Tuesday, 16 June 2009

Day of the Triff. . . Transfusion

Since we had done all the shopping the previous day, Nick stayed home to work and I took the taxi to the hospital. The nurses were laughing that the driver called me Margot, as opposed to Mme. Bentley. "I've know him since he was eleven," I said.

The 11-year-old is now an ambulance driver, on the town council, head of the Youth Committee and various other things. Good thing I know longer mind being old. But I digress. . .

Another digression: the Bentley is because when we were issued with new health cards, mine was 6 or 8 months in arriving. When it had Nick's name on it, I was afraid to send it back for fear it would never show up, again. So I'm Bentley to the health system and my newer doctors.

Anyway, Stephane picked me up at 6:45. The boulangerie wasn't open, yet, and I had a yen for a croissant all the way to the hospital. The instant I entered the building, my stomach turned. Nevertheless, when the dietician came around to see what I wanted for lunch (whee! You get a choice if you arrive at 8), I gave her the order. At lunch time, I could barely look at the tray. I said I'd try the dessert because sometimes sweet things go down better. It did, but she'd left the tray and I could smell the food. So I reparied to the bathroom to decide if I was going to throw up or not. Not; I controlled myself.

This food thing is just so ridiculous. I know it's psychological and still I can't eat. I could barely eat when I came home. Except sweet things, so it's not even as if it's doing my weight any good. Maybe if I knew what it psychological about.

I came out of the bathroom, saw the dietician in the hall and she took the tray away. I opened the window for a little air. Then I scratched an itch on my right arm. Mosquito bite. During the day? Tough mosquito. Then I found another bite on the left side of my waist. Then one on my stomach. Then my back itched.

The light dawned and I called the nurse. Apparently, although I didn't have one last time, allergic reactions to transfusions are not uncommon. Whatever they gave me gave instant relief and also put me to sleep, again. I'd slept all morning, waiting for the platelets to arrive. I am not a natural early riser.

I saw Dr. Séreiné and discussed my other doctor visits with her. Funny, she also had that same odd look on her face as Dr. Leriche when I said I'd been canoeing.

Finally, Stephane came to get me and I came home and slept for another four hours.

When I was leaving and reaching for my purse and medical records on the floor next to the bed, I hit my head on the table. But I have platelets now, so I didn't die.


  1. I think that would be the worst part for moi, the nausea. I love food. If you can't eat anything else, the calories from the sweets ought to run about even. How hard did you hit your head and did anyone check it? Keep an eye out, internal injury is internal, ya know:) Madame Bentley. HA!

  2. Ha, canoe on.
    The nausea is psychological? Not physiological? Who made that determination?

  3. I made the determination. I can no longer eat ham or little elbow macaroni, even outside the hospital. And I'm afraid the calories from the sweets are winning.