Tunnel Vision

It has been a few days but, well, time files.  The nurses call it medical tunnel vision, when you get so focused on this process of chemo, blood draws and other appointments, that that's all you really see and deal with.   I had an appointment with a shrink who talks with all patients who are on the track to have a transplant, and that opened up a whole new can of wormy feelings about the length of this particular journey. 

Yesterday (after that appointment), I got a bit scared and angry and embarrassed and resentful and, duh, really cranky.  I guess it's understandable when that happens, but no fun when that happens, especially when someone you love (Carol) is the recipient of the fallout (so sorry).  I had an afternoon of trying to get some control of the unknown...some black and white picture of a field of grey.  In other words, a recipe for total frustration.  I looked in the mirror and saw a gorilla.  I got nailed.  So now, it's time to look more closely at the fear and anger and embarrassment that this cancer brings up, and see what's to be learned.  Time to sit on my cushion.  I've been away from it for too long.

On a more practical note.  I've had a couple of transfusions of platelets over the past few days.  These are the little goobers that allow your blood to clot.  The nurses told us that platelets are always in short supply.  Everywhere.  Blood, not always, but platelets, for sure.  So if you ever have the inclination to donate blood, please consider a platelet donation.  It takes a little more time (an hour or so), but it will help someone, somewhere.