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!

Santa needs to swing by with an upgrade, but

...scanner works well. This is good to know since I'm still staying with my mom in my old hometown to visit a really good doctor. He's the hematologist that kept my dad going with his Chronic Lympocyctic Leukemia for 20+ years. And that is a remarkable considering patients diagnosed with CLL usually get a life expectancy of only 10 years, max. Also, I credit that longevity to my dad's will of iron, steel, and a little duct tape. "Never give up, never say die. And hand me a Bud Light, would ya?"

Anyway, not to get heavy in the slightest, but since some of you know, I'll give updates where I can. That kind of personal stuff embarrasses me, so I'll keep it uncharacteristically brief. But I've developed some idiopathic blood disorder called ITP where my white cells are high enough, but my red blood cell count is down and my platetets are either being killed off by a mutation or just not producing at all. I had a bone marrow done last Tuesday that didn't yield the information the doctor needed.

Can I just say here, children, they corkscrewed a chunk out of my buttbone. And now, I can relate totally to a corkscrew and a cork. So, be kind to your wine next time. Or, buy the screwcapped version.

Good news is, they say it's not lymphoma or leukemia. Maybe it's aplastic anemia. In my overactive mind, I've now successfully internet-diagnosed myself with everything from the monkey pox to radon poisoning to wheat allergies to prostate cancer. That's what not knowing does me. If you think you know what it is, oh please don't tell me. I love a good surprise.

Anyway, my posts are not meant to bum anyone out, because if you know me, then you will hear me laughing at the end of each dose of medicine. Read these posts with a smile at the end, like usual.

Forget all that. Mostly, I will try to post stories about the things my mother and her friends say and do because, quite frankly, these steel magnolias absolutely kill me. These women are hilarious. These women keep other people going with laughter. And butter cookies. And other tasty snacks.

If I disappear for a week, I'll be back. It's hard for me to keep up with anything electronic between the tea, the steroids, and Christmas already?...plus blocks of reruns of "Will & Grace", "Frasier", and "The Golden Girls". You heard right: "The Golden Girls". I know, I know. Someone, shoot me! I never watched it before, at the very least mocked it in the 80's,but right now, there is something really comforting about it.

I promise, the above will be the most embarrassing confession I will reveal to you, ever.

I hardly ever watched tv before. But now, it's there. Interesting experiment. Now, I watch Montel Williams but only for Sylvia Browne, and also watch some other interesting chick named Lisa Williams, I think. Fascinating psychic woman with the craziest hair ever.

Ok, one of the most embarrassing confession I will reveal to you, besides that "Golden Girl" one...

I also watch a crafting show with some midwestern woman named Carol. Oh yeah. I said it. And I totally enjoy it. For 14 years, I worked in an industry-full of people who'd make fun of that show over a *working lunch* of a tiny cup of over-priced lentil soup with a crustina to choke on, but it's made me use my hands again. Made lots of things with beads, ribbons, charms, and antique buttons. Which is exactly why I needed to get some distance from that industry-full of people who'd make fun of that show over a *working lunch* of a tiny cup of over-priced lentil soup with a crustina to choke on. Isn't life funny? Or is that irony? I'll go look it up after I buy a packet of irridescent glitter.

Can hear me laughing and smiling? I know you can relate, too. Gotta go get more beads now! xox ~ bny