MDS: Numerically Optimistic

At some point during my collegiate years I came to a terrible realization: I was not the pessimist I prided myself on being; I was actually an optimist.

Blame it on too many Leave It To Beaver episodes. Or perhaps Ozzie and Harriet.

Either way—there it was. Deep down, no matter how gloomy I'd prided myself on being, I expected the positive outcome, the good ending.

Yesterday's blood count reinforces this perplexing outlook:

• Platelets 98,000
• Hemoglobin: 12.3

So, the red cells are holding their own, and the platelets, while down (as expected during Vidaza treatments), didn't sink much. A good sign.

Could it be that this semi-sadistic, needle-based medical ritual is actually working?

It's way too early to say. But, the little voice of optimism kicking around in my brain says, "Yes. Yes it could."

Of course, the paternally inherited genetic voice of doom bellows competitively, like a fire siren at an outdoor chamber music concert, "Don't be fooled! Numbers can lie!"

To which internal signal is a poor boy to listen?

Well, I emphatically say to the clamorous pessimist: "Oh shut up."

I'll go with the goody-two-shoes outlook on this one.