I’ve just had another blood test. I was told that in my first, my white blood cell count was abnormal. They’re testing for anaemia, but my haemoglobin was normal. It’s probably not anaemia, in that case.
The nurse could obviously see me becoming worked up by this news, as she spent the rest of the appointment desperately trying to convince me that if I just ate red meat it would all be okay, and that it was ‘probably nothing at all to worry about’. That’s her job though, and the sound of surprise in her voice when I told her why they were testing me and she saw my initial results was still ringing in my head.
I got home, and my best friend rang. By this point, I’d dissolved into a teary and hyperventilating mess. The doctor told me when I went for my first appointment that an abnormal white blood cell count was something to worry about.
She’s so sweet, my best friend, and she’s so caring. Sick herself, she woke up from her long sleep, dosed up on very strong painkillers, just to comfort me. I needed it. Whispered words were exchanged, I told her the story, and my tears got worse. From miles and miles away she successfully got me breathing again, and talking about having a hug with a teddy (sadly, I don’t have one with me).
I’m now curled up in my bed, my tears have stained my pillow but practicing my deep breathing has slowly ensured that they have subsided. I have a lecture now, and really, I must go instead of sitting and dwelling. I’ve got lots to do today.
I’ll get the results on Friday, and I’ll see the doctor next week. She’s told me that I must call as soon as I hear anything on Friday. Until then, I’ll try to concentrate on my work. It may have ruined a few hours of my life, but I must do everything in my power to ensure that the unknown doesn’t ruin me altogether.
I’m afraid, more afraid than I’ve been in a long time, but it’ll be okay, as long as the people who care are here for me.