent home. I'll see you Monday, anyway."

But—wait. Some kind of debate breaks out between Dr. O and Dr. ER. Dr. ER thinks the victim—uh, patient—has insisted on this course of action. She, along with three other personnel, must be re-educated on that point by the victim—uh, patient—while the victim—uh, patient—reminds everyone that he's not a doctor, nor does he play one on TV. It's not his decision.

Dr. O comments that "they're not used to seeing platelets
this low, but we see it all the time." Then, she leaves. We never hear anything more about "tests" that ca be done in the ER.

Then—we wait.

Blood is typed. (A-positive, in case you're wondering.)

Then—we wait.

Platelets finally arrive. The transfusion takes 90 minutes.

The nurse arrives to remove the IV, the fourth nurse the victim—uh, patient—has dealt with in this episode, and, while being upbeat and friendly expresses concern multiple times that "normally with counts this low we'd never send you home."

The victim—uh, patient—smiles. Get me outta here, he says.

We're home in time to see the ball drop, if the ball dropped somewhere in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. The victim—uh, patient—settles in to watch what's left of AMC's "Three Stooges New Year's Marathon".

So, now the victim—uh, patient—is filled with someone else's platelets and, well, he feels about the same. Except the leg doesn't hurt any more. That stopped hurting just about the time we arrived at the ER.

Happy New Year.