Gettin' it out of the way,
An update from this embedded reporter in the ITP Warzone:
Ok, I'm proud to say, with fresh green-apple breath, that I'm still feeling fairly well, my fairy faes, since I got that platelet transfusion this past Monday. My pre-transfusion counts were 13k (boy, did I need some lipstick that day or what!), and my post-transfusion count was 69k (which translates as "a beautiful thing, please kiss a research chemist today").
For those who don't know the players, normal platelet counts should be anywhere from 150k to 450k platelets per microliter. When I started this on November 16th, my routine exam found I only had 41k. Over the next 4 weeks, it continued to fall to 25k, then 18k, then 13k which my doctor actually saw as a nice twist, but still, not good.
Today, they really expected my body to have blown through the platelets already, and for my count to be around 10k (time for a transfusion). Normal platelets in a properly functioning human body only last 7 to 10 days (so eat your peanut butter, children!). But for some reason, it may be that I am really stupid and don't know it so don't tell me, I knew my counts would be good -- and they were, at 42k. Thank you, God. I can't do math conversions for the rate of loss over 4 days, but my tinkertoy mind thinks 42k's better than 10k. So, hand me some crayons and glitter.
What's next? Back to the doctor on Wednesday. He'll either say (1) my stem and T-cells have decided to play nice together, that my beautiful house by the river is actually built on a toxic wastedump, and this was all one huge environmental misunderstanding, and that my marrow is producing platelets again; or he'll say (2) my borrowed platelets have cycled out, and it's time for a transfusion, then to the hospital. I don't want to jinx anything, but I just can't picture myself in the hospital. It's not that I'm not scared, I just can't see it. Know what I mean?
I know what I'll do:
I'll cosmically-double-jinx-reverse-ward this thing off myself. I do this all the time by *being prepared*. Try it sometime if you haven't before.
I'll buy myself a good book, a new sketchpad, a silky set of jammies with sushi patterns on them, and then juice up the pink iPod mini with all my CBC Radio 3 podcasts so I can force myself to sit still for 4 days of ATG via IV drip. And as soon as I ready myself, buy all that swag and get prepared, my doctor will scratch his head at my next bloodwork printout, at my miraculous recovery from this idiopathic, stop-n-go, Andy Griffith's "Man in a Hurry" episode.
Don't get me wrong. I'd loooooove that to happen. Thing is, this may not work, (1) because I announced it, and (2) because I already bought myself a good book and my mom gave me a sketchpad early for Christmas. And I'm absolutely wanting some silky jammies with sushi prints on 'em.
I said I'd keep these updates brief, didn't I? Damn. I'm not a liar. I just need a good editor.
Which reminds me: Tara, if you're reading, there's a package in the mail to you and yours. And yes, I made them with my own hands. I did, too!